#obviously thats not true for all of them and many do pitch up their voice just like a lot of eng vas do

[agent-cupcake]

Please tell us what you think of the Japanese dub of fire emblem!! Do you have any you like or dislike?

Mercedes’s voice, done by Yumiri Hanamori, is probably my favorite change. I dislike Mercedes’s Eng voice for several reasons but her Japanese dub shoots her up into S tier easy. Super sweet and kinda breathy, she speaks very soothingly and deliberately, I love it and never skip any of her dialogue. Her little giggles give me butterflies, and the way she reacts when you propose to her? I cannot recommend you watch her S support with the Japanese dub enough. It’s very easy to come off inauthentic when the character is as loving and kind as Mercedes, but her performance absolutely sells Mercedes’s angelic nature.

Marianne, voiced by Sawako Hata, goes through a pretty dramatic change pre/post timeskip in the Japanese dub and I live for it. Seriously, listen to the very beginning of her C and A supports with Byleth (same line) and marvel at our favorite horse girl’s growth. I love the shift in her voice and it really shows a lot about how Marianne grows as a person and becomes more confident.

Hubert is played by Katsuyuki Konishi and, yes, I will simp. He just sounds so cool. That va being an intimidating bastard just does it for me even if all the roles I know him for is him singlehandedly holding the entire weight of a character who is otherwise not the coolest. It is a little goofy when you have to strain to hear him when he’s saying battle lines that are supposed to be dramatic but he sounds hot so it’s whatever. 

Claude, voiced by Toshiyuki Toyonaga, is actually pretty similar in both dubs. That is, I feel like it’s the same Claude in both languages which I really enjoy. I think both voice actors did a fantastic job and in my humble opinion do a lot to make Claude as likable and fun as he is when the writing kind of falters. Toyonaga has a really nice voice and does the playful sarcastic yet also guarded and sneaky thing perfectly.

Edelgard is played by Ai Kakuma who dials back on the mean-girl aspect of Edelgard that, for me, makes her kind of insufferable sometimes. It’s strange because I don’t like the “uwu professor I drew you a picture” aspects of Edelgard very much, but they do make a lot more sense with Kakuma’s softer, more vulnerable interpretation of the character. Overall, I do like her dubbed voice better especially when I’m playing Crimson Flower and the game obviously wants me to waifu her.

Seteth is voiced by DIO Takehito Koyasu and that is very important to me. It helps with the “can I trust this man or can’t I?” aspect of the character because of intense JJBA conditioning. He has less stick-up-the-ass dad energy, but I think it’s a fair trade. 

Leonie is voiced by Sakura Nogawa and I don’t particularly like Lenoie but can we just acknowledge that she came out on top in both dubs? Both Ratana and Nogawa have such ear candy voices. 

Simp King Alefric was voiced by Daisuke Hirakawa and this was an especially low blow. As the resident Disgusting Pervert, I have a pretty instinctual reaction to hearing his voice. I know he does a LOT of different types of roles (hearing him in Monster Hunter Stories was great) but the fact that they cast him as an unfuckable (as well as annoying, pointless, and awful) character just cuts deep. 

Yuri, played by Junya Enoki, was just strange imo. When I heard his Japanese dub voice my first reaction was “wow it’s weird they gave Yuri the voice of a shonen protagonist” and then Enoki went on to play the Prince of All Shonen Protagonists Yuuji. And Enoki is super skilled! A lot of his combat lines hit super hard. Buuuuut, it’s hard to not miss the seductive persona that his English dub gives him. Someone asked who I’d ideally recast for Yuri, Felix, and Dimitri (like... months ago... I’m so sorry lol) and I think that Mamoru Miyano doing Yuri would be great. Mamoru Miyano has a massive list of credits, but his most famous is probably Light Yagami from Death Note. He also did Hunter x Hunter’s Chrollo and Persona 5′s Ryuji. Actually, since he did Amai Mask, this would add another One Punch Man voice actor to the list. Admittedly, I’m a cringe fangirl but he's got range for sensual, serious, and goofy and gets bonus points for having a really nice singing voice which Yuri also has. Making Yuri sound more alluring and kind of secretive seems like the obvious choice for his character. I’m in no way, shape, or form in any position to suggest this change but since someone did ask there’s my single suggestion. 

Dimitri is played by Kaito Ishikawa and I am not a fan. This is a massive bias because I’ve made my love of his English dub so clear so take it with a boulder sized grain of salt but, Dimitri aside, I don't really like Ishikawa's voice, it has this nasally quality that drives me up the wall which was why I never really liked One Punch Man’s Genos. There are also a lot of performance differences that I feel detract from Dimitri’s character but that is even more subjective because they feel like such different characters. Ishikawa goes for a less manic, wild sound in favor of a more “restrained” interpretation of Dimitri’s feral voice. The Event “Village Tragedy (Blue Lions)” is the scene that showcases this difference perfectly.

Felix’s voice is done by Yuichi Jose and I don’t think it suits him. He has a very low, kinda cool voice and I just... I dunno, it feels contradictory to how I interpret Felix’s character. English dub Felix gets this, and I mean this in the nicest way possible, mall ninja sort of inflection especially early on in the game because he’s trying too hard and I think it’s so damn endearing to hear that harden until you realize that, no, he’s just a broken person putting up a shield to deflect emotion. But it also feels unfair to make direct comparisons when the two voice actors are doing two different things. 

Anyway, those are characters I have strong opinions about. Overall, I far prefer the English dub but there are definitely pros and cons to each and it’s fun to listen to both. I have respect for all of the va’s involved with this project because of the sheer amount of lines they recorded and it’s really a matter of opinion as to which voices and interpretation of the character is preferred.

[thewolfisapartofmysoul]

Hey lovelies,

I gotcha a Beetlejuice x reader this time. All the garden-flufffffffff. Hope you enjoy. 💜

Thistles

You smiled fondly at your favorite ghost as he watched your every movement intently, is eyes lit up every time you mumbled softly at the plant before you. Beetlejuice sat next to you, his legs crossed and from the corner of your eye, you noticed more pink streaks popping up between the bright green locks.

It was a warm summer, and you loved being outdoors. Beej didn't particularly love gardening.... but he certainly loved you. He loved watching his favorite breather do someting. Anyting. But especially watching you doing things you enjoyed, admiring you made his hair go pink in a record time.

"Hey babes...?" Beetlejuice mumbled, as you carefully covered the young plant in your hands with some earth.

"Hmmmm?" you hummed in response.

"...whyyyyy... exaclty... do you talk to the plants?" Beej asked you with genuine curiosity.

You chucked at his question. Once you were done with the plant you sweetly whispered to it: "Better grow good for me buddy... you can do it."

You had to hold back a scoff when you saw Beetlejuice shiver unexpectedly at the sound of your cooing voice beside you. Boy... was he sensitive...

You wiped your dirty hands at the coat you were wearing. It was his striped long jacket. He gave it to you to garden in it, it was way too big for you... but the earthy smell of fresh rain clinged to it. It smelled like him, and you found yourself wearing it all the time actually. It just... felt... nice? Beej declared: "You look way too hot in it to not wear it all the time".... You felt like he was near you when you wore it. Which... obviously... he literally was clinging at you, any chance he got. But you loved to have your clingy ghost around.

After you wiped your hands you took his hand into yours, squeezed it a little and smirked at him: "Awh.... somebody betting jalous Beej?"

He coffed and tried to look offended but you noticed the blush that was creeping up his face. And if you missed that delicate clue,

his now hot-pink hair was less subtle to miss.

You felt the incredible strong urge to kiss his stubble in that exact moment, he was just so...vurnable.

You leaned down towards him and soflty brushed your lips against his in a sweet innocent kiss. When you pulled back you heared him whimper a bit at the loss of contact, and you had to chuckle softly at his antics.

You beamed a happy smile his way and chirped: "Everyting grows faster with the right amount of love..." You pecked him on his scruffy cheek and scratched his head a bit. Beetlejuice leaned into your hand and as you massaged his head you heard him purr softly at your touch. You mumbled: "... doesnt it Beej?"

He responded with another purr, and with that you gently brought your attention back to your plants. He sighed and grumpily whined at you: "Babessssss...."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't supress a smile seeping through your face as you replied: "...yeah, what's it dear?"

He really acted like a 5 year old sometimes.

Tugging your sleeve to get your attention he asked with a dramatic flourish: "What's your favorite flower doll? Of alllllll these?" Big hand gestures followed his scentence.

You scratched your chin while you poundered about that question. Getting your chin full of black dirt in the process, Beetlejuice softly snorted at your actions. You were too into your head to notice though. 'He would tell you... Maybe... later. Even when your face was smeared with dirt you was angelic...' he decided.

"Well... uhm... That must be... the lavender." You spoke thoughtfully as you looked at the ghost besides you.

You saw him frowning a bit, he was clearly in doubt about something. You reached out to his knee, and you delicately brushed it with your dirty hands. The gesture to calm him down seemed to work, as his features became less troubled he murmered: "... Hey babes... which... which ones are those? Can you show me?"

You smiled at him and nodded yes.

Beetlejuice already jumped up and was bouncing up and down in excitement, he reached out to pull you up from the place where you were sitting. You smiled widely at a very excited bouncing beetlejuice and took a hold of his hands.

With one swift movement he pulled you on your feet and you blushed as his strong arms caught you as you fell flush against him. Your nose was inches apart from his when you felt him snaking an arm around your waist to pull you even closer to him and heard him hum contently. He booped his nose against yours and purred in a serious tone: "Lavender you said, doll?"

You pecked his lips softly, nodded, took his hand and skipped to were you held your lavender.

"Tadaaaaaah!" You chuckled. "This... sweet sweet Beej... is laveder." You gestured grandly towards were your favorite pland grew. "Go one baby... smell it! It smells so gooooood." You tugged him towards the flowers with a demanding pull on his suspenders. Beetlejuice sniffed the flowers, almost like a dog would snif it too. With very short breaths and sniffs he pulled back and exclaimed: "I like it doll... it smells a bit like... ehm..."

He pushed his nose in the flowers again, sniffing loudly as he did so. With a low growl he pulled back, took a hold of your (or his old) striped coat and pulled you towards him. His nose attacked your neck before you could protest and your breath hitched as you felt his stubble brush against your neck.

Beetlejuice sniffed deeply, inhaling your scent and a low growl escaped his throath again. He pulled back abrubtly, moaning and mumbling under his breath as he did so:

"Smells so nice. It smells just like you babes."

It was a good thing he held onto your coat that tightly, because your knees were like jelly. Your neck was a soft spot, and this combined with his low voice had you riled up in seconds. The smug look on Beetlejuice's face showed exaclty how well he knew all that. You looked at him and murmered: "You... are... a true demon you... Also you're right, i use lavender in my soap."

He winked at you, and released his grip on your coat a bit as he spoke: "Ya betcha, doll."

You stood on your tiptoes and reached out to ruffle his hair, with a playfull giggle. He gripped your wrist and pulled you towards him again, so he could properly kiss you. Between kisses you asked him: "Hey Beej... what's your favorite flower?"

He chuckled deeply, stroking your cheek and said: "Besides you...? I dont know. Let me check..."

He let his gaze wander around the garden for a little while and after a little while you saw his eyes lit up a bit. He snapped his fingers and you were left in a cloud of green smoke for a second. You blinked once... twice... and just when you were about to call his name you were startled by a loud scream behind you.

"BOO!!"

You squeeked in fright and jumped at the loud sound behind you. Immediately Beetlejuice started laughing hysterically and you slowly turned around, catching your breath again when you did so.

You were about to give him a lecture about not scaring his girlfriend (again) but the corners of your mouth moved upwards as you took in the sight before you.

Beetlejuice was floating on his side, in a semi-wannabe-sexy-pose... with a thistle between his teeth. A freaking thistle. Smiling at you seductively, with a very smug look on his face.

Now it was your turn to laugh.

This man... this demon... certainly had readed way too many romans in his undead life.

Once you stopped lauging he turned around mid air, twirling a circle in the air until he hang upside down above you. He placed the thistle in your hair, carefull not to sting you in the process, and placed a kiss on the top of your head as he shouted unexpectedly: "CATCH!!"

You held your arms out in shock and he dramatically fell into them. A proud smile creeping up his face as he adored you, while lounging in your arms. Dramatically laughing he cheered: "My hero! Thanks for catching sweet-cheeks..."

You snorted and rolled your eyes in annoyance. It was a good thing he was a ghost and therefore was as light as a feather.

He snapped his fingers, dissapearing into green smoke again but this time he appeared behind you. Hugging you tight as his head leaned on your shoulder. You turned your head slightly and whispered in his ear: "... dissapear one more time and I'll let you sleep outside tonight..."

He snuggled closer towards you, kissed your cheek and growled softly: "Okay... i get it doll... i just... really like thistles...?" You smiled at that.

You squeeled loudly when Beetlejuie unexpectedly licked your chin.

"Beej!! Whatthehell?!"

He tickled your sides and chuckled at the high pitched scream he got out of you. He growled in your ear: "You had some dirt on your chin babes... But you are all clean now..."

That demon was gonna be the death of you once. Your knees were once again all jelly. He snapped his fingers and with a smirk against your neck he handed you a thistle "... to make it up?" Beetlejuice softly purred.

Right then you decided that you would never call thistles weed, ever in your life again. They were your new favorite bouquet, together with the lavender.

"Hey Beej.... I know another way you could make up to me..." You mumbled seductively against his scruff.

This time he snapped his fingers again, and the green smoke took you both out of the garden.

Tagging: @paxenera @heknowshisherbs @hoodoo12 @large-unit @little-miss-shy-goth @thats-specific @vicunaburger @ironmansuucks @h1de-s0urce @go-commander-kim @stranger-strings @bugdrinkss

[sundropscribbles]

To a Fault | Eleven x Reader | 4.9K

Guess who’s baaaackk.. ♥️ Hello again, my dears! I’m so excited to finally be posting again! I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I can’t tell you all what all your patience means to me.  This little request is for one of my darling anons — I hope I’ve not gotten too rusty! Enjoy!

By your personal standards, you didn’t have what you’d have referred to as a high tolerance to pain. If you were honest, what you had was really quite the opposite of any tolerance at all, and while it could be inconvenient at times, but it was something that you had always known about yourself — that you had always found ways to live with.  

Ironically enough, you remembered learning the technical side of it all once upon a time, during one odd lecture or another, in some old classroom; evidently, the human pain tolerance operated on a scale that had started out much more scientific than the not-so-smiley-faced diagram that most everyone had seen at least once at their local emergency department.  Funnily enough, it was something that you could almost hear The Doctor waffling on about in your head. It was exactly the sort of thing that he would have enjoyed flaunting knowledge about, you knew, and the more you thought about it, the more you felt the awkwardness of your situation at the present. Because you also knew him well enough to know very well that all of his enthusiastic rambling would dip into the realm of an angry lecture very quickly if he knew that you were currently holding your breath and gritting your teeth through what was easily an eleven — maybe even a twelve — on that old pain scale.

True as that was, though, you weren’t currently in the sort of situation that allowed for you to pause and lick your wounds, and you weren’t a child, anyways; you could knuckle through a little bit of pain. And that aside, the last thing that you needed was for The Doctor to have to stop doing what he was doing to worry about you. Though he would deny it, his priorities in general could go a bit askew from time to time, and if there was anything that he could never, ever bring himself to put on the back-burner, it was your safety.

As things sat, your distracting him would have meant his choosing between your comfort and the safety of the thousand-and-some-odd beings onboard the ship that he was currently using the TARDIS to tow out of the atmosphere of a planet doomed to implode on itself (and thus take everything and everyone nearby with it).  Obviously, you weren’t willing to let it become an issue.

It wasn’t as though your injuries were urgent, anyways — they weren’t. You weren’t seriously maimed or bleeding. You could still walk, and you could still breathe — well, for the most part. Any amount of pain had always had a tendency to knock the breath out of you, and today was no exception.

You’d have been lying through your teeth, though, if you’d said that you hadn’t been in a bit of a fog since you’d boarded the TARDIS.  You hadn’t allowed the full extent of it to hit you until then — until you were somewhere safe, familiar. The Doctor didn’t need your help anymore, not here, and so you had taken it on your own authority to sit yourself down for a breather.  Sitting seemed to help stifle the throbbing pain in your ribs that had yet to fade — that you weren’t sure would fade anytime soon, if you were honest. It was only so often that you were thrown sideways into a wall like a rag doll, after all.

“Well! I think that well and truly deserves a Geronimo, (Y/N), don’t you?” you hear The Doctor call to you from the other side of the console, and even despite your hunched over, close-eyed state, you snort. The next thing that you hear is his enthusiastic schpeel to the passengers of the rescued ship, so you don’t make the most enthusiastic effort to respond.

“Yeah, yeah,” you acknowledge him, voice hushed. “Geronimo.”

While he busies himself giving instructions to the passengers — be cautious, stay safely onboard the spacecraft, etcetera etcetera — you adjust your position in your seat beside the console. You have to bite down hard on your lower lip to stifle a low whine when the movement aggravates what you’re mostly certain will end up being couple of broken ribs, and you’re grateful in that moment that The Doctor’s attention is elsewhere. You’re almost certainly wearing your pain on your face, and keeping his suspicion at bay would have been infinitely more difficult had he been paying closer attention.

You predicament only gets worse when the TARDIS gives a rattle as she comes to a stop, and you can’t say for certain that you don’t black out for a solid few moments as she gives a final sputter of effort.  You hear The Doctor speaking once more the moment you’re able to focus again, but that’s not the only thing you hear. As you force your focus to stay concentrated upon your labored breathing you also notice the TARDIS making a few choice noises — insistent and agitated beeps and whirs that you can just tell are directed at you.  

You make a face at that and shake your head.

“Shut it,” you murmur, gesturing sharply with one hand. The last thing you needed her cluing The Doctor in to your pain, or — goodness forbid — the trouble breathing that you were currently dealing with. If the reveal didn’t come from you he would only be more upset, and it was only going to be a moment or two more, wasn’t it? You would be able address it soon. You wouldn’t have a choice but to tell him regardless (since you would be in no shape for further adventuring anytime soon) and it was really no big deal — that’s what you kept telling yourself.

The ribs that you were absolutely certain you had cracked at this point had other ideas, however.

The TARDIS gives a much more insistent, higher pitched groan as she sputters to a stop, and between that and the abruptness with which you sit up to shush her, you can’t even begin to stifle the sound that’s forced out of you.

You cry out, and the sound of it is something in between a grunt and a strangled scream. Your first instinct is to cover it up somehow, but even that is pushed to the back burner by the pain thats blossomed outward from your injured left side.

“Oh, bloody hell,” you whimper, eyes screwed shut as you do the best you can to catch your breath. Beneath the sting of pain there’s a horrid sensation — something of a grind, like something has gone and shifted violently out of place. You think, at the back of your mind, that you hear the TARDIS give another (much louder) chirp, but before you can even consider it, you hear The Doctor’s voice.

“(Y/N)?!” he calls, and before you know it, he’s at your side with a hand on each of your shoulders. “(Y/N), darling, what is it? What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, forcing yourself to smile through the agony as you meet his gaze. “It’s nothing,” you start, but before you can say anymore, he scoffs.

“Oh yes, that’s right, because you double over and shout bloody murder all the time,” he quips, and you look at him, wide-eyed and startled.  You’re rather surprised to find him smiling in spite of his sarcasm, and you shake your head, forcing a sigh out through your clenched teeth.  “Now tell me what’s going on, would you?”

He brushes a bit of hair back from your face with one hand as he presses for information, and it’s then, approximately, that you give in and let your guard down. He obviously knows that there’s something wrong at this point, and you know very well that he isn’t going to let it go until you explain.

“Blimey, it’s just — it’s my ribs, I think,” you admit, and move one hand to cover the offending spot. “When we were in the tunnels, and those — those snake-y things came up through the ground, I hit one of the rock walls quite bloody hard.”

He makes an almost offended sound in response, glancing between your hand on your ribs and your face as he looks you over.

“You never said anything, did you?” he begins, and touches the back of your hand gingerly. It takes everything in you not to wince at that alone, but you smile and acknowledge his question a quick shake of your head regardless, hissing as he begins nudging you gently backwards. The console seat doesn’t allow for you to stretch out very much, and to sat that you were grateful for it would have been a massive understatement.  Every inch you move intensifies the pain, and you’re not sure you’d be able to handle unfurling yourself completely.

“No, I —“ you begin, but pause to catch your breath as he prods at your side very, very gently. “I didn’t, because so many other people’s lives were on the line, and I couldn’t — I wasn’t going to get in the way of you saving all of them.”

The look he gives you in response to that is one of absolute bewilderment.  There’s an intensity in his eyes as he stares you down for a moment, and you’re just getting to the point where you feel a bit like squirming under the scrutiny when he finally breaks his stunned silence.

“That’s… that is completely absurd.  You’re completely absurd,” he snips, looking at least mildly annoyed as he lays his hand overtop of yours, atop your very injured ribs.  You narrow your eyes at that, and a tiny twinge of hurt rears its head as you struggle to process what he’s telling you.  It doesn’t last terribly long, though, because he’s quick to follow the insult up with something that lands much differently. “(Y/N), your safety is more important to me than anyone’s. I don’t care if it’s a city, a planet, or a galaxy — you’ve got to tell me when you’re hurt!”

It takes you a good second or two to process what he’s said, but the moment it settles with you, you blink.  Various emotions come crashing over you like a tidal wave, and it certainly isn’t easy to take it all in at once. There’s a warm fondness (thanks to his protective streak) , a tiny swell of pride (because he’d definitely just proven you right), and last but not least, an overwhelming feeling of love (for very obvious reasons).  The result of it all is a chill on your skin and a gathering of tears in your eyes, and while you breathe a shaky sigh out through your teeth, he mumbles under his breath and proceeds to lift your hand away from your ribs as carefully as he can.

“That’s exactly why I didn’t, though,” you argue, though it admittedly doesn’t have a whole lot of fight to it. How could it, after all?  “Making sure all of those people were out of trouble was more important than some painkillers that I could wait an hour for.”

He continues to grumble halfheartedly, first in response to your argument and then even more so as he so a he fiddles with your tee-shirt, moving it out of the way so that he can properly see the damage done to your body.  You look away at the same moment, almost as though you’re still trying to deny how bad the pain really is.

“And that, (Y/N), is one of the things I love best about you. You’re selfless, so selfless. It’s to a fault sometimes, though, because this is not the kind of thing you should be hiding!” he exclaims.  The abruptness with which he raises his voice startles you, and on instinct alone, you look back toward the thing that has him so upset.  The sight of it startles you as much as much as it seems to have riled him up, and your wince as you take it in.

There’s not a doubt remaining in your mind that your ribs are broken; your entire left side is a startling shade of burgundy fading to purple, and the darkest bit of color centers around that one spot, where you’d been sure you’d felt that sick grinding sensation earlier.  It knocks the breath out of you, a bit, as though the pain alone hadn’t been more than enough to do that.

“Fuck,” you swear, and shake your head as you look away.  

“Quite right,” he mutters.  You think for a second that he’s going to continue his irritated rambling, but to your surprise, he doesn’t.  He goes on doing what he’s doing in silence for a good moment or two, and the most you hear out of him is a mildly frustrated sigh.

“Darling,” he calls out to the room, and before you can think to question who he’s talking to, you feel something odd. The sensation almost feels like a blanket of very low voltage electricity settling over your skin, and it gives you goosebumps. The majority of your hair stand on end, too, but as quickly as it manifests itself, it’s gone.  You’re about to ask what’s just happened, but before you have the chance there’s a display flickering to life at your side; a display that looks very much like a digital recreation of your body.  Well — the shape of your body, anyways.  There’s no detail to the flickering image apart from a skeletal system, but even that focuses primarily upon the injured bit of you.  

“Thank you, Dear,” The Doctor muses, and proceeds to examine the image himself.  You realize, then, that he had been addressing the TARDIS, who had seemed to know from the get-go that you were quite seriously injured.  You hear her give a self-satisfied chirp in response to The Doctor’s thanks, and at that, you roll your eyes good-naturedly.

“How bad is it?” you ask in a quieted voice — a voice that, for all intents and purposes, says “okay, you were right and I was very, very wrong“.

“Bad,” he says simply, and you meet his gaze with a frown. “There’s nothing punctured and nothing bleeding, but you’ve got two broken ribs.”

You make a face at that.  You had hoped at the very least that you would be able to keep it to one broken rib — or better, none at all.

“Blast it,” you mutter, and then groan when he waves hologram-you away and turns his attention back on your real, physical body.  He moves to rest one hand across the violent blossoms of red and purple and blue that decorate your skin, and for a solid moment or two, he does nothing but look at you. You’re about to ask if there’s anything else you should know when he heaves a sigh, removes his hand, and drags his fingers through his hair in an exasperated manner.

“I’m perfectly capable of multitasking, you know.  One of the best, if I do say so myself. I excel at multitasking,” he complains, and you blink. “And frankly, I’m offended that you would think otherwise.  How long have we been together, (Y/N)?”

The longer The Doctor rambles the more frantic he looks, and even though you know that he’s genuinely upset, you can’t help but giggle (even if it does hurt like hell).  There’s also a tiny part of you that does pirouettes at the way he phrases things; “how long have we been together?” Like you’re an old, bickering married couple.  Even though that’s almost certainly not the way he intends it to come across — because goodness knows he’s never been one to blatantly acknowledge whatever feelings might be festering between himself and anyone he cares about — it makes you feel warm inside.

Together.

“And now you’re laughing at me!” he accuses you, and it only makes you laugh (and by extension, wince) even more. “Really, (Y/N), do you not trust me to take care of you and keep our immediate surroundings from going up in flames?”

“Of course I do,” you tell him, and he drops his hands to your knees, then, finally breaking out into a smile as he kneels before you.

“Then, for the sake of anything and everything good, let me know when you need to be cared for,” he insists, and you snort.

“Alright, alright! You don’t have to lecture me anymore,” you tease, moving as best you can to lay your hands over top of his.  “I think I’ve learned my lesson.”

You feel him turn his hands over, then, and you smile as you feel his fingertips brush your wrists, and then your palms as he moves to stand.

“You better have,” he says with an accusatory finger pointed in your direction, and you only grin.  “Right.  Now that I can get on patching you up, I think it’d be best if we laid you down.  There’s not a terrible lot I nor anyone else can do for a pair of broken ribs, but sitting around all curled over in this uncomfortable old seat is going to do even less to help you.  Does that sound alright?”

You keep a watchful eye on him, smiling privately as he goes on about your options, and when he looks your way for an opinion, you give a nod of agreement on instinct.  Your second instinct kicks in soon enough, though, and you make a rather pitiful sound as you consider what getting to your bedroom is going entail.

“Lying down sounds lovely, but getting there is going to be significantly less,” you point out reluctantly.  He seems to soften a bit at that, and he nods his head as he surveys you, evidently looking for solutions to your problem.  

“That’s not a bad point,” he admits, and you sigh softly.  There’s a part of you that regrets not stumbling off to your bedroom straight away; you had certainly thought about it, when you had still been making a significant effort to keep your condition under wraps.  While The Doctor would still have found out (because the TARDIS would have tattled on you, you were certain), it would have made this part of things a great deal easier.  

“I might just be able to make it easier, though,” he suggests, and you cast a curious glance his way.  You don’t get the chance to ask him what he means before he’s coming back your way and kneeling down once again.  He holds his arms out in front of him, then, and looks at you expectantly.  You look back at him, bewildered for a good couple of seconds.  “C’mon, then, all aboard,” he urges, and you blink.

It hits you, then, that his intention is to carry you to your room, and your cheeks turn a very warm shade of pink very quickly.

“Oh — alright, yeah,” you stammer, stamping down the immediate urge to ask him whether or not he’s sure of this particular plan.  The better part of you is screaming at you to shut up and let it play out, anyhow, and in the end you wind up following its demand.  It’s a bit of a process for you to even sit up straight, let alone to rotate enough that you can tuck your knees into your chest, but you manage, and soon enough, The Doctor slips his arms underneath of you and scoops you up.

He’s careful and particular as he tucks you in against his chest, making certain that he doesn’t agitate your injured ribs or jostle you too much as he stands up.  The state of you must very well stifle your own restraint, too, because the moment he has you settled into his arms you lean into him, tucking your head into the crook of his neck and resting that way.  The pair of you aren’t physically affectionate very often, after all, so it’s definitely to your surprise when he turns his head and presses his cheek to your forehead.

“You see? It’s better when you let me dote on you, isn’t it?” he says in a tone of voice that’s clearly playful.  You can hardly help but smile, absolutely smitten as you nod your head and bring one hand to rest upon his chest, just below the deep purple bowtie he’s taken to wearing recently.

“Yeah, yeah… I suppose,” you sigh, intentionally dramatic in both voice and attitude.  You hear (and feel) him laugh as he begins walking, around the console and up the stairs toward your bedroom.  

It’s not a lengthy trek, and you’re thankful; The Doctor’s stride is long and no matter how careful he is his steps jostle you just a little more than your aching ribs might have liked. Soon enough, he’s lying you down atop your bedsheets as gently as he can manage.  He takes a moment to brush your hair back from your eyes again once he has you situated, just the way he had done earlier, and your heart skips a beat (maybe two) at that.

“Now that that bit’s handled.,” he says, straightening both his jacket and his bowtie as he gets to his feet. “I’ll be back in a mo.  I might not be a proper medical doctor, but I do have a few things that can help.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to respond before he’s off, hurrying back down the stairs and (assumably) into one of the TARDIS’s many storage room to retrieve the items that he’d mentioned.   You snicker as you watch him go, quietly amused at the way that he seems so intent on playing nurse. You don’t mind it a bit  — you don’t think you could mind it if you tried.  The Doctor is always busy, both in body and in soul, and to be at the center of his attention is a gift in itself.  

It’s not thirty seconds after you’ve laid your head back against the pillows before he’s back, with a smile on his face and the aforementioned supplies in hand.

“Alright, The Doctor is in!” he announces, and the sheer cheesiness of it startles a laugh out of you (and by extension, a low, pained whine). He shoots you an apologetic look, then, shrugging his shoulders as he gets to his knees at your bedside once more.  “Sorry �� that joke never gets old, does it?  I don’t think so, at least.”

“No, I don’t think so, either,” you agree, and smile as he begins laying his makeshift first-aid supplies out across the nightstand at your bedside. You make your best effort to sprawl out a bit more while he does so; he can’t exactly tend to your injuries with you curled up as you’ve consistently been since the incident.  It takes an immense amount of concentration on your part not to wince or groan or tear up, but you manage it, and the next time you look at The Doctor, you find him watching you intently.

“I really, honestly can’t believe you sometimes, (Y/N),” he remarks, and you blink. “And that’s a bloody feat, isn’t it?  There’s not a lot of things left in the universe that surprise me.”

“I said I was sorry, didn’t I?” you argue without much fight, assuming that he’s still caught on you keeping this entire issue to yourself for such a long time.  You’d already accepted the fact that you had made a mistake, and you weren’t much up to hearing any more on the matter.

“No — I mean, yes, you did! And apology accepted,” he says hastily, shaking his head as he goes about nudging your tee-shirt out of the way as carefully as he can manage. “That’s not what I meant, though. I was just talking about you - generally, yes? Good.”

With that he turns his focus back on the supplies and picks out a particular-looking tube of something or other, and before you have the chance to ask what it is, he’s unscrewing the cap and gathering a fair amount onto his fingertips.  You wince, at first, when he takes the goopy something-or-other and begins applying it to the bruised bits of your skin, but it’s not even a few seconds later that all of the pain you’ve been dealing with begins to subside significantly. What had been an eleven or a twelve on your scale upon boarding the TARDIS rapidly drops to a nine, and then a seven, and then maybe a four.  

“Oh — alright?” you say, your voice soft and a bit high-pitched due to your surprise on both accounts.  “What’s—“

“Embulicaine — numbing agent.  Basically a lot like novocaine, but much, much stronger and a whole lot more effective,” he explains before you can finish asking.  You purse your lips and nod your head; you suppose you should probably have expected that an extraterrestrial first-aid kit would definitely contain a few things well beyond your Earth’s time.  

“Right,” you acknowledge him, watching with interest as he finishes up with the miraculous gel and trades it for what looks like a very large gauze pad,  which he proceeds lay across your ribcage.  He then gathers a wet washcloth to pat the thing down with, and to your surprise, it seems to adhere to your skin with that alone.  You shake your head a bit at that, smiling an awed smile as you admire both his work and the the supplies itself.  You look away a moment later, though, in favor of laying your head back into your pillows and closing your eyes.

You don’t expect him to elaborate upon what he had said earlier, not exactly — he’s not one to open up and be vulnerable at any capacity, and forcing it upon him usually doesn’t get you very far.  To your surprise, though, he rounds back on the subject of his own accord, a minute or so later.

“What I meant when I said I couldn’t believe you was — well. Just that. You’re human. So human. But you’re always going and acting like so much more — like no one I’ve ever met before, putting everything and everyone else before yourself,” he comments, and you have to fight the urge to open your eyes up wide and turn your startled gaze on him that second.  If there’s one thing you’ve learned in all your time with The Doctor, it’s that he can be a bit like a caged animal with his feelings, and if you rattle the bars, he’s likely to shy away or bite.  

“Oh, I don’t know,” you muse, opening your eyes and looking up at the ceiling for a brief moment. You close them again as you speak your next words, however, doing what you can to look and sound as noncommital as possible. “I think that sounds a little bit like someone else I know.”

You hear him scoff at that. The next thing you feel is his hands smoothing over the bandage as he finishes up applying it, followed moments later by a shock of cold that makes you suck a breath in through your teeth.  

“Well, you aren’t wrong, but that’s not the point,” he supplies, and it’s then that you turn your gaze back on him.  A smile plays on your lips as you watch him, no longer working, but instead looking intently down at the ice pack (the thing you assume is an ice pack, anyways) as he speaks. “You’re bloody strong, (Y/N), that’s what I’m saying.  And it well and truly shocks me all the time.”

A rosy color heats up your cheeks for the second time in an hour as you process his comment, and the intensity of it only grows as he looks your way and smiles an unusually vulnerable smile.

“And while I’m very much not in support of this hiding-potentially-life-threatening-injuries-from-The-Doctor idea, I’m also unbelievably proud of who and what you are,” he concludes, and to say that you were overcome with butterflies and gratitude and unabashed happiness in the moment would have been putting it incredibly lightly.

“Thanks, Doctor,” you say softly, and he nods his head, shying away once more in favor of gathering up his first aid supplies and dumping it all back into a pile on your nightstand.

Not much is said for a good few moments, but you don’t mind; it’s a good opportunity to take it all in — the day’s events, the overall state of you, The Doctor’s rare openness... it’s all quite overwhelming, as a whole, and a moment of quiet is exactly what you need.

And The Doctor seems to agree, because as soon as he has things sorted, he kicks off his shoes and rounds the bed.

“Right then,” he says as he rolls onto the mattress next to you. He shuffles up behind you, careful as ever as he cuddles right up with one long arm slung over your shoulders.

It’s a pleasant surprise, and you raise an eyebrow as you turn your head as well as you’re able to look at him.

“What’s all this?” you ask. “Not that I’m complaining. I’m definitely not complaining, but—“

“Next of The Doctor’s orders. Now hush,” he insists, and you snort.

“Alright, alright,” you muse, and settle in once more.

“As proud of it as I might be, all of your bravery scares the hell out of me sometimes,” he reasons, and you laugh softly.

“Fair enough,” you murmur.

It may be unusual of The Doctor be quite so clingy, but you’re not about to deny him.  And, well… it was doctor’s orders after all.

[giantmuschroom]

Poison me twice

Hello everybody! 

Let me introduce you to police force Got7 in roaring twenties (or such). With @thespadesinyourhearts​ and @smooshdelia​ we took same case and put our own spin on it. So enjoy three stories with different endings! Their stories will be out later on the day, so look forward to it! 

Edit - the stories are out! 

the red snake

Pick your poison

Dedicated to @prettywordsyouleft​ ...We love you <3

!!trigger warning, it has death and murder in it!!

She was rare beauty. That was the first thing Mark noticed, when he entered the room. She looked so delicate sitting on the chair in front of a full dinner table and across her, a dead body.  

“Lady Winston, I need you to move to the salon, please. We need to take care of your husband,” Jaebom said to her. She simply nodded and stood up.  

“Youngjae, go with Lady Winston and take her statement, please,” he instructed one of his subordinates. Youngjae extended his arm and she took it and they both exited the dining room.

“So, what do you think?” Jaebom asked Mark.  

“Well, he is dead,” he aswered and Jaebom chuckled.  

“No kidding, what else?”  

“For now, I can certainly say he was poisoned. But only further examination will give you the answers you seek.” He concluded his examination and began to pack his equipment.  

“I will take him to the morgue, you have job here to do,” he gestured to the two men standing at the door and they moved the body. Mark sent one last look to the open door of the salon, where Youngjae questioned the Lady. She was truly a beautiful one...and cruel. Murdering her own husband.  

“Jackson, iI need you to pack everything on the table. Make sure you get the glasses. Mark says it’s poison, so it will be in his drink or in food,” he Jaebom ordered the police officer who just entered the room.

“Did she do it?” he Jackson asked.  

“Well, that’s what we have to find out, right?” said Jaebom and finally entered the salon.  

                                                           ***

“Lady Winston, did you murdered your husband?” asked Jaebum and Youngjae gasped. She chuckled. It was the first emotion she showed since Youngjae took her to the salon. Youngjae knew Jaebom so well. Jaebom was sure, she was the killer. The chuckle just confirmed it for him.  

“I did not,” she denied. Her voice was just like her, soft and quiet.  

“What did you do then? Please, walk me through your day,” Jaebum said coldly. Youngjae got his notebook ready to take notes. She tilted her head and began.  

”I woke up, had breakfest, read a book, went shopping for new hat, got home, sewed a new handkerchief, took a walk in the garden, came back when it was time for dinner and then my husband died,” she ended her story.  

“You shopped at which seamstress?” Jaebom asked, ignoring the slightly sarcastic remark at the end.

“It’s called milliner, Superintendant. Madam Florence, on High Street. She makes the most beautiful bonnets,” she said and then it was Youngjae time to chuckled. This lady had some backbone.  

                                                                ***

“So what do we have?” Jaebom asked his team.  

“Lord Jonathan Winston III was piece of shi...” Yugyeom began, but Jaebom’s cold stare silenced him.

“But I'm right! He was rich as Midas, but paid his servants only minimal wage. One time a maid didn’t sweep dust from the fire place in a room that no one ever used and she got fired. He had a picky taste so he changed his cook six times in one month. Every time he fired someone, he didn’t give them a recommendation. He shouted at his wife and some maid said he event beat her,” that remark earned a few scoffs, ”So if she killed him, do we really have to jail her? I mean she did the world a good deed,” Yugyeom concluded.  

“Yugyeom, please,” Jaebom groaned.  

“His coach driver said he frequented one bar,” Jackson added,. “We have planned to visit the establishment tomorrow.”

“Fine. Mark? Do you know what kind of poison was used?” Jaebum asked the doctor.  

“Oh, that is interesting. He was indeed poisoned. No ordinary poison though. It was snake venom and before he finally died he must have been in agonizing pain,” Mark explained.  

“And she watched it? And didn’t call for help?” asked Jackson.  

“The glass had only his fingerprints, same as the cutlery and napkins,” said Jinyoung. It was his field of expertise.  

”She could have easily filled the glass with poison, wiped her fingerprints and gave it to him,” Jaebum said.

“We will end it for today. Jackson and Yugyeom will go to the bar tomorrow. Jinyoung will find what poisoned him and Youngjae will keep his eyes on Lady Winston,” Jaebum ordered.

                                                              ***

“Hello, officers. What can I do for you?” asked one of the dancers and waved a feather before Yugyeoms eyes. He slightly blushed because the lady had so little clothes on her.  

“We are looking for Bella,” Jackson said unbothered.  

“Oh, that little darling, she is not feeling very well right now. But she is in the dressing room in the back,” she gestured to the hallway.  

They found the dancer hunched over the marble sink. “Are you alright, miss?” asked Yugyeom concerned.  

“Who are you?” she aked and turned to them, quickly noted the uniforms.

“Officer Wang and Officer Kim. We are here to ask you about Lord Winston. He was murdered last night,” Jackson said.  

She screamed in horror. ”No! That can’t be true. Johnny...I saw him yesterday...we went shopping for engagement ring. He can’t be dead.”

“Miss Bella, Lord Winston was already married,” Jackson informed her. She looked at him with eyes full of tears.  

“It can’t be. He promised...” she collapsed on the chair behind her.  

“When was the last time you saw him?” Jackson continue question her.  

“He left me at five. Said he had work to do,” she answered.  

“Thank you for your cooperation, miss,” Jackson slightly bowed to her and then exited the room.  

“ I know that look. What do you think?” asked Yugyeom.  

“I think that the little dancer doesn’t tell the whole truth,” answered Jackson with a serious face.  

“But she was crying!”

“Oh, Yugyeom. You have so much to learn,” Jackson finally smiled.  

                                                           ***

“What are you looking at?”  

“Bambam, what are you doing here?”  

“Well everyone is here, so Ii figured there is something interesting,” he answered and began to look around.

“Lady Winston is here for questioning, Jaebom is still convinced that it was her. So everyone is here to oogle at her,“ said Yugyeom.  

“Oh, oohhh!” exclaimed when he laid eyes on the lady sitting behind Superintendant Im’s desk.  

“Do you think she did it?” he asked Yugyeom.  

“If she did, I would’t blame her. Her husband didn’t treat her right, had a lover and was an asshole,” Yugyeom said with a little too much passion.  

“Then thank God, you are only an investigator,” smiled Bambam at his friend,. “Now I will go and make the lovely lady some chamomille tea. She will need it.”

                                                       ***

Jaebom watched Lady Winston like a hawk.  

“Did you know you husband had a lover?” he fired. She didn’t flinch, she didn’t start crying, she just sat there looking into his eyes.  

“Which one?” she asked finally.  

“What do you mean?” he was suprised.  

“I meant which one did you find. The little milk maid from market? The expensive one? The one in sailors pub? The one in Ruby Lady? Should I continue?”

Jaebom was suprised. And he was rarely suprised. Certainly not when it comes to murder suspects.  

“The dancer one,” he said.  

“Oh, well in that case. I didn’t know,” answered Lady Winston.  

Jaebum stood up to find his composure. She was distracting him.  

“He was poisoned. It took a while before he died and you didn’t call for help, how come?”

“There was no one I could call. Johnathan sent everyone in to the kitchen, he wanted to tell me something and didn’t want witnesses. But before he had chance to speak he died,” she said firmly.  

“What did he want to say to you?”

“Maybe something about his new mistress? He loved to shove them in my face.”  

Jaebom sighed. He was so sure she is the killer. Poison is an elegant weapon often used by ladies. But every fact he built his theory on was shatered by her.  

“Lady Winston, can I interest you in cup of tea?” Bambam made his way to the desk.  

“That would be lovely, thank you,” she smiled at him and Jaebom swore that he heard a couple of sighs in the distance.  

                                                          ***

“She didn’t do it. She knew about the women. If she was angry, she could kill him long time ago,” said Jaebom. “Jinyoung, did you know how he injest the poison?”

“It was in the drink. Weird thing is, it was sherry,” Jinyoung wondered.  

“Why is that weird?” asked Youngjae.  

“How many men drink sherry?”  

“You got a point, Jinyoung. And there is this weird feeling I'm getting from the dancer. She was so suprised when we told her that he was dead, but she was acting suprised when we told her he was already married,” Jakson stated.  

“She coudn’t kill him. I asked around. The snake venom is really expensive. As a dancer she can’t earn that much.” Mark entered the debate.  

“She had wealthy lover,” Jaebom dismissed his remark.  

“Oh I can see it. ‘Honey, i need to buy some really expensive snake poison to kill you. Can you give me a hundred dollars’?’” said Bambam mockingly in high pitched voice.  

“What did you just say?” Everyone looked at Jaebom with wide eyes.

“Honey, can you give me a hundred dollars to buy a snake poison?” repeated Bambam, now in his normal voice.  

“Thats it!” Jaebom exclaimed and rushed somewhere.  

“It is?” asked Youngjae uncomprehendingly as others looked at him with similar expresions.  

                                                         ***

“Thank you all, for coming,” said Jaebom.  

“What am I doing here?” asked Lady Winston sternly and looked beside her.  

“You are here to find out who killed your husband and why,” Jaebom aswered her and noticed the uncomfortable shift of the dancer.  

“Well then, what is she doing here?”  

“She is here for the same reason. Let me introduce to you Miss Bella Ridley. She is you husband last lover,” he said.  

Lady Winston looked at the girl. She was pale, thin and obviously pregnant.  

“Indeed,”  Jaebum apllauded the cold appearance of Lady Winston. Lady for all occasions.  

“Please, Superintendant. Tell me your findings, I have an urgent matter to attend,” she said disinterestedly. 

Jaebom smiled. It was perfect. Lady Winston was stone cold and the little dancer boiled. This was the last straw.

“He didn’t want you!” Bella shrieked, “He was disgusted by you. You could’t have children. You were old and cold and boring! So he found me! I knew how to make him happy! I was his love!  It should be you! You bitch! You should have died!”  

Jaebom gestured to Jackson who cuffed the hysterical dancer and checked Lady Winston.  

“So he wanted to murder me,” she sighned. “You know, Superintendant. I should have figured. He wanted to drink sherry with me. Said he was interested in the taste,” she grinned ironically.  

“I’m sorry I suspected you,” said Jaebom.  

“Don’t worry, Superintendant. I was the logical choice, right?” she smiled at him and he finally understood those sighs.  

                                                          ***

“So he and the dancer planned to kill his wife,” concluded Bambam enthusiastically.  

“But he accidentally took the wrong glass and drank the poison himself,” added Yugyeom.  

“How dumb you must be to poison yourself?” asked Jackson.  

Jaebom smiled at his men but the moment was cut short by ringing telephone.  

“Guys? We have case in docks,” he called and ignored the groans.  

“Go on lads, I'll be here, waiting with coffee. It looks like another long night,” said Bambam.  

[yeoldontknow]

Meteorite

Author’s Note: HELLO!! WELCOME TO CHANVEMBER!! this is the second part of his Did You See? story. You do not need to read the others in the series to understand this, however you will have a nice time if you read the other members. Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (ox; female) Genre: fluff; romance; au Summary: While on a weekend getaway, Chanyeol wakes you up asking to show you something. Soon, you realize you have another reason to be awake. Rating: PG-13 Warnings: light swearing Word Count: 5,406

MYeol[1:49 AM]: baby MYeol[1:49 AM]: baby MYeol[1:49 AM]: hey MYeol[1:49 AM]: :( hey MYeol[1:50 AM]: wake up

It’s vibration of the phone against the nightstand, demanding and insistent, that wakes you up, pulling you slowly from sleep. Eyes tightly shut in a petulant act of defiance, you send a curious, needy hand across the mattress, seeking the comforting warmth of Chanyeol’s skin. Immediately, a deep set pout sets along your lips, brow furrowing at the lack. Beside you, the mattress is cold, unfamiliar, lacking the shape and indent of his body, and wholly unlike your bed at home. You resist the urge to whine, bewildered and confused, wondering how the loss of his arm around your waist did not wake you first. Wrapping yourself tightly in the blankets, you sigh into the pillow, knowing nothing holds you quite as strongly as he.

MYeol[1:50 AM]: countess! MYeol[1:50 AM]: love MYeol[1:50 AM]: sunshine :( MYeol[1:51 AM]: countess wake up

Again, the phone vibrates, a loud and penetrating noise that seems to echo throughout the quiet room. Rolling onto your back, you open your eyes and stare at the ceiling, gritting your teeth. Waiting for your eyes to adjust, it takes work to ignore the unfamiliarity of the room, and the way the darkness seems to press against your bones. The furniture assumes irregular, impossible shapes, objects that are not yours but surround you just the same, looming over you as though they demand your care and attention. Without Chanyeol’s calm and even breath against your hair and neck, you find every space he does not occupy uncomfortable and unnecessary.

It’s late, too late, for someone to be texting you. It is late and everyone knows you spent most of the day driving to the cabin, getting away from the chaos of life and the noise and the responsibilities that often make you feel far from Chanyeol. Everyone knows, and therefore no one should be talking to you, and, yet, your phone continues to ring.

With a high pitched noise of annoyance, you stomach the anger and reach for your phone, assuming it could likely be an emergency. As soon as you see the sender, you settle slightly but roll your eyes with a huff.

Y/N[1:51 AM]: literally what the fuck MYeol[1:51 AM]: MY ENTIRE HEART !!!! MYeol[1:52 AM]: there she is!

A smile pulls at your cheeks as you struggle to see the screen, squinting beneath the cast of brightness. Always, he has an endless list of affectionate terms for you, reflecting the intensity of his endearment to you by the extravagant expression of his language. Each one is different from the last, sometimes in different languages, and all declaring his limitless devotion to you. His words make you feel important, treasured, needed. Never in your life have you ever felt so incomprehensibly wanted.

Y/N[1:52 AM]: why arent you sleeping Y/N[1:53 AM]: why arent you letting ME sleep MYeol[1:53 AM]: come out to the terrace baby Y/N[1:54 AM]: what why? MYeol[1:55 AM]: because that’s where i am! Y/N[1:55 AM]: ...is it emergent that i be there Y/N[1:55 AM]: as opposed to being here Y/N[1:56 AM]: warm Y/N[1:56 AM]: cozy MYeol[1:56 AM]: youre always warm baby MYeol[1:56 AM]: and yes its important! Y/N[1:57 AM]: important like the time you woke me up at 5 in the morning to tell me you loved me?

This happened once - although, now you smile at the knowledge that’s not entirely true. It has happened many times, he does this often, but always you recall the first time, the most pure and sacred.

The sun had not yet fully broken over the horizon, smears of red and gold tainting the shadows of the clouds as Chanyeol whispered softly at your ear. Each word was punctuated with a light kiss until you woke up, bleary eyed and confused, regarding him patiently as worry started to bloom in the tips of your fingers.

When you asked what was wrong, he simply stroked his thumb along the length of your cheek, inching closer along the pillow until his forehead met yours. Against your lips and moving his hand down your neck and breasts to grip your hip, he simply said ‘I’m so in love with you,’ voice small and sounding a little lost. You leaned up to kiss him, sucking his bottom lip between yours and relishing the way his moan cascaded down your throat, content and consumed by love like a solar flare.

You think about this moment a lot - about the way he said it, the way he looked at you; the way it felt like the most important thing he had ever said in his life; the way his eyes lit up when you said it back and the way he looked deep into your soul, seeking other parts of you he had yet to touch, as though there were any at all.

The way you said it back and wanted to stay awake with him, saying it over and over and over.

MYeol[1:57 AM]: hey :( MYeol[1:57 AM]: that was the most important MYeol[1:57 AM]: like the MOST important Y/N[1:58 AM]: i know *happy smile face INSERT* Y/N[1:58 AM]: but if thats what this is about id rather you come back here and do it again MYeol[1:59 AM]: TEMPTING Y/N[1:59 AM]: do it Y/N[1:59 AM]: i want you to touch me MYeol[1:59 AM]: countess MYeol[2:00 AM]: i always want to touch you MYeol[2:00 AM]: but thats not what this is about Y/N[2:00 AM]: what is it then? MYeol[2:00 AM]: just come out here baby Y/N[2:01 AM]: ugh Y/N[2:01 AM]: youre killing me smalls MYeol[2:02 AM] - Message sent with Shooting Star: hurry <3

A gust of wind hits your chest as you push open the door to the terrace, enough to make you wrap yourself tighter in the flannel blanket, shivering. Your motions are awkward, body still stiff and aching from the long drive and skin still tingling from the leather of the rental mercedes. Leaning against the doorframe, you study Chanyeol as he sits among a pile of blankets and pillows. On his knees, he toys with a long, white telescope, the shade matching the puffy jacket bundled around him. Something about the coat makes him appear small, dwarfed either by the size and strength of the interior feathers or by the silver light of the moon. Like this, he appears ethereal, a reverent thing that pulls a hum of adoration from your chest.

Interrupted by the accidental noise of you, he immediately turns to face you, cocking his head to the side to take you in. For a few seconds, he regards you, suddenly at peace as he lets your gaze settle deep beneath his skin. Rising to a stand, he moves towards you quickly, long strides bringing him to you with his hands extended, eager for the feel of you against his palms. As soon as he reaches you, he snakes his hands beneath the blanket, pulling you to him, desperate to hold you and comfort himself with the taste of you. Wrapping one strong arm around your waist, he splays his hand across your back as he kisses you, slow and passionate, languidly matching the movement of your lips against his.

He takes his time kissing you, like always. Like he’s careful, like this contact matters - like he’s still awed by the very flavour of you. You respond in kind, melting into the strength of his chest, slightly overcome and helpless.

This kind of intensity, you think, is normal for the both of you. You think you’d starve if it was not this way.

He hesitates before pulling away, rising to his full height to rest his nose in the crown of your head, taking in a long inhale. With the blanket pinned between your bodies, you slip your hands beneath his jacket, fisting in the cotton of his thermal. Tension in your spine and shoulders eases as though soothed simply by his touch, eyes feeling heavy once more as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck. You could quite easily fall asleep like this, standing up and pressed against his heartbeat, silent and serene. Your breathing slows, as if in agreement, and you hear him chuckle above you, knowing.

Neither of you sleeps well when you are apart, the last moments of your sleep, neither restorative nor truly restful.

He steps back with a hum, smoothing out your pout with his thumb and smiling when you kiss the pad of his finger, a mindless action that makes a flush rise beneath his cheeks.

‘Did you make me come out here just to kiss?’ you yawn, voice thick with exhaustion.

Chanyeol shakes his head, eyes fixed on yours in delight. ‘Nope, although I’ll admit that’s a bonus.’

Taking your hand, he leads you to the blanket, and you find you are distracted by the sensation of his palm against yours. His fingers press tightly into the grooves between your knuckles, guarding you and keeping you by his side. As you approach the blankets, you see he’s made a small fort, a smattering of electric candles lining the edge of the terrace. A bag of marshmallows and one bar of chocolate sit on the blanket, makeshift s’mores, without a fire, ready to be made should you want them.

‘When did you set all this up?’ you ask, disbelieving as you regard the soft cushions before looking up at him with wide eyes.

‘While you were sleeping,’ he says softly, so as not to disturb the night. ‘Obviously,’ he adds, teasing.

Rolling your eyes you, grin. ‘Be nice,’ you whine softly, though your affection for him taints the effectiveness. ‘I’m still groggy. I didn’t even know you packed a telescope.’

At this he nods, stepping onto the blanket to settle on a cushion, pulling you down with him as he rubs circles into your knuckles. ‘I came up here a week ago and brought it. I wanted this to be a surprise.’

‘Well,’ you begin, getting comfortable and pushing your seat closer to his side. ‘I’m certainly surprised.’

Chanyeol opens the side of his jacket, welcoming you to his side and tucking you beneath his arm. For a long while, you both remain silent - you admiring his profile while he admires the sky. His eyes scan the vastness, seeking something in the dark, something beyond your understanding and comprehension, so instead you focus on the way heaven seems to play with his eyelids. The moonlight illuminates him, makes him glow and burn, the embers of something extraordinary tucked into the corners of his lips, a secret for you to discover and to taste.

Like this, you think you don’t really need speech or words or very much at all. All you need is his warmth and the night, the mysteries of them both fascination enough for a lifetime.

‘What are we observing tonight.’ You whisper the question into his shoulder, eyes catching the way he twirls his phone within his hand.

Turning to face you, he smiles somewhat sheepishly, boyish and bashful. ‘There’s a meteor shower tonight. We should be north enough to see it.’ Facing the sky once more, he suddenly appears distant and thoughtful. ‘Hopefully the sky stays clear.’

Smirking, you narrow your eyes. ‘Is that why you wanted to rent a cabin this weekend?’

‘Partly,’ he admits, glancing down into his lap. ‘Mostly because this lake is special.’ Facing you once more, he softens, biting his lip as you piece together what he’s trying to say. ‘I couldn’t get cabin eighteen though.’

Years ago, back when things with Evan were over but still raw, when Chanyeol spent his nights holding you without kissing you, the lake house was where you first realized you might want or need him beyond comfort or healing. That whole weekend, in cabin eighteen, you had viewed him as the sun, something you felt and anticipated before you really saw him, before he had even entered the room. He was loud and he was playful, a bright and wild thing that somehow put hope behind your heart and taught you how to breathe.

When he called you down to the dock at midnight on the last night of your stay, you put your feet in the still water and sat beside him, the centimeters between your bodies feeling like miles. He asked how you were feeling, and it took you several seconds to realize he was asking about Evan and not how you felt about him. You’d forgotten Evan that whole week, forgotten that there was anyone other than Chanyeol, and so you lied.

You said you were moving on, not that you’d finally learned to let him go. You said it still hurt, which was true, but it was not Evan that made you hurt. The joints within your fingers and arms had learned how to ache for Chanyeol, somehow over the course of seven days he had taught your body to yearn - to yearn deeply and to yearn desperately - and you did not think it was possible to crave this intensely. You said you were learning to breathe, which was true, but only because you were learning how to breathe around him, rather than breathe through a person.

You said you wanted him to stay with you, and that was the only whole truth you offered him, the only truth you fully meant.

‘I miss that dock,’ you mutter absentmindedly through your remembrance.

Leaning forward to press his forehead against yours, he closes his eyes and hums. ‘Me too.’

From the corner of your eye, light blooms.

It happens so quickly for a moment you think you may have imagined it, that simply looking at Chanyeol so closely has made your eyes begin to hurt, specks of light starting to form in your irises. But it happens again, and again, and when you turn to the sky you see quick bursts of light, erupting from the vast expanse of night, leaving streaks that fade as quickly as they appeared.

‘Chan, look!’

He pulls away from you, eyes wide and alight with excitement. Pulling the telescope closer, he leans forward to the lens and releases a laugh. Through the night, it echoes, the sound of his voice leaving scars among the clouds and making your hands clench in an effort to remain in your lap. You’re full of him, full of him and brimming over, unsure of where else in your heart to make space for him.

‘Look through here,’ he says, moving to the side to give you room.

Angling yourself to look through the lens, you see the moon. The moon and all its craters, the holes in its surface made by time and catastrophe, rendering it into something magnificent. You see the stars as the shoot across the sky, falling and burning and dying, rapturous as they do so.

As you watch impossible things learn to die, you remember the way impossible things come alive, the memory of gold and green behind the plane window stirring in your heart. He woke you to see something extraordinary, just as he has done tonight, choosing to share with you the most holy of experiences. And he was dazzling then, just as he is now, looking at you and the sky and back again as though it is you who holds all the secrets of the universe.

As though you are just as special.

‘This is the biggest exhibition,’ he says, interrupting your thoughts.

Pulling away from the telescope, you regard him quizzically before he continues.

‘The entirety of the universe is a museum.’ For a few moments, he watches the stars move across the sky, leaving and leaving, before looking at you, too excited for this hour of the night. ‘Do you ever think about that?’

Cocking your head to the side, you urge him onward. ‘Think about what?’

Reaching a delicate hand for the telescope, he leans forward, studious and bright. ‘Humanity has been looking up at the sky since the dawn of time, trying to rationalize that we’re small, we’re so small.’ He smiles at nothing and no one, pleased with the mere thought of existence, bearing witness to the extravagance of the world. ‘The sky is a history of touches and gazes, of eyes trying to touch greatness. The sky watches us too, becoming a history of life itself. Aren’t we so lucky we get to see it? And live it?’

Seemingly overcome, you lean forward, running your hand through the thickness of his hair. ‘You’re deep tonight,’ you offer, though it’s not entirely out of character. He’s usually like this with you because you allow him to be.

Chanyeol pulls back from the lens once more, nuzzling into your touch with a small noise of happiness. ‘I’m just excited to share this, I guess.’

‘Don’t hold back for me, please.’ Moving your hand forward to run your thumb along the shell of his ear, down along his cheeks, you take a deep inhale, smelling his cologne on the wind. ‘Never hold back,’ you tell him, somewhat breathless.

Back before he was yours, before he was yours to touch and to kiss and to hold, you had things to say and to teach, far too many things living behind your teeth. They were disorganized thoughts, words and words brought forward to your tongue simply because you loved him and did not know to live between the silence. In France, you gave him a church; in Italy, you gave him art, both times scared that you would give yourself away if the world around you was not filled. Now that he is yours, you bite your tongue, willingly holding back and gladdened that he speaks, exposing the inner-workings of his mind.

Even before he had kissed you, you knew he was brilliant, wise beyond his years and thoughtful, thinking through and between the world to learn and master it. You knew he was brilliant but you never knew how much he refused to give, holding himself hostage in the fear of saying too much.

At this, you laugh, knowing that you were very much the same, opposite halves of the same whole.

‘Everyone prays to God in different names, or in different words,’ he continues, speaking to the moon. ‘In Switzerland, seeing a meteor meant witnessing the power of God. In ancient Greece, they started praying to the stars, too. They were venerated objects, one even held a place at Apollo’s temple in Delphi.’

‘The myth of Cronos,’ you nod, remembering the story.

At this, he turns back to you, leaning into your touch and searching your face for more of your untold truths. ‘The story of how the Earth will outlive man.’

‘How do you pray?’

You aren’t sure why you ask the question, or why it even enters your mind, but you ask him, voice small and thin, hoping for more to learn.

Chanyeol takes his time answering you, pushing between the words and the meaning, falling down and through to your heart. He reaches up to hold your hand, pulling it down to rest in his lap, suddenly serious and suddenly pious.

‘By kissing you.’

He’s earnest as he says it, meaning every word, but something about it feels so impossible you cannot help but laugh. Immediately you blush, leaning forward to hold both his hands in reassurance that you do not mean to be cruel.

‘Fuck off,’ you giggle softly. ‘That’s both too smooth and not smooth at all.’

He nods, laughing at himself as he stares at your entwined hands. ‘I’m ashamed of me for saying it, don’t worry.’

‘Hey,’ you whisper, wiggling slightly to catch his attention.

When he looks at you, your heart breaks, or maybe it builds, restructuring itself to match a nebula that belongs to him alone. He is your cosmos, you think, whole universes living and dying in the cauldron of your heart, made cosmic and interstellar simply because he loves you.

‘Kiss me,’ you ask, though you do not phrase it as a question, knowing that you don’t need to.

Laughing, he releases both of your hands, lifting his own to cup your cheeks. A moment of hesitation follows, a moment in which you lean forward only slightly, exhaling into the air as your rest your hands on his thighs. A moment in which he smiles and smiles, having his fill of you until his blood burns hot and his tongue begs to kiss himself clean.

‘Kiss me,’ you ask again, voice coming as a soft breath though your desperation is palpable.

This time, he does not hesitate, pressing his lips to yours with a greed that makes your fingers dig into the flannel of his bottoms. He groans into your open mouth, sucking at your lips before gently pressing his tongue to yours, a greeting and a request for access to the cavern of your waiting heart. Slowly, as though careful with your own touch, your hands glide along his thighs, up to his sides, letting yourself kiss and be kissed while your palms make vows along the hem of his thermal.

He, you think, is your venerated object, a thing of holiness you wish to hold and cherish until the last of your ashes bleed across the earth. You pray by loving him, by kissing promises against his tongue and lips, signing them away with each beat of your heart. Beneath his clothes, his skin becomes the paper of a book you’ve already taken to memorizing, nails tracing the waistband of his pants and knowing exactly where to touch him first.

He pulls away from you then, letting his parted lips linger just beyond yours, breath coming in a hiss.

Opening your eyes slightly to see the way his eyelashes splay against his cheeks, you smile. ‘Sorry my hands are cold, baby.’

‘It’s ok,’ he breathes, struggling to even out the rhythm of his heart. ‘We can go back inside.’

Steadying himself, he drops his hands to hold yours, lifting them from his sides and putting them together, rubbing them to give them heat. He blinks several times, clearing the fog of lust inside his head. Glancing down between his legs, the lift of his pants is obvious, his semi-hard state giving him away. ‘I’m just glad we saw this.’

‘What about the s’mores?’ you pout, nodding towards the marshmallows.

‘We can take them inside,’ he smirks. ‘Eat them in bed.’

‘Want me to make cocoa?’

He nods, sighing. ‘Not what I had in mind, but yeah, let me help you.’

Chanyeol comes to a stand, smiling up at the sky once more before reaching down to take your hands and pull you upwards. Quickly, he presses a kiss to your nose before moving to clean the blanket.

‘Leave this set up.’ Gently, you place a hand on his shoulder, stopping his motions. ‘I want to do it again tomorrow night. Show me the stars.’

A devilish smirk pulls at his lips as he comes to a stand once more. ‘I can show you some stars right now.’ To prove his point, he waggles his eyebrows, and you cannot help but laugh.

Shaking your head, you move toward the door. ‘Come on, Ricco Suave.’

As you make your way into the kitchen, it strikes you how familiar you are with the space, as though you have lived there before, as though this space somehow belongs to you. Chanyeol fits into the house in a way that makes you long for a shared home, to see him move through your own place with a permanence that lasts beyond a night or a week. As you reach for two mugs, you watch instead, thinking on how he has part ownership of your home and how you think it was his, really, before you even moved in.

You want him to stay, you know, you always wanted him to stay. Now, as you fill a pan with some milk you think it may be time to ask.

Stirring the milk as it heats, you feel Chanyeol come behind you, arms wrapping around your waist to hold you against his chest.

‘Let me do it,’ he says into your neck before pressing a chaste kiss to the tendon. ‘I woke you. You’re tired. I don’t want you to get burned.’

Eyes fluttering closed, you hum, relishing the way his affection sends electricity down your skin and raising goosebumps along the flesh. ‘I’m awake now.’

‘Okay,’ he complies, squeezing you a little tighter, ‘but I want to make it for you.’

Turning in his arms, you fix him with a playful, teasing stare. ‘Well, say that. I’ll put some music on instead.’

Slipping out of his grip, you hear him release a small whine as you make your way into the living room. The record player was an additional surprise that came with the cabin, neither included in cabin eighteen nor mentioned in any of the details on the Air BnB ads. Chanyeol had clapped his hands with delight when he saw it, said it suited you and this trip and called it romantic. Carefully he ran his fingers over the plastic cover, stroking the object as though it were something sacred, but you merely said that it was the record collection that really mattered.

The needle matters, the turntable matters, but the most important thing, to you, is that music that gets chosen. Now, as you bend to see the shelf below the turntable, you know you needn’t have worried. It takes you no time at all to find a record that suits your mood, heart almost clenching at the sight of the album. It’s one of your favourites, one that often reminds you of Chanyeol, and you’re glad you get to hear it now, its notes rising into the atmosphere like smoke.

As the record begins to play, you hear Chanyeol release a noise of pleasure from the kitchen, your own body starting to sway. From where you stand in the living room, the open floor plan allows him to watch you, his hand languidly twirling the milk as his eyes traverse the landscape of your body. His gaze is heated, and you feel a flush begin to spread across your chest as though controlled by his gaze alone. So too do you watch him, the way the music settles over his shoulders, softening his features as it plays.

Months in and every time you look at him, your breath falters. It happened often, for years it has been happening, but you assumed it was because it hurt - looking at him hurt. It hurt to see him and know that you could not touch him, not the way you wanted to. It hurt to see his his hands, and know they were not yours to hold. It hurt to see the sun as it played with his skin, knowing that both things were ephemeral, easily lost as soon as you turned away from it.

Now, your breath stops because he is yours, and because you know how it feels to hold him. You know how it feels to kiss him and to hear him sigh in pleasure. You know how it feels to count his breath and know that it is even because he can feel you. Now, you know that devotion hurts just as much as loss, even if they are often mutually exclusive.

Part of you wonders if it will always be this way, if the nerves along your synapses will always ache wherever, and whenever he is not, pained without the gentle caress of his soul to ease them. You wonder, but, inherently you know the answer is a resounding, irrevocable yes.

Chanyeol turns off the stove as if overcome, the click of the knob making the blood in your veins turn to fire. In only a few strides he reaches you, hands moving up your hips as you dance.

‘Dance with me,’ you breathe, leaning up on your toes to capture his lips in a slow, languid kiss.

Dropping your blanket to the floor, your own hands walk up the length of his spine, letting yourself be held against the strength of his chest. It’s intuitive, the way he guides you and the way you follow him, as though it’s the only natural choice your body knows how to make. The beat of his heart becomes your metronome, his voice has he hums along with the song a wave of longing that crashes down and into your muscles, making you hold onto him a little tighter for fear of capsizing.

Moving with him, you nestle into his neck, once more taking in his scent. It’s your comfort and your aromatherapy, the musky notes in the cinnamon that gets carried on his skin. At night and in dreams, when you cannot smell him, you find you are anxious, wrought with a tension that feels like iron within your bones. When you awake without him, the world becomes blurry and this becomes your perception of the world - a blurry and faded things, a thing not worth seeing, as if you have never seen clearly at all.

It’s difficult, you think, to rationalize who you are now, with Chanyeol, alongside the person you were with Evan, the person you have always known yourself to be. You are not a needy person. You have never desired, for any extended period of time, a body beside yours in bed, finding that you are selfish with the sheets and prefer not to be touched, not even accidentally, in the night. With Chanyeol, it is as if you were never this person at all, lost and lonely when he is not there to hold you, anxious when he does not touch you, and bored of the world when he is not in it.

And is these things, these impossible things, rather than rational thought that move you to speak.

‘Do you want to move in with me?’

You say the words against his chest, into his clothes, asking his thermal rather than him. Even in the aftermath, you don’t know why you said them so soon, without having talked it over or mentioning it before. You did not use the word together, did not approach this as a topic to be discussed over time - you phrased it as a question, a question of need and want, and you almost feel a twinge of regret at your presumptuousness.

Chanyeol stops moving, tilting his head downward so that his chin touches your hair. ‘What?’

Now that you have said the words, you think there is no reason for you to backtrack. You meant them, meant every word of them, and so you stomach the nerves and step out of his hold to regard him with pride. ‘I’m tired of letting you go in the morning...or at the end of a week,’ you say, searching his face for any sign of upset. ‘I’m tired of letting you go.’

For several moments, Chanyeol keeps quiet. Hips lips move as though trying to speak, though no sound emerges. This silent feels as though it lasts the length of an hour, an hour tainted with pain and heartbreak, and you find yourself ready to wave your hands and forget the conversation, ready to be held against his chest once more, even if the hold would not last.

But he reaches you first, twines your hands together and runs his nose along your cheek as though he were asking God to welcome him home.

‘I hate leaving you,’ he whispers as his lips reach your ear. ‘I am so tired of leaving.’

‘So don’t,’ you murmur, angling your head to kiss him once more, glad that, now, you will never have to stop.

[xraytwo]

Another long(er) read, indulge me.

Why I Still Miss Donna Summer

It's been a little under five months since I underwent my "Donna Summer Renaissance". With the passage of time, this seems a good place to look back. Want to flesh out some thoughts and feelings on why I like her music and why I find her kind, warm, funny and genuine. For some context, here is the original article.  I'll wait, lol.

https://xraytwo.tumblr.com/post/189593217823/how-i-learned-to-miss-donna-summer

During December (and the following months), have had the chance to listen to a lot of her music. Still haven't listened to everything but enough to glean some favorites. Have also listened to a handful of albums on Youtube.

Here are my Personal Top 5 Donna songs. Interpretations are mine, unless otherwise noted:

1) MacArthur Park (from "Live and More") – Written by Jimmy Webb in 1967. Was originally recorded by actor Richard Harris in 1968. His version is ok. There were some other versions from the early 70's, including one, I think, from Frank Sinatra. The song is melodramatic with some oddball and out of left field lyrics. Well, it was the 60's. It's an ode to 'romantic resilience ' (I read that somewhere but it seems a good interpretation). The music is absolutely great. Something about the beginning of this song. Those opening piano chords get me every time. Then Donna starts singing. Goosebumps. She is perfect throughout the whole thing, making great choices on how and where to change things up for the best effect. She makes you care about about a cake thats been left out in the rain, lol (the metaphor of neglecting a love or relationship). This song is a great showcase of her range, power and emotive quality. I would say her version is the definitive one. Hard to imagine anyone else singing it as well as she does. There are some other good versions out there, but nobody can touch her. She owns this song. It is excellent live.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GWFHVBnR7G0

or

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RkihKdznWwo

2) I Feel Love (from "I Remember Yesterday") – This one is THE iconic Donna Summer song, in my opinion. It was years ahead of it's time and still sounds modern today. From what I read about it, the creation process was one happy accident after another, so the pieces kind of fell into place. It is from a concept album where each song is in the style of a different time period of the 20th Century, going from the past, to today (the 70's), to the future. I Feel Love is the future, and boy was it. The music is basically all a Moog Modular synthesizer. Donna's vocals, all I can say is, just Wow. Trancelike, emotive, Otherwordly. There's not much more that can be said. Again, perfect choices. It's hard to imagine anyone other than her singing it. Sam Smith gave it a shot, but it's not the same. Something about the quality of her voice. It's just perfect. The whole song is a stereophonic trip, with the vocals taking you on a ride to the future. Donna cowrote some of the lyrics. This one gets my pulse pounding and always a delight to listen. Live doesn't seem to quite match the studio but her voice is great. The performance where she sings with an orchestra, is to die for (Night at the Proms 2005). Unfortunately, that version is short.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nm-ISatLDG0

3) Cold Love (from "The Wanderer") – Donna ROCKS. After her Disco era, she wanted to change musical direction (something that had really started with the "Bad Girls" album), going to a more New Wave/Rock sound. Here we have driving guitars, a great hook and again, great vocals that serve the song. I remember hearing this back in 1980 (or so) and being absolutely shocked it was Donna Summer. I also remember absolutely loving it. Only heard it a handful of times back then and tracked it on the Top 40 Countdowns. It got to about #30 or so before sliding off the charts. So, I completely forgot about it until stumbling back upon in December. It kick started memories. One memory of being in a car on a class trip and hearing it come on, and was toe tapping to it. But about halfway through the song, went out of range of the station. Then I was bummed. It's not AC/DC or Led Zeppelin, but it cooks. It's a great little song and in a style I wish she would have done more of. She definitely had the vocal chops for it (I think she actually considered herself a Pop and Rock singer. Her first pro gig was in a Blues Rock band). She was a vocal chameleon and really could sing any modern contemporary style she wanted. This one is proof.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a0pVV1pSDM8

4) State of Independence (from "Donna Summer") – A song originally written by Jon Anderson (of Yes) and Vangelis (of .. well ... Vangelis). It seems to have a slight reggae feel and New Age style lyrics. It is an uplifting number. Again, her voice is just perfect for the song. It slowly builds up over its runtime, adding different layers of instruments along the way that just keep growing. Her voice keeps up with it, never flinching.  In a way, this song is tailor made for her Christian faith. There is a live version (from "A Hot Summer Night with Donna") where she closes the show with it. Her daughter guests sings, starting some of the first verse, before Donna joins her. As the song nears it's end, she adds in the verse from John 3:16 (For God so loved the world .... ). And that drives the point home. To me, that shows what this song really means to her. It is an affirmation of faith. The live versions are great.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_XH9BY-u6jw&list=OLAK5uy_khuyER8zJfzTfLfzycfhle6IZL_xL6YoE&index=5&t=0s

5) There Will Always Be a You (from "Bad Girls") / Sand On My Feet (from "Crayons") - Yes, I know this makes six songs in my top five. Sorry, Common Core math. I don't think Donna gets enough credit for how well she does ballads. Granted most of her songs are upbeat danceable numbers. But her ballads are in another realm. First "There Will Always Be a You". I have to start by saying, this song utterly DESTROYS me. She wrote everything here, music and lyrics. It originates from the aftermath of a bad argument with her then boyfriend (and future husband). Afterwards, she went to a piano and it all just came out. Starts with a haunting, vocal melody, no words, she's just singing notes. Then the piano comes in and plays the same notes. Pitch perfect. She is saying, we may have our ups and downs but you will forever be the love of my life, regardless of what happens, or how bad things get. The music to this song, beautiful, gorgeous and sweet. The producers really did her justice on this one. In an interview, she was asked which of the songs, she had written, was her favorite. This was it. You can tell this song is her baby. I think it is one of, if not the most emotive and heartfelt singing performances she gives on a recording. Haven't found a live version. Some lyrics from the song

"After rainy, stormy weather |

I am yours and you are mine |

Till the stars fall from my eyes |

There will always be a you".

They work better with the music rather than reading them obviously. If you haven't heard this before give it a listen. You can thank me later. This ... song ... utterly ... DESTROYS me.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DBHnPHztmJI&list=OLAK5uy_nOCptCWRNZw_Nfh3lcXx_JCYWLKy-c5Bc&index=11&t=0s

And now "Sand on My Feet", from her last studio album. Let me start by saying, this song utterly DESTROYS me. It's one she cowrote. A very simple production. I think this is on purpose, to be just a song with a simple message. It's a love letter to her husband. This one is acoustic guitar based and it also has lovely music as well. Some context, in the live version she gives some background on the writing. This song was written at her beach home in Florida (this is important for later) and is pretty much the setting. The live version is great by the way. She sings of their life together, that she will love him where ever they are. She is happy to simply be in their home, by the beach (just to be), with him. Beautiful. Sometimes the simple things in life are the most important. She really didn't get enough credit for how good a songwriter she was. The Chorus:

"And it feels like love, and it feels so good | I wanna feel like the roarin' thunder | Wanna be the heaven that your sky is under | Oh, I say, you say, oh (It's like love) | All that I need, baby it's true | The sand on my feet and you"

You really need to hear how she weaves her vocals around those lines. Beautiful. Listen to it. You can thank me later.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kxNszejp99g

live

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K1Cm3klIpKo

Also, here are the last set of lyrics from the song:

"How many lovers | Have walked along the shore before | Before you and I | How many said goodbye"

That last line. There is tragic irony to it. Remember the song was written in her beach home. Donna passed on May 17, 2012, at her beach home in Florida. The same one she wrote this song in. The irony of that last line, in the place she had love for and from her family, where she wrote this beautiful song, on or near the beach. In all likelihood this is home she said goodbye to them. This ... song ... utterly ... DESTROYS me. I adore both of them. Two songs, thirty years apart. One from her peak and the other near the end. Wow ... just Wow. No words.

She has a lot of good songs. I do like a lot of her classics but also some of the lesser known ones. I haven't heard all of her catalog but do have some 'honorable mentions' from the ones I have. "Love to Love You Baby", "Could It Be Magic", "Winter Melody", "I Remember Yesterday", "Breakdown", "I Believe in Jesus", "This Time I Know It's For Real", "When Love Takes Over You" (a fun and cute video), "Heaven's Just a Whisper Away", "Friends Unknown" (a love letter to her fans), "Stamp Your Feet", "The Queen is Back" and "Be Myself Again" (another great ballad). Know it's a lot of honorable mentions and have still forgotten a few.

How the Hell did I miss this for forty plus years???

From my earlier article (see link above if you haven't already) I thought she was the kind of person that would make a really good friend. I found some anecdotal stories from people, randomly running into her at Other Places and Times (sorry, couldn't resist). They are mostly from comments following videos or articles. Just people describing their encounters. I'm telling them from memory as these stories would be hard to dig back up. Some details may be fuzzy but the events are essentially correct.

Story Number 1: A guy is getting on an airline. While entering, he notices a pretty woman sitting in the seat beside his. He takes his seat. Sometime after takeoff. He starts to realize who she may be. They actually start up a conversation, just chit chatting. He asks her where she is going. Her reply, "Going to Miami to see my friend KC."  Anyone from the 70's or early 80's, knows who KC in Miami is. So, now for sure he knows who she is and they continue to talk during the flight. At the end, she gives him some contact info and says, "If your ever in New York, give us a call". Don't know if the Passenger ever did.

Story Number 2: A handicapped person is getting out of his car and into a wheelchair. Apparently, he is having some difficulty and drops his briefcase and items scatter. He soon hears a large SUV type vehicle drive up and hears a woman's voice say, "Do you need help?"  He says he does. When she gets out of the vehicle, he realizes who it is. She helps him gather his things and then gets in the vehicle and drives off as quickly as she arrived.

Story Number 3: A person is walking down the street in a large city.. He hears some music coming from a warehouse and there is a small crowd in front of it, looking inside. Curious he goes over to see whats going on. It is Donna Summer and her band rehearsing a performance for a talk show later in the day. It's supposed to be a closed set. When the song is finished, the small audience claps. Hearing the fanfare, she turns around, see's the small group and bows to them.

Story Number 4: Not an individual story but a concert one. It is the beginning of one of her later tours. Near the start of a show she tells the audience it has been a while and she is nervous. To which someone in the crowd yells, "We love you Donna!!". She smiles and replies to the audience, "Tonight I am all yours." She relaxes and puts on a great show. Her fans LOVED her, and she LOVED her fans (see the song "Friends Unknown").

These anecdotal stories tell me something about the kind of person she was. She could have just ignored a random stranger on a plane, or kept driving past someone in need of help, or gotten snitty with people who were looking in on a closed rehearsal, or not had the respect for her fans to tell them she was afraid of letting them down. A Really .. Good .. Friend.

Stories like these, her music and her kindness .. warmth .. humor and genuineness are Why I Still Miss Donna Summer.

Over the last month and a half, actually engaged in a couple of Donna Summer related activities. At the beginning of March, got the chance to see the touring company for "Summer: The Donna Summer Musical". There were some cheap nosebleed seats available. Fortunately, DPAC doesn't seem to really have any bad seats. So the view of the stage was pretty good, allbeit further away. I had never been to a live musical before, so it was an experience. As for the show itself, the three ladies portraying Donna did a very good job with the songs. They aren't Donna Summer (there are very few singers who are in that ballpark) but they were quite good. Interestingly, "On the Radio" received the largest audience response that night. I almost got a little misty eyed at "Friends Unknown" (almost).  Don't judge. Overall, I found it an enjoyable and entertaining show. Recommended if you are a fan.

Later in March, received a second hand copy of her autobiography "Ordinary Girl: The Journey". She spends time talking about her childhood, living in Europe, the disco era and the time after disco with family life. She talks about her paintings (yes she painted) and life on a farm. She doesn't spend a whole lot on controversial topics. I guess she said all that was needed to be said outside of the book. At the end, she talks about organizing a Broadway show, about her life. That version was not to be. Her reason for writing a book was to be a beacon for others. She suffered from insecurities and low self-esteem when younger and wanted to let anyone know, you to can prevail over any obstacle. It is a good read and I finished it in less than a day, almost 250 pages. Tons of black and white pictures throughout. I really did enjoy it and can recommend for anyone with a passing interest or who (again) is a fan.

Sometimes, I wish there is a way to send a message to myself in the past. Don't we all, lol. Would address mine around 10 to 12 years ago. Tell myself, "You need to go see Donna Summer live in concert". At this point my younger self probably rolls his/my eyes. "I know that now, she is not someone you listen too. But believe your older self when I say, there will come a time when you will appreciate the experience and it will be a memory you can cherish forever."

In closing, this is me putting thoughts down on virtual paper. If you read this, hope you gain some understanding from it. I know quite a few of you out there roll your eyes whenever I make a Donna post, lol. Admittedly, all of this takes place after she left us, and that probably colors my thoughts and perceptions. But, it has been an extraordinary journey, even though at times quite sad. I'll leave one more item here, a link to the song I wrote and produced, an effort to process thoughts and emotions. Some of you have already seen, listened or ignored it, lol. And that is ok. I can only hope she's looking down, hears it and smiles.

https://soundcloud.com/rayphelps-1/donna-summer

This is Why I Still Miss Donna Summer.

April 27, 2020