#because most people play her off as weird or whatever but shes just as grounded in reality as anyone else

[kingofbodyrolls]

Learn to Love Again (m) | myg

Summary: People always leave. They become beautiful stars shining bright in the night sky. When life hands you lemons, you’ve been told to make lemonade, but that is hard when your soul and heart is breaking apart. When you rescue a tiny cat and meet a handsome stranger in the cafe, you finally feel yourself healing – but when they too leave, how are you going to learn to love again?

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female, mainly called pet names so no ‘Y/N’).

AU + genres: Hybrid!au (shapeshifter!yoongi), strangers to lovers, slice of life, heavy angst, a lot of sadness and grief (I’m sorry!), dark vibes, smut and fluff and some humor sprinkled in there too. 

Rating: Mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.

Word count: 19,4K

Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸

Warnings (general) + triggers: Heavy angst, extreme heavy sadness and grief, death of minor characters, mention of previous character death (parents and siblings), mentions of su*cide, mention of m*rder, su*cidal thoughts. Mention of past car accident. Mention of past domestic abuse. Mirrors 👀👀

Warnings (explicit): unprotected sex (please stay safe!), choking, oral (female receiving), nipple and breasts play, one-time use of a degrading word (otherwise petname), hair pulling – I guess it’s pretty vanilla with a slight sprinkle of spice 🤭

Author’s note  (1): I know it sounds hella sad (and it is), but it is also very sweet and heartwarming too 💜 I wanted to venture into the darker stuff again, and embrace all the feelings and sadness that I felt a few weeks ago (I’m fine, well I’m getting through it at least). 

If you are triggered by any of the warnings, I suggest that you skip this. It’s not that explicit though, but the heavy subjects are still there and they feature in it a lot.

Also, the quote “people always leave” features a lot in this and I only now realize why I find it so familiar – it’s a famous quote from Peyton Sawyer from One Tree Hill.

Author's note  (2): It’s only partly edited, so I’m so sorry about any mistakes or weird wordings (English is also not my mother language). When I read it again, I felt sad and like the whole thing is crap (why do I also feel like this adgadfjkhs), BUT, I still like it, it’s a piece of my heart in there… I can’t just let it sit in my docs to collect dust. So – I’ll just post it early and never look at the thing again (expect for the cover, because damn I’m so happy with how that turned out 🥹).

Taglist: @keshiadeija @viankiss @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad If you prefer to read on AO3 you can also find it there 🙂

The heavens are weeping again, unleashing a torrential downpour that drums heavy on the windows. Just like the heavy beating of your heart and the tears that just won’t stop falling down your cheeks.

For days now, the world has languished in this disquiet, a foreboding atmosphere that has draped itself over every moment, casting a shadow even before the haunting ring of the call that echoed through the silence.

A searing, heart-wrenching call that etched itself into the fabric of your existence, standing out as one of the most agonizing moments life has ever dared to deliver.

Caught off guard by the unexpected twist of fate, it blindsided you, sending shockwaves through your core and leaving you utterly rattled, as if the very ground beneath your feet had shifted without warning.

Your conviction in her well-being crumbled as swiftly as a sandcastle against the tide.

In your last encounter, she radiated joy—her infectious happiness casting a brilliant glow over her words as she spoke about her new job, her blossoming romance, and her boundless love for life.

A tear, heavy with the weight of the contrast between then and now, traces a lonely path down your cheek.

The echo of her laughter, the sparkle in her eyes, and the unbridled excitement that made her hands tremble with anticipation haunted your memories. 

It's a heart-wrenching juxtaposition between the happiness she projected and the sorrow now etched into the fabric of your own emotions.

She wasn't just a friend; she was your confidante, a steadfast companion through the labyrinth of years and experiences. Your best friend.

In the tapestry of your friendship, she emerged as the resplendent thread, the one who consistently outshone the rest. 

Even on her darkest days, she radiated a brilliance that surpassed the ordinary, a celestial glow that left an indelible mark on your heart. To you, she wasn't just a friend; she was a luminous star, a breathtaking celestial entity whose untimely descent felt like a cosmic supernova, casting a blinding light that left everyone in its wake awestruck and forever changed.

Like a thunderbolt from a clear sky, the day she chose to end her own life blindsided everyone. 

The abruptness of her decision, the finality of calling it quits, left a haunting question echoing in the hollow chambers of your soul—why? 

The puzzle remains unsolved, the enigma of her despair a perplexing maze you can't navigate. Outwardly, her life seemed like a canvas painted in hues of contentment, yet the invisible struggles eluded comprehension. 

Despite the deep conversations that usually wove through the tapestry of your friendship, the darkness she harbored never surfaced in her words. Her choice to shroud her pain in silence remains an unfathomable mystery, a tragic paradox that still elicits a profound sense of bewilderment.

The haunting ‘what if’ lingers, an elusive specter of regret—what if she had shared her struggles with you? 

The possibility that your words could have been a lifeline is an uncharted sea of sorrow. The uncertainty, the unfulfilled potential for intervention, claws at your conscience like a relentless tempest.

In the wake of this unanswered plea for connection, tears cascade down your cheeks, each drop bearing the weight of unspoken conversations. The dampness on your collarbone, where your shirt clings uncomfortably, is a tangible reminder of the storm within. 

A mere few days have crawled by since that fateful call, the kind that alters the very fabric of reality. 

The echo of your friend's voice reverberates through your memory—a seismic revelation that shattered your world. As the words unfolded, you crumpled to the floor, the phone nearly slipping from your trembling grasp.

A gasp caught in your throat, a palpable surge of emotion crashing over you like a tidal wave.

In that harrowing moment, your heartbeat quickened, each thud resonating with the weight of sorrow and anger. The air itself seemed to constrict, tainted with the bitter aftertaste of an impending storm. The onslaught of emotions clawed at your chest, a tumultuous dance between sadness and anger, each one vying for dominance in the chaotic symphony of your soul.

Powerlessness wraps around you like a suffocating shroud, the absence of your brightest star leaving a void that seems insurmountable. 

In this moment of staggering loss, the future unfolds as a vast expanse of uncertainty. How do you navigate a world without the radiant glow she once brought to your existence?

Yet, as the weight of grief presses down, a resilient ember flickers within. Acknowledging the inexorable march of time, you realize that her memory, like a cherished constellation, will be a guiding light in the night sky of your life. 

In the tapestry of your emotions, she, alongside your parents, becomes one of the celestial beacons you look up to during moments of sorrow or when life's burdens become too overwhelming.

You step out onto the balcony, enveloped by the velvety embrace of the dark blue sky. 

The resplendent moon takes center stage, surrounded by a constellation of bright companions that twinkle in the vast expanse of the night. The beauty of the cosmos is a bittersweet solace, a celestial dance that captivates your gaze.

The night sky has always held a captivating allure for you, but in the wake of the profound loss of your parents, it transcends mere beauty. 

It becomes a sanctuary, a cosmic tapestry where memories linger among the stars. Each celestial beacon now carries the weight of cherished moments, transforming the night into a sacred canvas where the brilliance of your loved ones continues to shine, casting a radiant glow that lingers in the quiet moments of contemplation.

The subtle hum of your phone reverberates in your hand, a clandestine messenger that disrupts the tranquility of your thoughts, setting loose a cascade of emotions. 

The screen lights up with a message from a friend, its arrival like a seismic tremor in the landscape of your contemplations, shaking loose the delicate balance you've tried so desperately to maintain.

Yuna [20.31]: Iseul’s funeral is on Saturday. We’re all going. U coming?🌹

Dread settles in the pit of your stomach like a heavy anchor – the thought of attending the funeral feels like navigating a tempest of emotions you're not sure you're prepared to weather. 

The prospect of confronting tears, raw emotion, and the grieving presence of her family looms before you, casting a shadow over the already somber occasion. 

Yet, duty intertwines with reluctance; you were her best friend, after all. 

The expectation to pay your respects becomes an unspoken mandate, tugging at the seams of your resolve despite the storm of discomfort that brews within.

Tears have become an unwelcome torrent on your phone, transforming the smooth surface into a slippery terrain that complicates every attempt to type. 

The screen blurs beneath a watery veil, mirroring the tumultuous cascade in your own eyes. Distraction clings to each droplet, making it not only challenging to navigate the phone but also to see through the emotional downpour that clouds your vision.

But against the deluge of sorrow and the weight of grief, you summon the strength for a brief reply, a fragile lifeline tossed into the turbulent sea of emotions.

You [20.46]: Yes🌹

With a heavy sigh, you gently lay your phone face-down on the nightstand, as if shielding the illuminated screen from the weight of the world you've just momentarily set aside.

How do you navigate this desolate landscape that life has become? 

The void feels more palpable now, a haunting echo of emptiness that had lingered even before.

It's as if the very essence of existence has been drained away, leaving you grappling with the profound question: What is the point when the world around you continues to crumble, and people around you just keep dying?

At Iseul's funeral, you navigated the somber scene alongside your friend group, bracing for the emotional maelstrom that awaited. 

The atmosphere unfolded exactly as you had anticipated — a tableau of tears, grief-stricken family members, and the embrace of mournful hugs. Conversations echoed with memories of Iseul's radiant spirit, each word a bittersweet tribute to the bright and bubbly soul that once graced your lives. 

Amidst the collective sorrow, the air hung heavy with the weight of loss, weaving a tapestry of emotions that spoke to the indelible impact Iseul had left behind.

It was agonizing, bidding farewell in the harsh reality of acceptance. The harsh truth of life unveiled itself – an unrelenting cycle of departures. 

Yet, amidst the crushing finality, you find solace in the enduring promise that even though everyone leaves, the stars above will forever bear witness to her presence, a cosmic constellation of memories that will continue to illuminate the canvas of your nights.

Work persists in its mundane rhythm, the monotony punctuated only by the forced smiles you offer customers as you brew their coffee or recommend delectable treats in the cafe. 

For you, work has forever remained a sterile landscape, devoid of passion or purpose. The unfulfilled yearning for a meaningful career tugs at the edges of your consciousness, a persistent ache exacerbated by life's unrelenting cruelty—your unfinished degree in astrophysics stands as a testament to dreams deferred. Maybe you’ll go back to school – you don’t know.

Your thoughts are abruptly shattered by a brash intrusion, a man’s voice slicing through the ambient noise with an unwarranted familiarity. “Hi, pretty,” he drawls, snapping your attention to the present, “can I get a black coffee, a muffin, and your number, please?” 

The audacious request hangs in the air, leaving a charged pause that crackles with a blend of amusement and annoyance.

You stifle a silent scoff, a careful veil to conceal the simmering irritation within, though the indignation is palpable. 

This flirtatious interlude is far from novel—far from the first time someone has attempted to weave charm into the fabric of your workday. Yet, a discomforting truth lingers beneath your composed exterior: you disdain these unwarranted advances, a sentiment you've carried with you each time such encounters stain the ordinary canvas of your work.

Forcing a smile that feels more like a fragile mask, you locate a muffin, navigating the familiar routine with practiced efficiency. 

As you approach the coffee machine to craft the requested brew, you gather both items and, with a subtle sigh, slide them across the counter. 

Your words, delivered with a polite cadence, carry a hint of firmness as you say, “Here you go. Apologies, but my number isn't on the menu.”

Turning men down has become a skill honed through the crucible of experience, a necessity etched into the fabric of your being, especially after the wreckage of your last relationship. 

It wasn't just a breakup; it was a tempest that left you bruised, not only on the surface but also in the recesses of your soul. 

To declare a dread of relationships, despite the quiet longing that flickers deep within, would be an understatement—the mere thought evokes the echoes of a tumultuous past, a cautionary tale etched in both physical and emotional hues of black and blue.

Despite the man's disapproving frown, he begrudgingly parts with his payment, snatching his coffee and muffin.

As he vacates the space, you extend a tight-lipped greeting to the next customer, the forced smile a delicate masquerade concealing the intricacies of emotion churning beneath the surface.

Day after day unfolds in this relentless routine, a relentless loop where, despite the suffocating weight of depression, you muster the strength to haul yourself into work. 

The struggle is an unspoken battle, fought in the silent recesses of your soul, and each morning becomes a victory against the persistent darkness that threatens to engulf your spirit.

You maintain a lifeline to your friends, weaving a narrative of your somber mood and emotional tumult, acutely aware of the significance of vocalizing your feelings rather than succumbing to the perilous grip of silent suffering.

Recent conversations with your friends have taken an unexpected turn, steering into the realm of your dating life or, more accurately, its conspicuous absence. 

Their fervent advocacy for you to reenter the world of romance echoes in your ears, their well-intentioned pleas urging you to cross paths with someone great and amazing. 

However, you find yourself standing at the crossroads of uncertainty, unsure if you're ready to navigate the labyrinth of love once more. 

Despite your reservations, you indulge them, allowing their words to wash over you like a waterfall of unsolicited advice, all the while steadfast in your understanding that a man is not a prerequisite for happiness or the completeness of your life—you've long recognized your ability to stand firm and flourish on your own terms.

An entire season has unfurled its tapestry, and while the vast void persists within the caverns of your heart, there's a subtle transformation underway. Amidst the lingering shadows, a sliver of the sun's warm rays threads its way through, gently illuminating the emptiness. 

The caress of warm weather and sunlight manages to coax a faint lift in your mood, a subtle thawing of the emotional frost. 

Yet, amidst the burgeoning warmth, there's a yearning for the crispness of cold, the kind that invites the comfort of wool sweaters and socks, beckoning a desire to cocoon on the couch and lose yourself in the embrace of solitude.

After withstanding the relentless onslaught of your friends' persistent prodding into the realm of your love life, you've yielded to the chorus of their well-meaning badgering. With a mixture of trepidation and curiosity, you've made the bold decision to reenter the intricate dance of the dating game.

The prospect of discovering 'the one' remains shrouded in uncertainty, a delicate balance between the promise of profound connection and the potential peril of heartache from those who might not treat you right. 

However, the ambiguity of the journey doesn't deter your resolve. To remain passive is to forfeit the chance at something extraordinary. 

The echoes of Iseul and the silent encouragement from your departed parents reverberate, urging you to embrace life with all its intricate hues. Their unwritten wish for your happiness becomes the compass guiding your path, compelling you to take the plunge and give it your all.

You yearn for a life where the pursuit of happiness isn't punctuated by the haunting inevitability of departures and loss. You grasp the harsh truth that people leaving or departing through death is an inescapable facet of existence, a relentless current in the river of life. 

Yet, the recurring tide of sorrow that washes over you each time someone departs feels burdensome, a weight that anchors your spirit. It would be a cherished reprieve if the ebb and flow of life's transitions didn't carry with it a relentless undertow that threatens to drag you down each time.

Your dating escapades have unfolded like a series of misadventures, each rendezvous more perplexing than the last. 

One suitor wielded an aggressive tone that eclipsed any potential connection, while another was so absorbed in self-interest that your voice seemed but an echo in the conversation. Then there was the one who sought solace in your company to mend a broken heart, an unwitting participant in their quest for emotional repair.

With every disappointing encounter, your hopes wane like the dying embers of a once-bright flame. Yet, undeterred, you persist in the pursuit of connection, a resilient soul navigating the unpredictable seas of dating with unwavering determination.

Amidst the tumultuous sea of advice from your friends, the suggestion of a night out clubbing emerges as a potential remedy to jumpstart your dating life—a one-night stand, a shortcut to reclaiming agency over your love life. 

However, the proposition fails to align with the essence of who you are. The neon-lit allure of the club scene doesn't resonate with your soul, and the idea of a fleeting encounter doesn't hold the promise you seek. 

Nonetheless, you find yourself engulfed in a pulsating sea of sound, the music in the club roaring, the bass reverberating through the floor and into your bones. 

The atmosphere is a maelstrom of heat and sweat, a suffocating embrace that intensifies your regret for being there. 

Yuna, exuding an air of confidence, takes charge and orders a round of drinks for the group. Meanwhile, Nari's eyes scan the lively chaos of the club, a vigilant matchmaker on a mission to uncover potential matches for you.

Her finger extends with a pointed certainty toward a mysterious figure—a dark-haired man sporting a sleeveless shirt, the canvas of his arm adorned with an intricate tattoo sleeve. His dark eyes, scanning the crowded expanse of the club, carry an enigmatic intensity, hinting at a captivating allure that goes beyond the surface.

Your laughter carries a blend of amusement and skepticism as you dismissively remark, “Nah, he's giving off major fuckboy vibes.”

Amidst the cacophony of pounding music in the club, Nari practically shouts in your face, her words punctuating the beat as she insists, “Maybe that's exactly what you need!” 

The intensity of her proclamation, a fervent plea for spontaneity, reverberates in the air, a challenge thrown into the whirlwind of the night's possibilities.

You shake your head, a firm yet polite rejection lingering on your lips, “No, thank you.” 

Just as the tension subsides, Yuna appears with a tray of drinks, a timely distraction. Gratefully, you accept your drink, savoring the sweet and sour concoction that dances across your palate, momentarily providing respite from the charged atmosphere of the club.

The night unfolds in a rhythm of measured indulgence—a few drinks to chase a gentle buzz, steering clear of the edge of intoxication. Your gaze scans the crowd in search of potential matches, but amidst the pulsating lights and swirling music, none captures the elusive spark that ignites a genuine interest.

As the night deepens and the rhythm of the club starts to fade, you bid farewell to your friends, the weight of the evening settling in your bones. 

Stepping out into the nocturnal air, you're greeted by the relentless cascade of rain, a torrential downpour that catches you off guard. Damn it, you realize, a surge of annoyance coursing through you, you didn't bring an umbrella.

Embracing a sudden burst of defiance, you make a split-second decision, a resolute ‘fuck it’ echoing in your mind. 

Stepping onto the sidewalk without the shelter of an umbrella, you surrender to the unrelenting rain. In mere moments, your hair clings to your skin, and your clothes succumb to the downpour.

As you navigate the labyrinth of alleys and pass by numerous apartments, a peculiar low noise infiltrates the ambient hum of the rain. What is that sound? 

It's a subtle yet persistent calling that arrests your movements, compelling you to strain your senses in an attempt to decipher its origin. 

It's not just your slightly tipsy mind, is it, playing tricks on you? 

The cadence of the noise feels like a desperate plea, an ethereal call for help that beckons you into a mysterious dance between reality and the unknown.

Undeterred by the absence of street lamps, you navigate a shadowy alleyway nestled between looming apartment complexes. The darkness cloaks the path ahead, but you press on, an intrepid explorer drawn to the mystery that lies beyond the veil of obscurity. 

As you draw nearer, the enigmatic noise crescendos in intensity, a haunting melody that pierces the quiet of the alley. 

Your steps quicken, and with each stride, the source becomes clearer. Could it be emanating from the depths of the dumpster?

A sense of déjà vu wraps around you, as if this eerie scene has been lifted from a cinematic reel. The dilemma tugs at your curiosity, tempting you to peer into the abyss of the dumpster, a choice that hangs in the balance. 

Yet, before you make a decision, a glimmer of relief washes over you. 

Nestled snugly beside the dumpster, a small ball of fur captivates your attention, its presence a stark contrast to the ominous shadows. 

A silhouette emerges from the darkness, and as you inch closer, the mystery unfolds into a shivering, meowing figure—a black cat. 

The frailness of the tiny creature tugs at your heartstrings, and you find yourself hunching down, extending a tentative invitation with soft calls, coaxing the small, ebony bundle to bridge the gap between its vulnerability and your outstretched hand.

The black cat fixes its gaze upon you, eyes mirroring a blend of uncertainty and wariness, as if it's attempting to decipher the intentions behind your outstretched hand. 

The black cat stirs from its initial hesitation, uttering plaintive meows that seem to echo its distress. As it rises, the stark reality becomes evident—malnourished and shrouded in fear, it moves tentatively towards you. Each step seems to echo a history of abandonment and struggle. With aching slowness, the feline inches closer, navigating the wet ground with trepidation. 

Softly, you beckon the malnourished feline closer, the words “Come here, you poor thing” carrying an invitation laced with compassion. 

As the tiny creature inches nearer, its pitch-black eyes become an intense focal point, a gaze that transcends the physical realm, peering into the depths of your soul. In that poignant exchange, a silent pact forms—an unspoken promise of comfort and understanding between two beings, each seeking solace in the other's company.

As the fragile black cat draws near, an echo from your past resurfaces—the cautionary words of your mother reverberating in your mind. ‘Black cats bring omen and death,’ her voice, etched in childhood memories, had warned. 

Yet, confronted with the stark vulnerability of this shivering, lost creature in the cold summer rain, you find your resolve tested. 

Against the weight of your mother's superstitions, compassion prevails, and you make a conscious decision to offer refuge. You haven’t got anything else to lose, but yourself.

The cat's purrs resonate in the quiet alley, a melodic response to the tentative connection forming between you. Meows become a symphony of trust as it finally caresses your hand, a delicate dance of vulnerability. 

With a newfound intimacy, it leans into your touch, climbing up your arm to find refuge in your lap. Despite your jacket's damp embrace, you pull the shivering creature closer, enfolding it tightly against your chest.

“I’ll take you home and get you some food.”

Rising from the damp alley, you cradle the tiny black cat in your arms, an intimate embrace that transcends the physicality of the moment. As you navigate the journey home, each step becomes a testament to the newfound connection—its fragile heartbeat resonating against your chest.

As you finally reach the sanctuary of your home, both you and the shivering cat are thoroughly drenched from the relentless rain. 

With a twist of the key, you unlock the door to your small apartment, ushering in a breath of warmth that contrasts sharply with the damp chill outside. 

In a choreography of relief, you kick off your sodden shoes, the cat nestled at your feet. Unburdened by the weight of the rain-soaked coat, you hang it on the rack, a visual symbol of the transition from the stormy world outside to the comforting refuge within the four walls of your home.

“I'll find you a towel and dry you off,” you promise to the cat, your words a tender reassurance before your feet. With a sense of urgency, you hasten to the bathroom, a quest for a towel becoming a mission to provide comfort to your newfound companion.

As you return, traces of wet footprints mark the path from the entryway to your living room, leading to the sight of the cat perched regally on your couch. 

The unexpected image elicits a sense of awe within you, a silent marvel at the fortuitous encounter that has unfolded. With the fluffy towel in hand, you join the tiny creature on the couch.

With gentle strokes, you tenderly dry the cat with the fluffy towel, the rhythmic purrs and meows resonating like a melody of gratitude. 

In this intimate act of care, a bond forms between you and the feline, its response a testament to the shared understanding that has quietly blossomed. 

The dampness of the storm may linger outside, but within the confines of your home, a warmth permeates, forged through the simple yet profound act of offering comfort to a fragile soul.

Persistently, the cat continues its chorus of meows, its nearly obsidian eyes fixed on you with an intensity that transcends mere feline curiosity. In the silent exchange, a profound question lingers in the air—what does it want? 

The gaze carries an almost pleading quality, an unspoken plea that invites you to unravel the mysteries hidden within those enigmatic eyes, and in doing so, embark on a journey of connection and understanding with this small, mysterious soul.

A revelation flickers in your mind like a sudden burst of light—food! 

The realization washes over you, and a spark of understanding illuminates the unspoken hunger behind those pleading eyes. “You're starving, ain't ya?” you murmur, the words a bridge between the two of you, an acknowledgment of shared needs and the beginning of a silent commitment to provide not just shelter but sustenance to this small, hungry soul.

In a hurried dance between care and necessity, you dart into the kitchen, swinging open the fridge door to unleash a blast of cold air. 

The realization that your wet clothes might lead to an impending cold nudges at you, urging a brief pause for self-care. As you contemplate changing into dry attire, the cat, now a nimble companion, weaves around your feet, a symphony of meows echoing its anticipation of the impending feast.

As your gaze sweeps across the contents of the fridge, a flurry of questions dance in your mind—what do cats like? 

In a moment of culinary improvisation, you spot the remnants of yesterday's fish. A hopeful assumption takes hold—cats like fish, right? 

Without a second thought, you snatch the container, crack it open, and ceremoniously place it on the floor. 

The cat descends upon the fish with a voracity that borders on desperation, consuming it in a whirlwind of seconds. 

You observe in silent fascination as the cat devours the fish with an almost primal fervor, each bite a testament to the depth of its hunger.

As the cat lifts its gaze, those dark, fond eyes fixate on you, a silent expression of gratitude that transcends words, forging a connection that lingers in the air like the sweet aftertaste of an unexpected bond.

You retrieve a bowl, fill it with water, and place it on the floor. The cat, having satisfied its hunger, wastes no time. It immediately dips its tongue into the water, each lap a testament to the thirst that had accompanied its hunger. 

In the quiet aftermath of the cat's meal, you find yourself engaged in a one-sided conversation. While it laps up the water, you speak to it with a hint of longing, as if expecting the feline to reveal its name with a mere glance. “I don't know what your name is…” you muse aloud, your words hanging in the air like a silent plea for connection. 

In the exchange, a profound yearning takes root—a desire not just to care for this creature but to unravel the mystery that shrouds it, beginning with the revelation of a name.

Hmm... A whimsical idea takes shape in your mind, and with a voice full of hope, you share your musings with the feline companion. “I don't know, maybe I'll give you one!” you exclaim, the words tinged with the excitement of a newfound connection.

Testing the waters, you propose a couple of names with a hopeful lilt in your voice. “Shadow?” you venture, eyes fixated on the cat, seeking any flicker of recognition. 

Yet, met with a stoic demeanor, you playfully offer another option, “Licorice?” 

A soft chuckle escapes your lips, but the cat remains unfazed, engrossed in its culinary pursuits. 

Embracing a sudden surge of inspiration, you think of a name that dances on the edges of whimsy and mischief. “You look like a 'Loki,' like a God of Mischief!” The words tumble out with a playful chuckle, a nod to the elusive charm that shrouds the feline. 

To your surprise, the cat interrupts its feast, casting what seems like a dumbfounded expression your way. 

A moment of shared acknowledgment hangs in the air before the cat resumes its meal, leaving you to wonder if, in that fleeting pause, you've glimpsed the spark of recognition in its enigmatic eyes.

An impromptu burst of enthusiasm seizes you, and with an abrupt yell, you christen the cat in a moment of whimsy. “Kitten!” 

The exclamation is so sudden that it startles the cat, prompting a small leap in surprise. “That's your name. You're so small, like a little kitten,” you playfully jest, mimicking the affectionate cooing one might give to a baby. 

In the imaginary realm where cats understand human whims, you half-expect a hypothetical eye-roll, as if the creature were a miniature human indulging in the theatrics of a quirky naming ceremony.

In the wake of your spontaneous naming ceremony, Kitten darts away, a streak of fur and energy leaving you in its playful wake. A fleeting attempt to follow its swift movements reveals the futility of keeping pace with this agile companion.

An earnest plea escapes your lips, “No, don't run away, Kitten!” A plea that halts not far from your bedroom, where a sudden idea takes root. “We're going to bed, and you can even sleep in my bed.” The promise hangs in the air, an invitation that sparks the cat's curiosity. 

Without hesitation, Kitten races back to you, weaving through your legs and darting into the bedroom. It watches itself in the mirror in front of your bed, before it in a graceful leap, lands on the bed, transforming this impromptu offer into a shared moment of warmth and companionship.

A soft chuckle escapes you as Kitten, with a graceful twirl, transforms into a snug, fluffy black ball. It settles onto the bed, a picture of contentment and trust, the rhythmic rise and fall of its breathing echoing in the room. 

In the sanctuary of your bathroom, the day's residue fades away as you delicately remove stained makeup and indulge in your nightly skincare rituals. 

With a sense of quiet reverence, you return to the bedroom, mindful not to disrupt Kitten's serene repose. Nestled in bed, you prop yourself up, the rhythmic routine a prelude to the tranquility that envelops the room. 

As you surrender to the embrace of sleep, the ethereal presence of the black cat becomes a silent companion in the journey between waking and dreams, a guardian of the night's secrets.

In the intimate company of Kitten, you find solace in the honesty of your own reflection. “He wasn't really for me, Kitten. I don't know why I keep going on these dates. They amount to nothing.” A sigh punctuates your admission, a subtle echo of the unspoken search for connection that seems elusive in the realm of human encounters. 

As you delve into a shared meal with your newfound family member – Kitten, you stuff your face with delicious food in an attempt to keep your minds off your failing romantic life.

Kitten responds to your words with a series of gentle meows, a seemingly agreeable chorus that resonates in the room. 

Over the past few days, he has transformed into an impeccable listener, absorbing the tapestry of your thoughts with silent grace. 

In the quiet moments of your soliloquies, a yearning surfaces—a desire for more than a feline confidant, for words that echo back with advice and wisdom. 

Yet, despite this unfulfilled wish, Kitten's silent companionship remains a source of profound comfort, his presence weaving seamlessly into the fabric of your daily life, a testament to the unexpected connections that emerge in the quiet interludes of solitude.

Consistent as the rhythm of a heartbeat, Kitten is there, a patient sentinel awaiting your return from the hustle of the day. 

His presence becomes a cherished routine, an embodiment of comfort that transcends the mundanity of the everyday. 

As you settle in front of the television, Kitten gracefully claims his place in your lap, his form snuggling into the contours of your warmth. 

The scene unfolds like a silent ballet, a dance between two beings finding solace in the quietude of shared moments—a testament to the profound bond that has blossomed in the intimate spaces of your daily life.

On a day marked by what you'd deem a successful date, you decide to bring the guy home to your apartment. 

Kitten welcomes you with joyous meows, but the moment his obsidian eyes lock onto the man, a palpable shift occurs. 

The cat's once-hospitable demeanor morphs into a display of territorial assertion—he hisses, claws unsheathed, a guardian of the sacred space that has become both haven and sanctuary.

Unfazed by Kitten's display of discontent, the man follows you into the bedroom, a trail of unresolved tension lingering in the air. However, as you attempt to navigate the fragile balance between human relationships and the silent protests of your feline confidant, Kitten stalks in with palpable anger. 

Kitten's claws assert their protest on the man's pants, a silent plea echoing through the room. “I'm so sorry about my cat. He's not usually like this,” you hastily apologize, attempting to navigate the tumultuous intersection of human connection and feline territoriality. 

In the midst of the uneasy dance, the guy gently guides you down onto the bed, a kiss bridging the gap between words left unsaid and the uncharted landscapes of desire.

In an unforeseen twist, Kitten catapults onto the bed, launching a surprise attack on the poor man's back with unbridled ferocity. 

The room erupts with a sudden commotion as the guy yells in pain, Kitten swiftly retreating to the shelter of your startled embrace.

Frustration and pain tinge the man's voice as he vehemently declares, “Fuck this. This isn't worth it! Your cat is a fucking psycho!” 

The words hang in the air, a bitter testament to the unexpected turbulence that has unraveled in the wake of Kitten's feline intervention. 

With an angry storm, the man storms out of your bedroom and through the front door, leaving behind a charged atmosphere and the unresolved echoes of a connection unraveling at the seams.

As the storm of emotions settles, Kitten finds solace in your lap, a contented purr resonating through the room—a feline sovereign basking in the aftermath of his territorial triumph. 

Meanwhile, you remain seated, mouth agape, an image of stunned disbelief etched across your face. 

You address Kitten with a scolding tone, attempting to impart a sense of reprimand into the air. “You can't do that, Kitten!” you assert, a firmness in your voice attempting to breach the language barrier between human and feline.

Amidst the aftermath, a hesitant chuckle escapes your lips, a soft attempt to diffuse the tension that lingers in the air. “Also, you're gonna leave me single forever if you do that,” you jest, the words bearing the weight of both humor and a subtle unease. 

In the ambiguous space between laughter and contemplation, you grapple with the conflicting emotions stirred by Kitten's unexpected display of protectiveness—a complex blend of gratitude, amusement, and the uncharted territories of understanding the intricate dynamics of companionship with a creature whose language transcends the boundaries of words.

A solitary figure with raven-black hair occupies a corner table in the cafe, his presence shrouded in an air of quiet mystery that tugs at the edges of your memory. 

Intrigued, you've stolen glances at him, an unspoken connection sparking curiosity within you. 

The man, seemingly lost in a world of words and sketches within the pages of his journal, emanates a strange familiarity that dances on the fringes of your consciousness. 

As he sips on his coffee, a poignant picture of solitude and anticipation, you can't help but wonder about the untold story woven into the fabric of his contemplative gaze. Perhaps he's a poet awaiting inspiration, or maybe, like you, he's caught in the delicate dance of anticipation, waiting for someone who may never arrive.

His long, pitch-black hair cascades in soft curls, framing a face adorned with dark, expressive eyes. The fair and creamy complexion of his skin, paired with lips tinged with the aftermath of fervent bites, adds an air of mystery to his features. His hands, adorned with prominent veins, move with purpose across the pages of his journal, translating the thoughts within his mind into tangible strokes. Clad in a black leather biker jacket and ripped jeans, he emanates a ‘bad boy’ allure that might not align with your usual preferences, yet there's an undeniable handsomeness that transcends the surface. As you observe, the truth unfolds—looks can be deceiving, you know.

As the hands of the clock inch towards the conclusion of your shift, you notice the enigmatic man with the pitch-black hair has vanished, leaving only the echo of his presence lingering in the now vacant corner. 

The air is charged with the unspoken allure of an encounter that slipped through the fingers of time. 

Packing up your belongings, you carry the weight of curiosity with you as you embark on the journey home, where the enigmatic enigma of Kitten awaits.

Kitten, sensing your return, greets you with a symphony of affectionate meows. Your hand instinctively reaches out, weaving a tapestry of gentle pats and strokes, an unspoken language shared between human and feline. With a contented sigh escaping your lips, you murmur, “Happy to be home.”

In the quiet sanctuary of your apartment, you find yourself recounting the day's enigmatic encounter to Kitten, the words lingering in the air like a shared secret between kindred spirits. “I saw the loneliest guy today, Kitten. It felt like he was waiting for someone, but destiny stood him up.” 

As the words escape your lips, Kitten's attentive gaze reflects an unspoken understanding, a silent pact shared between you and your feline confidant.

Your fingers delicately dance behind Kitten's ears, a gesture that elicits a symphony of contented purrs, resonating within the confines of your quiet haven. 

The next day unfolds like a familiar scene, the cafe's atmosphere steeped in the aroma of coffee and the rustle of pages turning. 

Once again, the mysterious black-haired man graces the corner with his presence, accompanied by a steaming cup of coffee and the enigmatic dance of his pen across the pages of his journal. 

Your curiosity, a flame flickering in the recesses of your thoughts, draws you to the edge of decision — to approach and unravel the mysteries that cloak him. Yet, an invisible barrier holds you back, a silent pact with yourself not to disturb the solitary poet whose verses remain unread. 

The elusive man, shrouded in the mystery of unread words, remains a realm unexplored, as each coffee order becomes a bridge guarded by your coworker.

As the day unfolds, the mysterious man persists in his corner, a captivating enigma that draws your attention like a moth to a flame. 

The rhythmic ballet of your daily routine continues, an intricate dance of serving customers while stealing glances in his direction. 

In the quiet recesses of your mind, a burning question simmers – who could possibly stand up this captivating soul, adorned with the allure of dark hair and an air of mystery that commands the room?

After days of observing the silent saga of the man and his solitude, a week of unbroken routine, your empathy swells like a rising tide. 

A magnetic force compels you to bridge the distance, and against the backdrop of the cafe's ambient hum, your feet, as if guided by an invisible hand, carry you to the table where he patiently awaits an absent companion. 

With a mix of curiosity and compassion, you settle into the chair opposite him, breaking the invisible barrier that held you apart.

As your presence disrupts the solitude he had grown accustomed to, his intense gaze, reminiscent of a predatory feline, lifts from the pages of his journal to meet your own. The sharpness in his eyes feels like a calculated assessment, causing a subtle tremor to course through you. You gulp.

“Hi,” you start, the uncertainty palpable in your voice. Attempting to mask your nervousness, your fingers run through your hair, a feeble defense against the anxious tide. 

“I’ve noticed you here alone for the past few days, and I just—” Your words stumble, caught in the rush, but before you can continue, he interjects with a voice sharp as a blade, his eyes piercing through you like he can unravel your deepest secrets. 

“Are you stalking me?” The question hangs in the air, and his gaze feels like an X-ray, laying bare your darkest thoughts. Your body seizes, frozen in the penetrating gaze that seems to pry into the very recesses of your soul.

Why does his voice carry a hint of familiarity, resonating through the air like an echo from another time?

His very presence, too, feels like a distant memory, even though you're certain you hadn't laid eyes on him before he entered the cafe a week ago. 

A subtle smirk plays on his lips, a realization dawning on you that he's asked a question. As you attempt to gather your thoughts, you find yourself choking on air, grappling to string together a coherent response.

“I'm kidding. I know you work here,” he chuckles, and you release a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. Your shoulders ease, and in an instant, you respond with a soft smile, a subtle connection forming in that shared moment of relief.

“Are you waiting for someone?” you inquire, and a smile graces his face, revealing gleaming white teeth and pink gums. He looks cute. Dangerously so.

“Nah. She just arrived.” Your eyes light up. Finally, his date has shown up! You start to rise from your chair, eager to make space for his companion. He looks up at you, a curious expression on his face, and asks, “What are you doing?”

“Making room for your date?” you quip, utterly dumbfounded.

“Date?” he asks with a raised brow. You nod, adding, “The one you’ve been waiting for.”

“But I’m already looking at her.” Your mouth hangs wide open; did you just hear him right? Is this a pickup line? And why on earth is it working?

You chuckle nervously, the sound a stark contrast to his calm and cool demeanor.

You ease back into your chair, and the conversation flows so naturally that you feel like you've known him for years.

Upon returning home, you excitedly share the details of your day with Kitten, recounting the encounter with the handsome man with his curly hair and piercing eyes. While you stroke Kitten and he purrs contentedly, you express your perplexity about the strange sense of familiarity the man emanated, despite being certain you've never met him before.

Kitten twirls and purrs in your lap, savoring the gentle strokes as you recline on your couch.

“I can't help but wonder if he'll be there again tomorrow,” you muse, your voice a soft melody to the room, accompanied by Kitten's content purrs.

He returned to the cafe the next day, and the next and the next turned into weeks.

He dedicates every moment to his secluded corner, and during your breaks you find solace in the cadence of your conversations. His name, Yoongi, resonates with the soulful poems that he breathes life into with his well-worn guitar. You’ve never heard him play or sing, but you look forward to the day you might.

His question pierces through the hum of the café, abruptly pulling you from your reverie as you delicately nibble on your muffin. “Are you heading home for the summer break?” he inquires, the unexpected interruption leaving a sweet and curious taste lingering on your lips.

As his question hangs in the air, you lock eyes with him, realizing he might not grasp the gravity of his inquiry. 

There's a momentary sag in your shoulders, a silent acknowledgment of the pain that lies beneath. Gathering the strength to respond, you share a piece of your past, “No. My parents died when I was young.”

Regret casts a shadow over his striking features in an instant, and you witness a profound apology escaping from his lips.

“I'm holding up okay. It's a tale from a while back. A car accident took my parents, leaving just my little sister and me as survivors,” you share, a poignant sadness threading through your words, your eyes misting with the memories.

He tenderly offers words of comfort, a soothing balm for your weary soul, and you allow him to lift the heaviness that clings to your spirit.

You beam at him, grateful for the warmth that radiates from his kind soul, a presence you've grown to cherish over the past few months. “And you, any exciting plans for the summer?”

“I might have to go home to my parents for a bit, but I’m not sure yet,” he shares, absentmindedly running his fingers through his soft black locks, a gesture that makes you yearn for the touch of your own hand in that sea of darkness.

“I'm telling you, bitch!” Nari slaps Yuna's thigh, a bit too enthusiastically, causing her to flinch in pain, as Nari adds with a sly grin, “She's head over heels in loooove.”

You roll your eyes at both of them, their playful banter fading into background noise as you savor the drink that Yuna ordered for you.

You've navigated downtown, finding refuge in a cozy establishment where the ambient tunes, board games, and drinks create the perfect backdrop for reconnecting with your friends.

“I swear, I'm not head over heels or anything,” you insist, batting away their teasing with a playful smirk, all the while sipping on the drink that Yuna ordered for you.

“He’s just nice,” you add with a soft smile.

“You sure do talk about him a lot,” Yuna adds in a chuckle as she rubs her thigh.

“Well, he's an interesting person, and the conversations just flow,” you reply with a grin, downplaying the significance, but your friends exchange knowing glances that hint at their suspicions.

Nari takes a sip of her drink, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Speaking of crushes, your little companion, what's his name again? Kitten?”

You passionately defend Kitten, your eyes sparkling with affection. “Don't bring Kitten into this! I adore him,” you gush, wearing your love for the little furball as a badge of honor.

Nari shares her romantic wisdom, her words dripping with affection. “Cats are fine companions, but you should find a man who can bring you warmth and happiness,” she says, her eyes practically turning into hearts if this were a cartoon. You can't help but chuckle at her earnest advice.

Yuna playfully nudges your shoulder and suggests, “You should totally ask out this Yoongi guy. I mean, come on, you practically light up every time you talk about him.”

You pause, a moment of uncertainty hanging in the air. “Maybe,” you finally reply, your words carrying the weight of contemplation.

Nari's enthusiasm rings in your ears, a bit too loud in the cozy ambiance. “You don't have anything to lose, only more to gain!” she almost shouts, her excitement reaching its peak. Her words, fueled by a touch of intoxication, linger in the air, leaving you to ponder as you consider whether it's time to call it a night.

“Okay. I’ll ask him tomorrow.”

As you step into your apartment, Kitten greets you with an extra dose of affection, weaving himself between your legs and trailing you with heightened attention. Tonight, he appears more attuned to your every move, purring and twirling around your legs with an endearing neediness. Settling down, you can't resist his charms and find yourself seated, offering gentle strokes to his fur-covered frame.

As you wrap up your nightly routine and slip into your comfortable pajamas, you turn to Kitten with a question that has become a familiar part of your routine. 

“I'm heading to bed, Kitten. You joining?” Kitten promptly leaps onto the bed, taking his customary place by your side. 

However, tonight, there's a lingering sense of affection in his actions. He showers you with gentle licks, a gesture that brings a smile to your face. As sleep gradually claims you, your dreams are adorned with vivid images of obsidian eyes and a dark, star-studded sky.

As you awaken from a restful sleep, the absence of Kitten by your side strikes you like a sudden jolt. 

Your initial response is to sit up, calling out for him, yet there's only silence in return. 

The quietness, once comforting, now carries an eerie weight as you realize the profound impact Kitten has had on your daily life. 

The room feels emptier, and a sense of unease settles in, disrupting the peace you've grown accustomed to.

A wave of melancholy washes over you, creating a heavy ache in your chest as you scan the familiar corners of your apartment, desperately searching for any sign of Kitten. 

The unanswered questions pile up in your mind, a torrent of worries threatening to drown you. Did he, too, decide to leave, slipping away like others from your life? 

The uncertainty gnaws at you, pushing you to venture into the quiet streets, hoping against hope to uncover the fate of your feline companion. Each step is a mix of trepidation and determination, a journey into the unknown to retrieve the missing piece of your daily existence.

A sense of desperation tightens its grip as you scour every nook and cranny, but Kitten remains elusive, leaving you with the bitter taste of vanishing hope. 

The echoes of your unanswered calls hang in the air, blending with the growing unease that clings to you like a shadow. The once familiar spaces now feel like a maze, and you can't shake the sinking feeling that your luck is slipping away, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. The haunting question persists: where could he be, and what could have taken him from your side?

With a mixture of determination and trepidation, your feet instinctively carry you back to the cafe. 

The familiar chime announces your arrival, drawing the attention of your coworker, who casts a puzzled look your way. The early hour has caught them off guard, their raised eyebrow mirroring the questions that dance in your own mind.

As you scan the cozy confines of the cafe, a subtle panic begins to creep through your veins. The absence of Yoongi creates an uneasy knot in your stomach, but you reassure yourself, clinging to the hope that he might stroll in later, as he often does.

The hours drag on, each passing moment heightening the anticipation. As the door chimes with every newcomer, a flicker of hope dances in your chest, only to be extinguished when it's not Yoongi. 

The day becomes a symphony of disappointment, and the subtle hope you clung to begins to dissipate, slipping through your fingers like elusive grains of sand. The cafe, once a haven of warmth and comfort, now feels eerily empty without the presence of his familiar silhouette.

As your shift draws to a close, a heavy sadness settles over you like a thick fog. The absence of Yoongi, who always brought a touch of warmth to the cafe, leaves an emptiness that echoes through the familiar surroundings. The unanswered questions linger in your mind, and a nagging worry creeps in — what could have kept him away? 

The air is charged with uncertainty, and you can't shake the feeling that something might have happened to him.

A sudden realization hits you like a wave, as you recall Yoongi mentioning the possibility of traveling to his parents for the summer break. 

The initial sting of disappointment transforms into a pang of concern. Questions swirl in your mind like a tempest – did he leave without saying goodbye? Why didn't he share his plans with you? 

The uncertainty gnaws at your thoughts, and you grapple with the unknown, desperately seeking solace in the memories of your time together.

A disquieting sensation twists in your stomach, an ominous premonition casting a shadow over your thoughts. The unease tightens its grip, leaving you with an unsettling sense that something may have befallen Yoongi. 

Your mind races through various scenarios, each more distressing than the last, as you grapple with the haunting uncertainty that looms over his absence.

Regret echoes through your thoughts like a haunting refrain. The absence of contact details with Yoongi leaves you grappling with the repercussions of a missed opportunity, a seemingly insignificant detail now carrying the weight of your uncertainty. 

A sense of loss and yearning wraps around you, intensifying the void created by the absence of a farewell. The realization dawns that in the midst of budding connection, you failed to secure a bridge to traverse the distance that now separates you.

Each step on the journey home feels like a weighted march, the heaviness of unspoken goodbyes sinking into your bones. 

Sorrow, like a relentless tide, floods your heart, consuming it with an ache that echoes through each footfall. Familiar pangs of longing claw at your chest, constricting breaths into fleeting gasps. 

It's as if the very air you breathe carries the weight of an unfinished story, leaving you to navigate the foggy terrain of uncertainty, the poignant residue of an incomplete connection lingering in the spaces between each step.

A tempest of thoughts unleashes in your mind, a whirlwind of self-doubt and abandonment. The notion that he, too, might have slipped away like others before him wraps around your heart, squeezing it in an unforgiving grip. The ache is palpable, resonating through every fiber of your being. It's an anguish that cuts deep, a symphony of hurt orchestrated by the haunting possibility that echoes in the chambers of your wounded heart.

In the intricate tapestry of your time knowing him, he wasn't just a passing figure; he had etched himself into the mosaic of your life, becoming a fragment that held the essence of friendship. 

You step into the sanctuary of your apartment, liberating your feet from the constraints of shoes, and collapse onto the couch, surrendering to its plush contours that cradle you in a cocoon of solace.

In the midst of trying to regain control of your racing breaths, a subtle vibration resonates from your pocket, drawing your attention like a lifeline. Retrieving your phone, you cast an intrigued glance at the illuminated screen, revealing an incoming call from Yuna.

With bated breath, you answer the call, the familiar cadence of Yuna's voice instantly arresting your senses. 

An unexpected wave of emotions surges through you, freezing you in the moment as her words weave a narrative you weren't prepared for.

The weight of her words hangs heavy in the air, a heartbreaking tremor in her voice as she struggles to regain composure. 

“Babe,” she utters, the tearful plea slicing through the silence like a dagger.

You can feel the gravity of the situation intensify as she reveals, “It's Nari,” the name echoing with a sense of foreboding that pierces through the air, leaving you breathless.

Dread hangs thick in the air as you muster the courage to ask, your voice trembling with fear and concern. “What about Nari?” 

The words escape your lips, each syllable a hesitant step into the unknown, and as you sit up on your couch, a sense of urgency grips you, rendering you more alert than ever before.

The weight of Yuna's words crashes over you like an unrelenting wave, drowning your senses.

“She's gone,” Yuna sobs, her cries echoing in your ears. 

A sudden chill grips your entire body, and the world around you blurs as your vision turns white. 

Tears well up, threatening to spill over, and an indescribable ache settles in the core of your being. It feels as if the ground beneath you has shifted, leaving you suspended in a surreal and devastating moment.

Your voice quivers as you manage to break through the numbness, the question escaping your lips like a fragile whisper. 

“How?” you repeat, the word catching in the tightness of your throat. Tears cascade down your cheeks, each drop carrying the weight of an ocean, a torrential release of the overwhelming emotions within you. 

Your friend's voice wavers with sorrow as she delivers the painful revelation. “Apparently, she was sick and didn’t tell anybody…” 

Each word, heavy with the burden of the unspoken, echoes in the emptiness of your apartment.

The truth, a bitter pill to swallow, lingers in the air, and you find it hard to comprehend the reality of the situation. 

The walls of your sanctuary, once comforting, now press in on you, transforming your home into a claustrophobic cage of grief. The world outside seems to blur, and all that remains is the weight of disbelief settling on your shoulders.

The longing to share your grief with Yoongi intensifies, yet the barrier of not having his contact details becomes a painful obstacle. Your emotions, already tumultuous, now surge like a tempest within. 

Frustration and sorrow intermingle, a chaotic dance that you try to contain. 

As the weight of the news presses down on you, your nails unconsciously dig into your skin, seeking an outlet for the overwhelming emotions that threaten to consume you. The physical pain becomes a tangible manifestation of the emotional turmoil churning within.

The abruptness of Nari's illness and passing hits you like an unforeseen storm, leaving you grappling with disbelief. 

Memories of her last moments flash vividly, and you question the cruel twist of fate that snatched away someone seemingly healthy. The sounds of inconsolable sobbing echo in your ears, and only then do you realize that the mournful cries tearing through the air belong to you. 

“Are you alright?” Yuna asks you in sobs.

The weight of grief presses down on you, suffocating and relentless. 

As the tears stream down your face, each one carries a piece of the pain that now resides within you. 

“No,” you whisper, the word a feeble attempt to encapsulate the magnitude of your despair. 

Your body curls inwards, seeking solace in the fetal position, as if you could fold away the anguish. 

The phone lies beside you, a lifeline to Yuna's distant sobs, but it offers little comfort compared to the absent warmth of Kitten, whose presence could once bring solace to even the darkest moments.

The weight of Yuna's words hangs heavy in the air, a shroud of truth that you're forced to confront. “Babe, she had cancer and didn't want us to know… She wanted to live a happy life until the end,” 

Yuna sobs again, and though her intent is to offer solace, the revelation feels like a cascade of heavy stones on your already burdened heart. The bitter sweetness of her desire for a joyful life juxtaposed with the pain of her silent struggle adds another layer to the grief, leaving you to grapple with the complexities of Nari's hidden battles.

“Yuna…,” you cry, the anguish in your voice echoing the profound pain that seems to squeeze the very life out of your heart. 

“Why does everyone leave?” 

The question hangs in the air, more rhetorical than expectant, as if you're not seeking an answer from Yuna but grappling with the cruel patterns of departure that life has woven into the fabric of your existence. 

Each departure, like a thread pulled from the tapestry of your world, leaves an unraveled piece that never quite knits itself back together.

“I–, I don’t know,” she stammers through her tears, the weight of the unknown echoing in her voice, mirroring the uncertainty that now shrouds both of your lives.

“Promise we’ll be there for each other,” you declare, the weight of the words hanging in the air. It's a poignant plea, an acknowledgment of life's unpredictable twists. You understand that you can't ask for an eternity, but in this moment, you're determined to hold onto each other as tightly as time allows.

“Count on it,” she vows, her response flowing effortlessly, a testament to the unspoken bond between you two.

Despite the tightening in your throat, a glimmer of happiness sparks within you at the assurance she just gave.

Why must life be so fucking cruel, robbing you of everyone you hold dear?

An overwhelming urge to reconnect with your sister washes over you, a deep yearning fueled by the ache of prolonged silence between you.

“I want to call my sister,” you manage to say through your sobs, a desperate plea lacing your words. “Will you be alright, Yuna?” you ask, your concern breaking through the waves of grief that surround you both.

“Yeah. I mean, I'm fucking sad, but go ahead and call her. Can I come to your place tomorrow?” Yuna's voice carries a subtle plea, a shared understanding that neither of you wants to be alone in the midst of sorrow.

“Yeah, I'd love that,” you respond, your voice carrying the weight of grief and the faint glimmer of gratitude for the companionship that awaits tomorrow. As you attempt to dry your tears with a throw blanket on the couch, the room feels emptier than ever, and the ache in your heart persists.

“See you tomorrow,” she says before the call ends. 

The hollowness in the room deepens, and you draw in a shaky breath, your gaze fixed on your phone. The background image captures a moment frozen in time, featuring you, Nari, and Yuna. 

God, the ache of missing her intensifies, and you can't shake the heaviness in your chest.

You tighten your grip on the phone, each tear that escapes your eyes a silent testament to the pain in your heart. Determination wells up as you locate your sister's number, fingers tracing the familiar digits, ready to bridge the gap that time and distance have carved between you.

The rhythmic ringing echoes through the emptiness of your apartment, each tone a reminder of the solitude that now envelops you. 

Anxiety gnaws at the edges of your thoughts as you anticipate the warmth of your sister's voice, a comfort you desperately need. Yet, the unanswered calls amplify the distance that separates you. With a heavy heart, you decide against leaving a message, the weight of unspoken words settling as you slump back onto the couch.

The sudden vibration of your phone startles you, and as you glance at the screen, the sight of your sister's name sparks a mixture of relief and anticipation. With a soft sniffle, you muster the strength to answer, “Hey, sis,” your voice laced with a blend of vulnerability and longing, reaching out across the digital expanse to bridge the emotional gap that separates you.

A chill courses through your body, rendering you motionless, as a deep, resonant voice resonates through the phone, catching you off guard.

“Hey,” his voice echoes through the phone, sending a shiver down your spine. 

Your trembling hand clutches the device, and you find yourself holding your breath, caught in the sudden intensity of the moment.

“I'm Detective Kim,” he introduces himself, his voice echoing through the line. It carries a calm demeanor, yet beneath its surface, you detect a subtle undertone of sadness, adding a mysterious depth to his words.

This can't be good, you murmur to yourself, the words barely escaping your lips as a chill courses through your veins, turning your blood to ice once again.

“Are you Jiho's sister?” The detective's voice remains steady and calm, but beneath the surface, you sense an undercurrent of gravity and anticipation.

“Yes,” you reply, your voice catching in a sob as you struggle to contain your tears. The ominous feeling intensifies, and you can't shake the sinking realization that a detective is the one answering your sister's phone. 

The air becomes heavy with uncertainty and fear.

“I'm deeply sorry to be the bearer of this news,” he begins with a sympathetic tone. 

You inhale sharply, bracing yourself for the impact of the words that follow.

“Your sister has passed away.” 

The world seems to shatter around you as the weight of his message settles in, leaving you breathless and heartbroken.

In that devastating moment, it feels as if the very foundation of your existence crumbles. 

Your body and soul plummet through a void, each passing second an agonizing countdown to the inevitable impact that will shatter you into a million irreparable pieces. 

The weight of grief bears down on you, and you're suspended in a free fall of despair. 

You become acutely aware of your breath, or the lack thereof, as if the air itself has turned into a suffocating force, triggering a torrent of violent inhalations, each one a desperate attempt to grasp onto a reality that has just slipped through your fingers.

A heavy silence envelops the room as the detective imparts the devastating truth, each word landing with the weight of a sledgehammer on your fragile emotions. “She was killed,” he utters, the somber notes in his tone resonating like a funeral dirge, casting a pall over the already dim reality of your world.

A suffocating wave of panic crashes over you, rendering your extremities numb and your breath caught in the grip of invisible hands. 

The room seems to close in as the detective's voice on the phone becomes a distant echo, his words lost in the disorienting whirlwind of your own mental tempest. It's a struggle to comprehend the standard condolences and procedures he details, as if reality itself is slipping through your trembling fingers.

Fucking hell. Is this hell?

In the wake of your parents' departure, you believed you had tasted the bitterest sorrow, yet today eclipses that agony without a shadow of a doubt.

You cast your phone aside on the couch, retreating to your bedroom, collapsing onto the bed. The anguish within erupts into violent sobs, an unrelenting torrent of tears flooding from your eyes, your entire frame convulsing with the weight of your grief.

You bury your face into the softness of the pillow, muffling the guttural scream that tears from your lungs. 

The sound, a primal release of anguish, reverberates within the confines of your room. Screw the neighbors; right now, the universe needs to bear witness to the rawness of your pain.

What the fuck is up with this world? Everyone around you dies! Everyone leaves!

You can’t take it anymore.

As you surrender to the torrents of grief, you hope that tears might offer solace, a fleeting relief that could pave the way for much-needed sleep. Yet, despite your desperate attempts, the embrace of slumber eludes you, leaving you trapped in the clutches of your sorrow-soaked thoughts.

In an impulsive surge, you opt for a nocturnal stroll. Snatching your jacket, you step into the silent night, the residue of dried tears blending seamlessly with the ones that refuse to cease. 

The moon above, a silent witness to the turmoil within, as your footsteps echo the rhythm of a heart weighed down by grief.

As you traverse the familiar streets of town, a magnetic pull guiding you to a cherished park, your sanctuary. Swiftly, you arrive and gingerly settle your weary frame onto a weathered bench, the cool night air offering a gentle caress to your battered soul.

As your gaze ascends to the enchanting tapestry of the night, a celestial dance of stars unfolds above. Tonight, the cosmic expanse seems to cradle the spirits of your sister and Nari, their luminous presence illuminating the vast darkness, a celestial reunion among the constellations.

As your tears persist, you fix your eyes upon the star-lit canvas above. Each gleaming star appears like a radiant jewel, casting an ethereal glow across the night. The beauty is undeniable, yet a poignant sadness lingers in your heart. 

Compelled by an unspoken yearning, you embark on the solemn task of counting the stars, each one a celestial tribute to the cherished souls who now adorn the heavens. 

The question echoes in your mind: Why?

Why do they blaze with such brilliance, akin to a dying star igniting in a final, magnificent burst before consuming everything in its cosmic embrace?

Your heart pounds violently against your ribcage, each beat echoing through your chest, and the air feels elusive, slipping away as if you're caught in a suffocating grip.

Life reveals its cruel nature, leaving you to grapple with the relentless question: Why does everyone leave? Why does the world around you crumble, stealing away those you hold dear?

An emptiness envelopes you, a void so profound it swallows every ounce of light. Darkness creeps in, and an irresistible urge emerges, coaxing you to surrender to its consuming embrace.

Perhaps it's time to release your grip on reality and join the celestial dance of those who have departed before you?

As the tears flow, perhaps this haunting void within will dissipate, bringing an end to the relentless ache that permeates every fiber of your being.

As the weight of loneliness bears down on you, an insidious desire to surrender, to slip into an eternal slumber, creeps through your shattered heart. The yearning for an endless sleep, where the fractured pieces of your soul find solace, consumes you. It's as if the very essence of your being is crumbling into irreparable fragments.

The fragments of your soul lie scattered, and the daunting question echoes in the hollow chambers of your despair—can you summon the strength to mend them once more, to piece together the shattered remnants of your being?

In the depths of your despair, a resolute realization surfaces — a quiet but unwavering knowing that, despite the relentless cruelty, you're not ready to surrender to the void. Life, as brutal as it may be, still holds threads of resilience within its intricate tapestry, and you find an ember of strength glowing amidst the shadows.

You divert your gaze downward, focusing on your hands nestled in your lap, choosing the tangible reality of your own existence over the distant allure of the star-studded night.

You harbor too many aspirations to surrender to despair. Your desires paint a vivid canvas of dreams: to find solace in the embrace of a kind-hearted partner, secure a fulfilling career, and relish the simple joys that life offers. Nari's silent battle with illness inspires you to embrace life with the same gusto, celebrating its moments without the need for validation.

In the midst of your fragmented existence, amidst the shattering pain, you crave it all. Yearning for the entirety of life's tapestry, even when it feels like it's unraveling. 

Despite life's cruelty, there's an undeniable allure in its intricate beauty, compelling you to seek solace and embrace the stunning contradictions that define your life.

Amidst the tear-stained path, your resolve solidifies. 

The decision made, you tread back to your apartment, the silent witness to your inner turmoil. Each step echoes with the weight of your emotions, a symphony of sorrow playing in the background. 

The sanctuary of your home beckons, promising the respite that only sleep, albeit restless, can bring. Sleep, like a long-lost friend, embraces you swiftly this time. Grateful for the solace it brings, you sink into its comforting arms, the reprieve from the turmoil of the day unfolding like a gentle lullaby.

The chime of the doorbell resonates through your apartment, and you're roused from the depths of sleep. Yuna, true to her word, stands on the other side, a beacon of support in your time of need.

Embraced in a tight hug, tears stream down both your faces, the shared weight of grief transforming the silent embrace into a powerful testament of mutual understanding and shared sorrow.

Seated on the couch, you engage in a heartfelt conversation about the unpredictable journey of life—its highs and lows. 

As a comforting silence settles between you, you reach for the remote and, with a flicker of distraction, decide on a mindless show. Wrapped in the embrace of shared grief, you find solace in the soft glow of the television, its images casting a gentle veil over your weary souls.

That night, Yuna stays over, a comforting presence that feels like a blessing in the midst of your overwhelming grief.

In the vulnerable hours of the night, you pour your heart out to Yuna. 

Tears flow freely as you share the ache of losing your sister, the void left by Kitten's absence, and the fear that Yoongi might be gone forever. In the solace of shared sorrow, you find a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows.

In the tender embrace of Yuna, you find solace. Her comforting presence is a lifeline in the storm of grief, holding you close as tears cascade. Though she's often your pillar of strength, tonight you yearn to reciprocate, to be the support she's always been for you. It's a quiet understanding, an unspoken pact between friends navigating the unpredictable currents of life.

In the quiet depths of the night, as you share your pain with Yuna, a flicker of determination ignites within you. You yearn not just for solace but to become the architect of your own joy. The realization dawns that your happiness lies in the unwritten chapters of your own journey, waiting to be explored and embraced. It's a moment of self-discovery, a commitment to forge your path to happiness, independent and resilient.

With the dawn of a new day, you decide to embark on a journey of self-discovery. 

Despite the weight of sorrow lingering in your chest, you resolve to savor life in all its transient splendor—embracing its beauty, acknowledging its ugliness, and reveling in every nuanced shade in between. 

Each moment becomes a canvas, and you are determined to paint it with the vibrant strokes of resilience and newfound appreciation.

With unwavering determination, you approached your boss at the café, advocating for a shift in your work hours. The goal? To rekindle the pursuit of knowledge, to step back into the world of academia and reignite the spark of astrophysics that had once fueled your passion. 

As the prospect of returning to school looms on the horizon, you recognize that the journey ahead is both a challenge and an opportunity—a chance to sculpt a future that you can genuinely be proud of, with each completed course marking a triumph over self-doubt and a step closer to the constellations of your dreams.

In the wake of that poignant night where two cherished souls departed, a few months have quietly slipped away. 

In a tender gesture of support, Yuna encourages you to embrace the prospect of love once more. Unlike before, hesitation has no place in your heart this time. 

With newfound courage, you step into the realm of dating, a journey tinged with both vulnerability and hope, as you navigate through the tapestry of emotions woven by the threads of the past and the promises of the future.

Life, a relentless journey, doesn't yield to simplicity, yet within its intricate folds, a subtle transformation occurs. It doesn't unravel swiftly, but with each passing day, it stitches together a mosaic of improvement, a gradual emergence from the shadows into the dappled light of a better tomorrow.

With each sunrise, a symphony of healing orchestrates within you, crescendoing into a melody that resonates louder, and you find solace in the fact that every dawn gifts you a version of yourself stronger and more resilient than the preceding day.

As winter unfurls its icy embrace, you find solace in the familiar touch of your cherished wool coat, the cozy sanctuary of fluffy sweaters enveloping you like a hug from a dear friend, and the softness of warm socks cradling your every step. 

With a steaming cup of tea in hand, you dive into your studies, the brisk air outside contrasting with the warmth that courses through your veins.

Embarking on the journey to reclaim an unfinished chapter of your life, returning to the hallowed halls of academia, you revel in the triumphant echoes of resilience as you strive to complete the narrative you once set in motion.

As you tread homeward, the city draped in the melancholy hues of twilight, a fleeting silhouette dashes through the alleys, a phantom of darkness. 

For the briefest moment, memories of Kitten's playful escapades dance in your mind, a bittersweet symphony of nostalgia. 

A sigh, heavy with the weight of longing, escapes your lips, yet you trudge forward, navigating the shadows toward the warmth of your home.

In the intimate glow of your kitchen, you conjure a culinary masterpiece, a symphony of flavors orchestrated only for yourself. The sizzle of ingredients harmonizes with the rhythmic beat of your heart, a ritual of self-love that has become your refuge. 

Many a time, you've crafted these delectable creations, some shared in the company of fleeting dates whose presence, like autumn leaves, brushed briefly against the canvas of your life, but leaving no lasting imprint on your heart.

Midway through the mundane task of stowing away dishes, a subtle and mysterious hum reverberates through your abode, originating from the vicinity of your door.

The air is suddenly filled with a familiar, distant melody—a soft and rhythmic meowing that sends a jolt of excitement through you. 

Abandoning your chores, you rush to the door, fingers fumbling with the lock, and there, in all his glory, stands Kitten!

In a flurry of warmth and relief, you scoop up the cold, shivering Kitten into your embrace, quickly closing the door behind him. His meows echo gratitude, and a tender lick against your cheek seals the unspoken bond that time and distance failed to break.

In a million moments, you never fathomed seeing him again. Now, as he rests in your arms, elation courses through you like a celestial symphony, leaving you over the moon with sheer happiness.

His return is a testament to a bond beyond time, a friendship that defies the measure of days. It's not about the duration of his absence; it's about the joyous truth that he returned to you, stitching the fragments of your heart back together.

You rush to your cabinet, your heart pounding with both relief and excitement. Grabbing a can of cat food, you swiftly prepare a feast for Kitten, watching as he eagerly devours the meal, his hunger echoing the void his absence left in your life.

As you stroke Kitten's fur, you can't help but ponder on the mysteries that shroud his disappearance. His body, while not emaciated, carries the silent tales of his adventures. 

You yearn to unravel the chapters of his feline escapades, wishing you could converse with him, share the unspoken hardships, and assure him that he's found a forever home in the warmth of your embrace.

In a breathless whisper, you confess, “I've missed you so much,” the weight of your longing carried in the tenderness of your voice. 

A solitary tear, a testament to the emotions flooding your heart, escapes and dances down your cheek, mirroring the joy of a reunion long yearned for.

As the echoes of your affectionate words linger in the air, Kitten responds with a gentle purr, a harmonious melody that intertwines seamlessly with the sound of him relishing the meal.

Amidst the soft cadence of Kitten's purring, you find solace in the familiar presence of your feline companion. With a sigh, you decide to share the intricacies of the tumultuous journey you've undertaken since his absence. “So much has unfolded, Kitten,” you whisper, your voice a gentle reassurance, “a lot of shit, but also a lot of good.”

As Kitten finishes his meal, he responds with a symphony of content purrs, gracefully padding over to where you crouch. With a playful nudge against your legs, he seems to convey a silent acknowledgment, a shared moment of warmth and connection between old friends.

In the span of a few days, the void that Kitten's absence left has been filled with the comforting rhythm of his presence. You've poured out your heart to him, recounting the events and emotions that unfolded during his time away, as if catching him up on the chapters of your life. 

Kitten, with his attentive eyes and soothing purrs, seems to understand more than most, providing a silent anchor in the storm of your experiences.

As you sink into the soft embrace of your couch, a contented smile plays on your lips. With Kitten nestled beside you, you share a profound realization that has taken root in your heart: ‘I live, so I love.’ The words hang in the air, a testament to the resilience you've found in the face of life's unpredictable twists. The TV hums with background noise, but in that moment, the simple joy of companionship fills the room.

In the quiet solitude of your apartment, you confide in Kitten, the loyal companion who has witnessed both your joys and sorrows. “I don't think he's coming back,” you murmur, a tinge of sadness lingering in your voice. As if attuned to your emotions, Kitten responds with a gentle meow, a feline reassurance that transcends words. 

In the rhythmic cadence of your words, a sense of vulnerability emerges. “I know, I know. I don't need a man in my life. I get that,” you confess, your voice carrying the weight of self-awareness.

The clinking of utensils against pots and pans provides a subtle percussion to your thoughts as you continue, “But Yoongi was special, you know? Like he just got me... and I just wish for him to be happy doing whatever he's doing.” The aroma of dinner fills the air, mingling with the unspoken sentiments swirling in the room.

As you delicately feed Kitten some steamed broccoli, the notion of reuniting with Yoongi lingers in the air. “If he comes back, you should meet him – I'll introduce you!” The words spill from your lips, carrying a hopeful melody.

As you reminisce about Yoongi, a fond smile plays on your lips. “He's such a wonderful person. And handsome? Oh, his hands,” you begin, tracing the air with your fingers as if you can feel the texture of his presence. Memories flood back, each detail etched in your mind like a cherished photograph. “Long fingers, veiny hands,” you murmur, the words infused with a hint of admiration that even surprises you. The love for this man reverberates in your voice, a quiet confession to the depths of your feelings.

Kitten's melodic meow serenades the room as he gracefully weaves between your feet, his tail coiling affectionately around your calves like a comforting embrace.

“If you meet him, please don’t claw his back out like you did with that other guy. Yoongi is nice.”

With a heavy heart, you confide in Kitten, the weight of your worry evident in the rhythmic tapping of the spatula against the sizzling vegetables. “It's been nearly half a year, and I can't shake the feeling that something might have happened to him,” you murmur, the crackling sounds of the kitchen offering a somber backdrop to your uncertainty.

As the warmth of the meal envelops you and Kitten, you sit together, a silent companionship settling over the room. The simplicity of this moment strikes you, and a quiet realization unfolds – you love your life just as it is. 

In the shared silence, you feel a sense of wholeness, a testimony to the goodness found in life's simplicity. Though your heart may still ache at times, you've come to accept that, too, as a part of the beautiful complexity that makes life what it is.

You're keenly aware that time is the remedy for healing, a gentle but persistent force that gradually eases the ache until one day, the pain will be a distant echo of what it once was.

Your weary limbs protest against the demands of a full-time class schedule and cafe shifts, revealing the hidden challenges of your daily grind. Fatigue clings to you like a shadow, and an involuntary yawn escapes.

With a wearied sigh, you address Kitten, your loyal companion in fatigue. “Ah, Kitten, today's been a battle. I'm going to bed early today,” you murmur, dragging your exhausted body to the bathroom in a nightly ritual. 

Upon returning to your sanctuary, you find Kitten, already nestled in his customary spot, a comforting presence in the silent embrace of the night.

Sinking beneath the cozy duvet, you surrender to its tender embrace, the fabric cocooning you in a haven of softness. With a gentle pat, you acknowledge Kitten, “Thank you for being here,” you murmur before succumbing to the enchantment of dreamland.

As consciousness tiptoes back into your awareness, the remnants of dreams linger like elusive whispers in your mind. Gently awakening, you open your eyes to find the absence of Kitten.

Your eyes widen in astonishment, and your body tenses as you absorb the scene unfolding before you—a man, peacefully lost in the realm of dreams. 

Your gaze follows the cascade of long, slightly curly, obsidian hair that drapes over his shoulders, tracing the contours of his creamy white skin. The play of morning light reveals a well-defined back, drawing your eyes down the elegant curve of his spine until they come to rest on a small, soft, plum-like ass. The realization hits you like a bolt— he's completely naked!

Why is your heart orchestrating a rapid symphony, each beat echoing in your ears like a thunderous drumroll? And what in the world is a naked stranger doing sprawled across your sheets as though he belongs there?

He slumbers in serene oblivion, emitting soft, melodic sighs that weave through the air, his chest gracefully ascending and descending in rhythmic dance with each tranquil breath.

Wait. 

He seems familiar.

A gasp escapes your lips as you take a closer look, and the realization hits you like a bolt of lightning – it's Yoongi! 

Shock and disbelief intertwine in your chest as you stare at his peaceful slumber.

Confusion and a hint of panic surge through you as your mind races with questions. 

Why is Yoongi in your bed, and why on earth is he naked?

How did Yoongi end up here, and where is Kitten?

A myriad of questions spins through your mind, a turbulent storm of curiosity. As you ponder the mysteries, you belatedly notice Yoongi stirring, gracefully shifting to lie on his back.

Your face burns with embarrassment as the realization dawns that he's still completely naked. Heat rises to your cheeks when his half-erect dick brushes against his stomach, prompting you to instinctively shield your eyes, flustered by the unexpected sight.

You wrestle with the dilemma of whether to disturb his serene slumber or let him continue resting peacefully. The soft innocence in his sleeping form makes the decision more challenging, and you lean towards allowing him to bask in the tranquility of his dreams undisturbed.

Gently, you drape the comforting warmth of your duvet over him, a shield against the chill of the room. With nimble movements, you extract yourself from the bed, careful not to disturb the delicate balance of his slumber.

Confusion seizes your thoughts as you grapple with the surreal scenario—Yoongi peacefully nestled in your bed. You wrack your brain, questioning every sober memory, desperately trying to unearth the missing pieces that would explain his presence.

You step into the kitchen, a fleeting sense of unease prickling at your skin as you scan the room for Kitten, but he remains elusive, leaving a trace of uncertainty in the air.

A twinge of melancholy washes over you as Kitten remains elusive, but you console yourself with the hope that he might return, his absence merely a temporary void in your otherwise comforting routine.

You embark on the simple yet intimate act of preparing two steaming cups of coffee—one for yourself and one for the unexpected visitor who occupies your bed.

You seize a handful of aromatic coffee beans from a vintage jar, letting the rich fragrance envelop you as you crush them under the steady hum of your machine. With precision, you measure out the perfect amount, combining it with hot water, allowing the concoction to brew into a comforting elixir.

While the coffee brews, your mind races with bewildering thoughts about Yoongi's unexpected presence in your bed. Puzzlement clouds your senses as you contemplate every conceivable scenario. 

Did he let himself in? Was there some mysterious way he could have gained access? 

With a touch of anxiety, you even venture to your front door, checking for any signs of unauthorized entry, only to find it securely locked, shrouded in an eerie silence.

You're grappling with the perplexing mystery of Yoongi's appearance in your bed, as if he materialized out of thin air, defying all logic and reason, leaving you spellbound by the inexplicable magic that seems to have woven its way into your ordinary reality.

In the quiet chaos of your thoughts, Yoongi's presence offers more questions than answers, an enigmatic puzzle that seems to defy the ordinary. The absence of Kitten only adds another layer of mystery to the unfolding scene. 

As the coffee machine dings, disrupting the contemplative silence, you're left grappling with the surreal conundrum before you, seeking clarity in the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

With the warmth of freshly brewed coffee in your hands, you reenter the bedroom to discover Yoongi, now alert, draped in your duvet, a captivating silhouette in the soft morning light.

Your greeting falters as you nervously stammer, “H–, Hi,” setting the two mugs of coffee on your nightstand. Yoongi's gaze, sharp and feline-like, traces your every move, creating a palpable tension in the air.

An unfamiliar nervousness grips you in his presence, an unusual sensation considering your usual ease around him. Perhaps it's the fact that he's naked, his gaze akin to a predator eyeing down its prey, intensifying the air with an unspoken tension.

“Hey,” finally breaking the silence, he greets you with a low grumble, scratching his head and letting out a lazy yawn.

His body exudes a captivating blend of softness and defined muscles, a captivating sight that—

His voice, laced with a teasing smirk, breaks the tension. “Can't stop staring at my dick, huh?”

Your throat tightens as you realize you've been caught in the act, silently observing him. Panic sets in – does he think you're a freak now? Fantastic.

You let out a nervous chuckle, deliberately shifting your gaze away from the obvious bulge in the duvet around his lap. “What are you doing here, Yoongi? And why are you naked?” you inquire, genuinely puzzled.

He chuckles, a low sound that sends a shiver down your spine, and you can't help but feel a tinge of unease. “You haven't figured it out yet?” he teases, his words hanging in the air, leaving you in suspense.

You must resemble a walking question mark, because his chuckles only intensify. It's as if he finds your confusion amusing, and you're left standing there, desperate for answers in the midst of his enigmatic laughter.

In a soft tone laced with a smirk, he utters, “Kitten.”

Your gaze fixates on him, bewildered. Kitten? Is he referring to your cat?

Your jaw drops as he gracefully emerges from the bed, the duvet cascading off his frame. In his unabashed nudity, he strides toward you.

He inches closer, the proximity almost causing your lips to collide. A surge of warmth courses through you when he delicately tucks a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.

“I’m a shapeshifter,” his revelation hangs in the air, the weight of it palpable, and as he locks eyes with you, searching for any flicker of discomfort, the truth settles. Before you can process it fully, he leans in, capturing your lips with an irresistible surge of passion.

His lips, soft and inviting, embark on a slow yet passionate dance, as if reuniting with a long-lost lover. Responding eagerly, you part your lips, allowing the kiss to deepen, and in that electrifying moment, your entire body succumbs to a sensation akin to melting butter.

You yield to his touch, molding your body to his as you sense the undeniable hardness of his arousal intimately pressing against your core.

Fuck.

In the midst of the heated moment, you draw back slightly to meet his gaze, the question hanging in the air, “So... you're Kitten?”

He offers no verbal response, just a low, affirmative hum, before plunging back into another intoxicating kiss.

You surrender to the sensation, feeling the firm grip of his hands on your waist as they journey upward beneath the fabric of your well-worn shirt.

His touch ignites a trail of sensations, tracing a path across your body, sending electric shivers as he lifts your shirt, gently grazing against the contours of your breasts.

Under the intensity of his gaze, your body responds, a flush of heat spreading through you, your nipples hardening in response. He emits a low, satisfied hum, as if relishing the effect he has on you.

Effortlessly, he works to level the playing field, swiftly undressing you as if in a race against time. With a purposeful tug, he eases your shorts down, a silent declaration of his desire.

Bare before him, clad only in a simple black panty adorned with delicate pink hearts, you can't shake the vulnerability coursing through you. A sudden urge to conceal yourself washes over, a reaction to the raw exposure in this intimate moment.

“Don't shy away, you're stunning,” Yoongi murmurs, his firm grip on your hips drawing you closer to his naked body. The undeniable heat of his arousal presses against your core, a tangible reminder of the desire smoldering between you.

Gratitude escapes your lips in a hushed tone, your cheeks tinged with a warm blush.

“Now, let’s get these off you, yeah?” with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he hooks his fingers inside the fabric of your panties, teasingly tugging them down. He pauses, seeking your consent, before sensually sliding them all the way down your legs.

As he slides your panties down, a sudden awareness of your arousal hits you, intensified by the cool rush of air against your heated core.

As they fall to the floor, Yoongi swiftly snatches up your panties, bringing them to his face to inhale the intoxicating essence of your arousal, his eyes darkening with desire.

Why does that look so utterly sinful, setting off a delicious rush of arousal coursing through your veins, leaving you breathless in its wake?

As the intoxicating scent of you envelops him, he murmurs, “Damn, you smell good,” his eyes dilating with an unmistakable hunger.

“I wonder if you taste as good as you smell.”

In the raw vulnerability of your shared nakedness, he guides your body back to the bed, gently laying you down, his presence a magnetic force, hovering above you.

He immerses himself in the expanse of your neck, a symphony of sensations unfolding – a delicate ballet of tender kisses, followed by the electrifying nip of his teeth grazing the juncture between your neck and shoulder.

You moan in unabashed pleasure, your hands instinctively seeking refuge on his chiseled pectorals, anchoring yourself amidst the rising waves of bliss.

Yoongi's gaze shifts to the mirror positioned strategically in front of your bed. “I've been meaning to ask,” he smirks, locking eyes with you, “why do you have a mirror in front of your bed?”

You squirm beneath him, breath catching.”'It's part of my wardrobe panels,” you admit, your voice a fragile melody.

He chuckles, a low and enticing sound, his smirk dancing on his lips. “I don't think that's why the whole panel is mirrors,” he says, sitting up slightly. His finger traces a slow, teasing path from your collarbones to your breasts, sending shivers of anticipation racing through your body.

He leans in, his breath sending a shiver down your spine, and in a deep, low voice, he murmurs into your ear, “You're a dirty one, aren't you?”

His degrading words make your breath hitch instantly, and you involuntarily clench your thighs together. As you shake your head in disagreement, he just smirks, unconvinced.

His chuckle resonates in the room as he asks, “Do you enjoy watching yourself in the mirrors?” Sitting up, he moves to the foot of the bed, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark.

He gracefully steps out of the bed, casting a predatory gaze as he hovers over you, an aura of irresistible allure surrounding him.

With unwavering determination, he declares, “You're going to watch yourself in the mirror as I fuck your pussy with my tongue.” In a single, fluid motion, he seizes both of your thighs, pulling you to the foot of the bed, sending a thrilling jolt through your senses.

Despite the heat coursing through your entire being, a light chuckle escapes your lips. However, the mirth dissipates as you lock eyes with the intensity in Yoongi's dark gaze.

“Sit up,” his command echoes through the room, and as he gracefully lowers himself between your legs, a thrilling anticipation courses through the air.

From your elevated position, you admire the tousled chaos of his hair, a disheveled masterpiece that only enhances his captivating allure. His eyes gleam with a mischievous spark, a silent promise of the intensity that is about to unfold.

You seize his cheeks with urgency, your voice dripping with desire, a fervent plea escaping your lips, “Fuck. Yoongi, please eat me out.”

He moistens his lips with a teasing chuckle, descending eagerly towards your already soaked center.

He expertly widens the gap between your legs, creating a perfect haven for himself before delving into your pussy with fervent devotion.

With a tantalizing finesse, he starts with a subtle stroke of his tongue along your folds, gradually ascending to the apex of your clit, eliciting a fervent moan that echoes in the room.

As waves of pleasure cascade through you, your fingers instinctively entwine in his tousled locks, gently pulling as he skillfully devotes his attention to the exquisite dance of his tongue and lips on your pulsating core.

Gasping for breath, your anticipation mounts, every nerve tingling with pleasure, as Yoongi's rhythmic strokes across your intimate folds propel you toward a climax, your toes curling in ecstasy.

Pausing momentarily, he murmurs in appreciation, “You taste even better than you smell, Kitten,” his words sending a shiver down your spine.

You're on the verge of asking him about the nickname ‘Kitten,’ but his tongue explores your folds, leaving you breathless and unable to form words.

Your question dissolves in the heat of the moment, the building climax taking center stage as you lose yourself in the pursuit of pleasure.

Lost in the waves of ecstasy, you can't resist the urge to surrender, closing your eyes as Yoongi works his magic with undeniable expertise.

“No, no, no. Look at yourself in the mirror, Kitten.”

“Why do—” before you can finish your question, it fades away on your tongue as Yoongi plunges back into pleasuring your core with a renewed intensity, leaving your thoughts swallowed by the whirlwind of sensations.

As you glance at the mirror, you catch a glimpse of your own blissful expression, framed by Yoongi's tousled black hair nestled between your thighs. The sight is nothing short of breathtaking, a sight of pleasure that leaves you utterly captivated.

The provocative scene unfolding in the mirror intensifies your arousal, your breath hitching in tandem with the escalating desire pulsating through your veins.

“Yoongi, I’m—” your plea catches in your throat as Yoongi skillfully responds, his hand finding your pulsating clit, heightening the pleasure while he continues to ravish you with his insatiable tongue.

His fingers dance in rhythmic circles over your throbbing clit, coaxing the tension from your core. As the knot unravels, a wave of blissful release washes over you, leaving you breathless and trembling in its wake.

Ecstasy courses through your veins, your toes curling, muscles tightening, and in that moment, an unexpected surge of pleasure hits you like a sneeze that never comes. You release a symphony of moans, surrendering to the intense climax that Yoongi skillfully orchestrates with his talented tongue.

He continues to suck, savoring every drop of your essence, an insatiable thirst in his eyes matching the fervor of the intimate dance between your bodies.

As the intensity peaks, you gently tap his shoulder, signaling him to withdraw. He complies with a sensual slurp, leaving you breathless and tingling with the echoes of pleasure.

A mischievous grin stretches across his face as he licks his lips, “You're incredible, Kitten.”

You arch an eyebrow, curiosity coloring your tone, “Why do you keep calling me ‘Kitten’? You’re Kitten.”

He erupts in laughter, a symphony that resonates through the room, his chest rising and falling with the melody of mirth, and in that moment, he's a captivating masterpiece.

“Do I really look like a Kitten to you?” he inquires, a playful glint in his eyes as he gently nudges you back onto the bed.

Your words stumble as you search for a response, “Not really,” you admit, offering him a small yet tender smile.

“But you look cute and sweet, like a good Kitten,” he murmurs, his hands exploring the curves of your breasts.

A low moan escapes your lips as he teases your nipples with a playful twist, igniting a fresh surge of desire that pools in the growing heat between your thighs.

As you ache for the feel of his throbbing length, you attempt to grab hold of him, but like a fleeting mirage, he skillfully eludes your touch, leaving you yearning for the intimate connection that inches away with each evasive movement.

“Nah. I just want to fuck you silly,” he rasps, eyes tracing every bead of sweat on your flushed skin, reveling in the primal rhythm of your hurried breaths.

“If you want to, that is?” he teases, his voice a sultry whisper, as he takes control, guiding himself between your legs with a confident hand that promises a morning full of pleasure.

As you feel the weight of his gaze, you gulp, wondering how, in that heated moment, he could question what you crave. It's undeniable – you want him, and the intensity of your desire hangs in the air between you, palpable and unspoken.

Your breath catches as you respond, the words tumbling from your lips in a heated rush, “Fuck, yes, Yoongi. I want you inside me, now,” the urgency in your voice betraying the intensity of your desire.

A low, rumbling chuckle escapes him, the sound sending a shiver down your spine as he replies, “Please” with a teasing glint in his eyes.

“‘Please’ what?”

“Say ‘please’.”

You huff, incredulous at his audacity. The desire in his eyes is undeniable, and he seems to enjoy the game. Part of you rebels, tempted to be a brat just to irk him, but the need for his touch overrides any resistance. You crave his intimacy, aching for his dick despite the defiance lingering in the air.

“Fuck this,” you grumble, frustration evident in your voice. In that fleeting moment, you catch a glimpse of Yoongi pulling back, as if reconsidering his stance.

“Please! Don’t leave,” you plead desperately, your sincerity laid bare. The smirk on his face deepens, as if savoring the intensity of your plea.

“Please fuck me, Yoongi.”

His satisfaction evident, he rewards you with a swift kiss before aligning himself with your eager entrance, anticipation humming in the air.

Your arousal has reached a point where there's no discomfort, just a perfect fit as he slides into you, your wetness welcoming and enveloping him seamlessly.

He hisses as he eases into your warm, tight walls, and you can feel him doing his best to restrain himself.

You release a breathy huff as he fully penetrates, his balls gently meeting the warmth of your folds.

He lets out a guttural groan as he steadies himself, withdrawing only to plunge back in with an intensity that sends shivers through your body.

In this intimate position, with him above you, every nuance of his pleasure is on full display—the way his nose scrunches in delight, his soft lips occasionally nibbling the bottom one in sheer ecstasy.

Between each thrust, he can't help but express his amazement, his voice low and husky, “Damn. You're so tight.”

You know. It’s been awhile. 

As he moves within you with an increased rhythm, his hands find your breasts, skillfully massaging them in sync with his fervent thrusts, creating a symphony of pleasure that courses through your entire body.

Ecstasy courses through you, and in the midst of your fervent pleasure, you can't help but release a breathless exclamation, “Fuck, Yoongi!”

Every skillful thrust seems to find its mark, synchronized with the enticing dance of his fingers on your hardened nipples. Pleasure envelops you, clouding your thoughts in a haze of ecstasy.

Your pleasure intensifies as Yoongi skillfully pinches your nipples, eliciting a symphony of moans that harmonize with the rhythmic dance of his passionate thrusts.

Sensations ripple through you, and the desire to reciprocate Yoongi's pleasure builds within you. You yearn to give him the same ecstasy he's generously bestowed upon you.

Amidst the rhythmic cadence of Yoongi's thrusts, a bold request escapes your lips. Your gaze, laced with desire, meets his, and with a subtle plea in your eyes, you softly murmur, “Yoongi—, I want to ride you. Please.”

With a devilish grin, Yoongi withdraws from your embrace, reclining on the bed, his eyes ablaze with anticipation.

His voice, laced with desire, sends shivers down your spine as he commands, “Then you're gonna watch in the mirrors as you fuck yourself on my dick,” reclining with his head angled towards the mirrors.

Mounting him, you position yourself strategically, both of you reflected in the mirror—a tantalizing image of entangled limbs, the intensity of the moment etched in your heaving, sweat-glistened bodies.

Grasping his throbbing dick, he hisses in anticipation as you deftly align your eager entrance with his cock.

With a fluid motion, you descend onto his rigid cock, your velvet walls enveloping him in a tight, intoxicating embrace.

From below, Yoongi savors the view, his gaze lingering on the contours of your face, as if committing every detail to memory.

You guide the rhythm, your hands finding stability on his sculpted chest, setting the pace as you ride him with a mix of determination and desire.

Your movements cascade, a slow dance that gradually builds momentum, each rise and fall carrying a symphony of pleasure and anticipation.

As you gaze upon your reflection, the flush of arousal paints your cheeks, your disheveled hair framing your face like an unruly halo, and your breasts dance in perfect harmony with the rhythm of your passionate movements.

The person in the mirror seems like a stranger, a sensual revelation you never knew existed within you. The mirrors, always present but never before utilized for sex, now reflect a version of yourself that’s both thrilling and new.

Heat courses through your veins, an intoxicating blend of arousal and empowerment, as you observe your own uninhibited reflection. With newfound vigor, you escalate the rhythm, riding Yoongi more vigorously. His appreciative groans and tender gaze mirror the intensity of the moment.

Unbridled desire takes over as your hands instinctively find their way to Yoongi's neck. Without a conscious thought, your fingers glide over the warmth of his skin, gently encircling his throat.

An electrifying jolt courses through you as you sense Yoongi's involuntary twitch within you, and you catch the ragged rhythm of his breath.

Panic courses through you, and you hastily retract your hands, realizing with a shock that you had unintentionally exerted pressure on Yoongi's throat. “Oh my God! I'm so sorry!” you blurt out, your apology a mix of concern and embarrassment.

“It's fine, Kitten. I like it,” he reassures you with a devilish grin, seizing your hands and guiding them back around his neck, his eyes sparking with a hint of mischief.

You shoot him a concerned glance, pausing your movements to ensure he's okay. Once he reassures you with a nod, signaling his approval, you dive back into the rhythm you had before.

With a newfound boldness, you tighten your grip around his throat, drawing out another satisfying twitch from him. His reaction sends a surge of pleasure through you as he hits that sweet spot, causing a kaleidoscope of sensations that make you see stars.

Your unrestrained moans fill the room, a symphony of desire that intertwines with the rhythmic sounds of your bodies colliding. The sight of Yoongi unraveling beneath your touch fuels a primal arousal, and you revel in the raw passion that courses through every fiber of your being.

“Fuck!” you pant.

“I’m gonna come,” you confess, the words escaping on a ragged breath, as you impale yourself on his dick. You’re body trembling as you hold the moment, savoring the anticipation before the inevitable plunge into ecstasy.

With a tender touch, you withdraw your hands from his throat, leaning down to kiss him. Your lips meet his in a dance of passion, tracing a path from his mouth to the very spots your fingers had claimed on his neck moments ago.

His low, guttural groan harmonizes with the rhythm as you ascend, reclaiming your perch on him. The dance begins anew, your body moving with purpose, riding the waves of pleasure set in motion by each calculated bounce on his throbbing length.

Yoongi's hands eagerly envelop your breasts, his fingers dancing with the rhythm of your fervent movements. With each descent onto him, you feel a surge of pleasure building, the shared pursuit of ecstasy driving you both towards the brink of blissful release.

His fingers deftly find your sensitive nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. The sensation is so intense that a fractured, high-pitched man escapes your lips, your back arching involuntarily in the exquisite dance of pleasure and pain.

As your walls instinctively clench around his pulsating dick, you witness the pleasure etched across his face, a delightful scrunching of his features that mirrors the ecstasy coursing through both of you.

“Yoongi, I’m com—,” you gasp, a desperate plea laced in your voice. Your words are unnecessary; the vice-like grip of your walls and the erratic cadence of your breath already convey the impending release that hangs thick in the air.

“Come all over my dick,” he smirks through a groan, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Watch yourself fall apart in the mirror.”

How can this man ignite such an intense flame within you? The knot in your stomach tightens once more, and as you surrender to it, a primal, drawn-out moan escapes your lips, echoing the depths of your desire.

With unyielding eyes, you lock onto your own reflection in the mirror as ecstasy courses through you, marking the moment you climax on his d*ck. Your rhythmic bouncing falters, but Yoongi, sensing your need, seizes your hips and propels the pace, driving you deeper into the intoxicating whirlwind of pleasure.

Your mouth hangs open, breaths rapid and erratic, akin to the aftermath of a sprint, while every inch of your body throbs with the residual heat of a fervent blaze.

“So beautiful—FUCK!” he moans, powering into you with an astonishing velocity, sending shivers down your spine.

His hold on your hips tightens, your hands finding refuge on his sculpted chest for support. Your body teeters on the edge of weightlessness and grounding, as if you'd unravel if Yoongi's firm grasp on your hips faltered.

Despite the fatigue washing over you, a surge of determination courses through your veins. Summoning the last reserves of your strength, you entwine your fingers around his neck once more. You sense the impending release in Yoongi's every movement, and you're determined to be the catalyst that propels him over the edge.

The moment your grip tightens around his throat, a powerful surge reverberates through his dick within you, sending intoxicating waves of pleasure coursing through your body. It's an electrifying sensation, making every touch between you more intense and satisfying.

With an intense squeeze, you lock eyes with Yoongi, a plea in your gaze. “Fill me up, Yoongi.”

In a primal release, he surrenders to the moment, thrusting into you with an erratic rhythm, coating your walls with the warmth of his climax.

“Ahh,” he pants, the rush of air filling his lungs as you release your grip on his neck, both of you engulfed in the aftermath of shared release.

You watch him in amazement as his fervent thrusts subside, and he eases into the embrace of your bed, a portrait of passion painted across his beautiful face.

As he gradually softens within you, you take the initiative to lift yourself off him, both of your essences clinging to your skin, a residue of your shared passion that you welcome without reservation.

As you recline beside him, a soft chuckle escapes your lips, a shared breathlessness enveloping both of you. The air in the room is charged with the echo of passion, leaving a tangible energy that binds your entangled forms together.

Breathless and sporting a satisfied grin, he turns to you, his eyes filled with a post-passion glow. “Fuck that was incredible,”' he murmurs, capturing the shared intensity of the moment in the curve of his smile.

An undeniable contentment colors your voice as you respond, “Yeah,” savoring the echoes of pleasure that linger in the air.

Suddenly, a spark of realization ignites within you, propelling you to move with swift purpose. You crawl back on top of him, a burst of energy that startles him, like a surprise in the midst of shared afterglow.

“Why did you leave me?” you inquire, a tinge of accusation laced with the bitter notes in your voice. “Without a word or a farewell. Why did you disappear without a trace?”

His eyes widen momentarily before giving way to an expression of anguish and sadness. A tug at your heart intensifies, as his face alone tells a story you fear can't be good.

He begins with a heavy admission, meeting your eyes with earnest sincerity, “My brother died.”

Your words stumble out in a rush, “Oh, God! I'm so sorry!” The unexpected revelation leaves you fumbling for the right response.

His words flow, carrying a weight of anger and grief, “It's alright. ButI felt so much anger and grief, you know?” he explains, “so much so that I couldn't shapeshift and was stuck in my cat form.”

You exhale a soft ‘aha’ at his words, and the realization washes over you— he was grappling with his own demons, just as you were.

“When I'm consumed by intense emotions, I lose control of my ability to shapeshift, and, and—” You witness a tearful welling in his eyes, prompting you to gently cup his cheeks, reassuring him that it's okay.

“I just wanted to be alone and I didn’t want to burden you…” A few tears spill from his eyes, and you tenderly catch them with your gentle fingers.

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, finding solace in the curve of his neck, where his soft minty scent envelops you like a comforting embrace.

“I am so fucking sorry you had to endure that. I understand, truly. But you would never be a burden to me,” you express, gazing into his eyes with a tenderness that echoes your sincerity.

“I want to be there for you,” you declare, your own tears mirroring the empathy in your eyes.

“Ah, shit. I didn’t mean to cry. But, you know, I understand,” you say, your words accompanied by a wry smile as tears trickle down your face and onto Yoongi’s cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Kitten. I know. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.” 

He seizes your cheeks, tugging you into a tender and unhurried kiss. Time loses its grip, and you're oblivious to the remnants of his seed mingling with your essence, creating a slippery trail between your pussy and his still-slick pelvis.

Lost in the rhythm of your kisses with Yoongi, you surrender to the moment, where every touch feels like a missing puzzle piece seamlessly falling into place.

The two cups of coffee are long forgotten.

Authors note (3): Thank you so very much if you have made it this far 😭 I know this story is a lot – I’ve been dealing with a lot of different stuff for many years, and some of it just got to be too much a few weeks ago, and this story popped into my head. It was therapeutic to write. I don’t know if people will like it or not, but in the end, that’s not what it’s about. It will just exist here.

If you struggle with any of these subjects or emotions, you’re always welcome in my inbox – I’m not a trained psychologist or anything, though! But sometimes it is better to voice your feelings, than struggling in silence. Everybody’s welcome 🫂

I hope you’re doing well. Thank you for you 💜

#yoongi x reader #myg x reader #min yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #bts fic #bts x reader #bangtan x reader #bangtan smut #yoongi fic #yoongi scenarios #min yoongi #yoongi #min yoongi smut #yoongi x you #bts yoongi #yoongi fluff #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fanfiction #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x oc #myg fic #myg smut #myg angst #myg #myg x you #bts fanfiction #bts x reader smut #bts x you #bts smut #bts fanfic

[caroldantops]

i think there's been a glitch (part ii)

ship: kate bishop x reader

summary: kate records your custom video.

word count: 2.4k

warnings: smut (18+), cumplay, simulated cunnilingus and vaginal penetration on a fake pussy (kate giving), kind of breeding kink, vers/service top kate, dirty talk, praise kink, voyeurism, allusions to anal

please do not add community label - warnings are included and smut is under the cut

masterlist | ao3 link

read part i here

Kate chews on her lip as she stares at the open package in front of her. She's received plenty of gifts from subscribers before, and most of them are usually sex toys, but this one feels...different.

Not only because Kate's never played with a toy like this - the most similar thing she's used is a fleshlight, and that still has a novelty quality to it - but because it will be part of the most personal request she's ever made.

She isn't hesitant about it because she doesn't want to do it, quite the opposite. She's worried it won't be up to your standard. And fuck, you sent her more money in one single day than she made in her first six months of posting.

Kate goes into production mode quickly on the day she's set aside to record your custom video, pushing aside any of that weird, nervous energy she's suddenly feeling to fully commit to the role.

She lays out all of the things that you requested she use on the bed: the cum-filled dildo she used in her last video, flavored lube, her phone and AirPods to listen to the audio file that you had sent her, and the new toy that you paid for, a silicone model of a pussy.

Kate still laughs a little when she sees it. She's seen plenty of people use them and full body sex dolls before, but usually it was people with dicks who could actually feel it.

She'd never admit to being a bit jealous of that. Freud should've taken his penis-envy theories to his grave.

The full body sex dolls kind of freaked her out a little with their vacant stares, and she's convinced that they could easily be possessed and get revenge on her for whatever she did to them, so she's glad that you didn't ask for that as the stand-in for yourself. Kate had originally suggested that she could ask one of her model friends (or Yelena, who never appeared on camera but still occasionally helped out) to help with the POV angle, but you were pretty sure about just wanting it to be purely Kate on screen.

When she first opened the package, her first instinct was to slap it as hard as she could, and she was delighted to watch how it wiggled and proceeded to do that for five more minutes before realizing how crazy she probably looked. She did experiment a little more with it after that, and found it to be a very similar sensation to a fleshlight around her fingers, with the added bonus of having an ass to play with and grope too.

Even though the toy was new to her, she was far more nervous about the audio you sent. You insisted that you wanted Kate to have some immersion too, even though Kate shrugged you off at first, saying that the point was to make something you would like.

[you]: I'd like it if I knew you were getting some pleasure too.

[ladyhawk]: well, fuck, I'm not gonna say no to that

Kate gave you some ground rules, and you sent a file back within that day. She skimmed it briefly, just to make sure that it didn't sound super sketchy or gross, not because she didn't like gross, but rather she didn't like being gross with someone she's had a total of three conversations with. And, fuck. She's really glad she agreed to this.

Finally, everything is set up the way she wants it. Kate takes a deep breath and turns the camera on before she lays down on her tummy on the bed and slips her AirPods in, waiting for the right time to hit play. Your instructions that you sent along with it said for her to wait until she'd finished using the dildo to play, so she was eager to get through that part.

"Hi, baby," she says to the camera. You had requested that Kate not say your name, so she's defaulted to her usual pet names. Not unusual at all, most people don't want their real name given unless it's super common. Plus, it gives her custom videos wider reach once she posts them publicly.

She's sitting up on her elbows at an angle where you can just barely see her cleavage. She's partially obscured by the silicone toy with some sheets draped over them so with the angle the camera's at and a little imagination, it will be easy for you to pretend that you're watching Kate between your legs. "I have something special for you today."

Kate grabs the dildo from beside her and quickly lubes it up, also making sure that it's full of the fake cum that you seemed so fascinated with.

"You really liked when I filled you up the other day, huh? Bet it felt so good, feeling all my cum drip out of you and watching me lick it up. You loved it so much, you practically begged for me to do it again." As she's talking, Kate easily slides the dildo into the fake hole, pumping it slowly, groaning softly at the wet noises the toys make together as she thrusts the length in and out. "Gonna fill you up again, just like you asked, okay? Gonna make you feel so good."

Kate thrusts the toy harder, wrist cramping up a little with this angle, but she pays it no mind, focusing her attention on pressing the pump that spills cum deep into the toy. "You look so pretty with my cum inside you. Wish I could keep you like this forever. Would you like that? Want me to cum inside you, then plug you up to keep it from leaking out of that little hole? Mm, maybe another time. You had some other plans for me tonight, didn't you baby?"

She pulls the dildo out of the fake cunt, practically drooling at how cum comes dripping out. She swipes up a bit of it with her finger, making eye contact with the camera as she sucks it clean.

Per your instructions, Kate grabs her phone quickly and turns on the file you sent, holding her breath as she hears you start to speak.

"Hi, Kate," you say. Kate can tell that you're nervous, that this was sort of an impulse decision for you. It almost excites Kate more, knowing she's sparked something in you. She can't help herself from imagining what you might look like, what face goes with the voice she's hearing. "You did such a good job filling me up. It feels so good when you cum inside me. But you made a mess, didn't you? Are you gonna be a good girl and clean me up now? Say it."

"I'll be good and clean up the mess I made," Kate whimpers, thighs clenching together as her submissive side starts showing.

"Go ahead, then. Clean all that cum up."

Kate doesn't waste any more time, licking long stripes up the toy, curling her tongue as more cum spills out of it, not wanting to miss a single drop.

"Show me." Kate moans, hearing the confidence in your voice start to show, and opens her mouth to the camera, tongue shiny as the milky white liquid clings to it. Her tongue lolls out of her mouth, a string of drool mixed with the fake cum dripping down onto her sheets. "Good slut. Swallow. What do you say?"

"Thank you."

Kate goes back to lapping up the cum, and she feels almost embarrassed at how wet the space between her legs has gotten from just being told to eat out this silicone pussy. Her underwear is starting to stick to her, and her inner thighs are getting wet too from how much she's clenching them together.

The recording is quiet other than some soft mumbled praises, and the faintest sound of buzzing that lets Kate know that you have a vibrator pressed against you. Eager-to-please service top that she is, knowing that you got off to recording this for her turns her on even more.

"You're doing so well for me, Kate. I want you to try something for me...If it doesn't work that's okay. You can just stay in the position you're already in." Kate can sense that your nerves have returned, voice wavering a bit. Though, maybe that's a result of being on the edge of coming. "I want to see how cute you would look if I sat on your face. Pause this and adjust if you can. I'll be waiting."

Kate moves at a speed that would impress professional runners. She's filmed herself from above before, so it just takes adjusting the rig so that it focuses on her face. She mentally notes that she might have to crop the video later to make the perspective more believable, but she's pretty proud of the angle when she glances at her laptop screen.

You'll see a similar view of Kate between your legs, but this time from above as if you were hovering above her face. Some of the cum that was deep inside the fake pussy starts finally dripping out with the gravity of the new angle, and Kate quickly fumbles to turn the audio back on.

"There we go. So pretty like this between my legs. Keep licking baby, I'm close," you exhale a shaky breath. Cum spills down onto Kate's chin before she can get her mouth back on the toy, and she doesn't even bother wiping it off before she dives back in, smearing it all over her face as she grips the toy as if she were grabbing your ass and pulling you to grind against her tongue. She closes her eyes in pure bliss, imagining the weight of you on top of her, eyes rolling back at the thought of you shifting your full weight onto her so she can barely breathe, so that she's fully surrounded by you. "Fuck, Kate, so fucking messy for me. I'm gonna cum in that pretty mouth of yours. Tell me, tell me how much you wanna make me cum."

"Please, cum for me," Kate tries to sound commanding, but it comes out as an almost pathetic whine, like a puppy asking for just one more treat. "I want you to cum on my face, baby. I wanna taste you so fucking bad. Want you to make me a mess."

You moan shakily over the recording, and Kate's sure that you've cum. Your breathing is so heavy in her ears, it feels almost as if you're right next to her, curled against her in post-coital bliss and exhaustion.

It's the first time in a while she's felt any sense of romantic intimacy. She promptly shoves those feelings away and demands that the tugging of her heartstrings in her chest stop.

Kate uses the silent moment to pull the toy away from her, showing her full face to the camera once more so that you could see the shiny cum and lube glistening across her lips and chin. Some even managed to trail down her neck.

"Was that what you wanted, baby?" Kate directs at the camera, pulling some of the cum to her mouth with her fingers once again and giving you a wink. "Guess I didn't do much cleaning up though. I'll have to try harder next time. Until then."

She shuts off the recording, and the little red light blink off. Sighing deeply, she tosses the fake pussy aside, watching as it comically bounces onto her floor for her to clean up when she's ready.

"God. That was...yeah. Thank you, Kate," you finally say after you catch your breath. Kate didn't realize there was more. "I hope that you enjoyed it as much as I did. And will. You should DM me when you finish and tell me how it went. I'll talk to you soon."

Kate grabs her phone, quickly navigating to her page and DMs and starts typing. Her fingers are still a little lubed up, so her phone slips from her fingers and falls onto her face with a hard thunk.

"Shit!" Kate sits up, rubbing her chin and groaning as she realizes she accidentally mashed the keyboard in the process.

[ladyhawk]: just finished, wanted to DM you like you saifhoisdf

[ladyhawk]: sorry, ignore that. dropped my phone on my face.

[ladyhawk]: anyway, it went well! fake pussies are kind of weird to get used to, but your audio helped me get into the zone. so thanks :)

[ladyhawk]: also there is fake cum on my screen now so i have to go fix that okay byeee i'll send you the full video tonight after i edit!!

Exhausted and mind buzzing, Kate decides to go ahead and start cleaning up. She plugs her phone in to charge while she showers and washes everything, walking away as your response comes through.

[you]: Oh, good! I was worried it wouldn't be very good aslkgjfld...I'm glad it helped!

[you]: I can't wait to see the video

A few minutes of contemplation pass between that message and your final one. And those few minutes are nothing compared to how long Kate spends staring at her screen once she returns to her phone, with a flush on her cheeks so red that it would match Natasha's hair.

[you]: You know, I really enjoyed recording that audio for you. If for whatever reason you'd ever want more... instructions to use during videos, I would be kinda down.

[you]: But that's probably weird! So forget I said it!!

[you]: But seriously. It was fun.

Kate sits on the edge of her bed, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. She should probably ask someone's advice before committing to something. Like Bucky's or Yelena's or Wanda and Natasha's. Maybe specifically the latter two, considering they also met through being cam models. Kate shakes her head, her hair wet from her shower spraying water over her fresh sheets.

"Stop thinking about this like they're asking you out, idiot, that's not what's happening," Kate mumbles to herself. "It's just business. It's like a business partnership. Yeah, it's totally like that."

Before she can give it any more rational thought, she sends you her answer.

[ladyhawk]: i was looking thru my footage earlier, and it does make my responses feel more natural, so maybe...

[ladyhawk]: let's try one more video like that and see what happens.

[ladyhawk]: how do u feel about anal?

#kate bishop x reader #kate bishop x you #kate bishop smut #c: kate bishop #of!kate #OF au #silver writes

[multifandom-gabi]

hello!! i hope you’re doing well ☺️ i saw you were looking for xavier request and was thinking about pyrokinetic reader who accidentally burns xavier during their first kiss like on his arm or neck while grabbing him so they freak and avoid him till he confronts them and is like it’s whatever bc it’s worth it being with them and they find a way. maybe the end result is reader wearing oven mitts while being affectionate so they don’t accidentally burn him

love that burns - xavier thorpe

pairing: xavier thorpe x reader (anon didn't specifics gender, so the reader can be any gender! i will be using they/them pronouns and y/n!)

warnings: talks about pain/burns, friends to lovers, angst tbh, some kissing, like 1 curse word?

this is not edited

word count: 2.1K

summary: you catch feelings for xavier, but burn him with your powers when you kiss, causing you to avoid him to keep him safe.

═══ -ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ- ═══

When you first got your powers, you were five. Just what two parents want, a five year old that can not only control fire, but create it out of thin air. Your parents had a hard time helping you get the hang of things. Unlike you, they both controlled water. Your aunt was the only other one in the family who was pyrokinetic, but she had already passed away at the time your powers developed.

Immediately, your parents had to hire someone to train you, sort of like a tutor. You were catching the stove on fire just about every day, without even meaning to. If you felt any type of strong emotion, anger, fear, or even love, fire would come out of your hands. As a five your old, being emotionless is hard, nearly impossible.

As time went by, you got a hold of your powers. The fireplace wasn't exploding when you got angry, the stove wasn't igniting when you got excited, and your hands weren't lighting up whenever you cried. There was one aspect that you never seemed to be able to control, whenever you were in love. No, not the love to your parents or your friends, but to a lover. You couldn't even get near your first middle school crush without the fire alarm going off, it was embarrassing.

You and your parents had enough of the bullying you endured in a normie school, and the whispering that always seemed to linger behind you. They shipped you off sent you to Nevermore Academy.

You were the only pyrokinetic at Nevermore. It worried you, when you first arrived, but you were welcomed with open arms. Enid was your first best friend. She was always crazy energetic, and you loved that about her. It Enid lit things on fire every time she got excited, Nevermore would be nothing but ash. Ajax was also a great friend of yours. He was fascinated by your powers and begged you to use them to play pranks on people. You denied (most of the time) because you didn’t wanna get expelled.

Then there's Xavier. You first encountered Xavier when he was painting a mural at Nevermore. Enid and Ajax were showing you around. “Xavierrrr,” Ajax yelled across the quad in a sing-songy voice. “This is y/n, they just transferred here.” He said with a smile on his face. Xavier climbed down the ladder he was standing on and jumped off of the bottom step. When his feet hit the ground, he stumbled a little, causing the paintbrush in his hand to fly and hit you right in the chest, splattering paint all over your shirt, and then hitting the ground.

“Wow, I so am great at first impressions.” Xavier said, bending down to grab the paint brush, setting it on the latter behind him. “It’s no problem,” you said, looking down at the blue streaks on your cream colored shirt. “I don’t really like this shirt that much anyways.”

That was a lie, why would you wear a shirt you didn’t like to your first day at Nevermore?

Although you and Xavier started out weird, you two became inseparable. You say by him in most classes, you sat next to each other at the lunch table, you hung out in his art studio. He became the person you could tell just about anything.

In all honesty, you never really thought about him being more than just a friend. If you did, you quickly shoved those feelings away. It wasn’t until one day that you were sitting at a table on the quad with him. He was scribbling away on his sketch pad, but he had it hidden from you because he wanted it to be a surprise. “Oh come on just show me already!” You said, impatiently. Xavier looked at you and said nothing, he just smiled. He waved his hand in front of his sketchbook, still hiding it from you, until something started rising from it.

Then, it happen. Your hands started to burn, not light on fire, but they were hot enough to cause you to yelp and pull your hand from your face and shoot up from the table. You hid the palms of your hands from him. “What’s wrong?” Xavier questioned, standing up from the table as well. “I’ll be right back!” You said, turning from the table and sprinting away from the quad.

You ran up the stairs and took a left down the hallway. Your feet took you all the way to Enid’s room. You knew she was with Wednesday, a new transfer and her very new girlfriend, but you busted in the room without knocking, your eyes closed. “I am really sorry for busting in and I hope I wasn’t interrupted anything.” You said as fast as you could.

“You can open your eyes, Enid was just showing me how to cuddle. I am not sure how I feel about it yet.” Wednesday said, and you opened your eyes.

You had told your friends about your powers, all except the part you still to this day couldn’t control, the love aspect. You turned your palms around and showed Wednesday and Enid your reddened hands. “What happened?” questioned Enid, standing up from her bed. You then proceeded to tell her everything, how your hands have been burning and lighting on fire every time you had a crush, so you never even dated anyone. You hadn’t even had your first kiss because your powers scared you.

“Who were you with that caused you to be like this?” Wednesday questioned, but you went silent, looking down at your feet. Your cheeks turned red, not from an actual burn, but from blushing. “Xavier…” You whispered, and Enid started jumping up and down. “I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!” She said, her feet hitting the ground ever so loudly.

“Maybe you should tell him how you feel before this one combusts.” Wednesday said, pointing over to Enid who looked like she just won the lottery. “You have to Y/N, I am almost certain he feels the same way. Don’t ask me how I know.” She said, and you couldn’t help but feel giddy. You left Enid and Wednesday and ran towards the quad. You frowned when Xavier wasn’t there anymore, but you took off to his art shed, where you knew he’d be.

You knocked on the door, and it flung open super fast. Xavier, of course, was standing in the door way. “Can I come in?” You questioned, and he nodded. You stepped in his art studio, an oh so familiar place, and just like before, there were paintings scattered everywhere. There was one you hadn’t seen before sticking out from the rest.

It was you, with a flame coming from your hand, but not in a scary way, it was majestic. Xavier, almost embarrassed, tried to cover it up before you could get any closer. “Listen, Y/N, you weren’t really supposed to see that. I wanted it to give it to you when the time was right, when I could tell you how I really feel about you.” He said, the last few words trailing off into a whisper. “What we’re those last few words again?” You questioned, even though you knew exactly what he said.

Xavier shuffled his feet until he was standing right in front of you. You looked up at him, as he did tower over you a bit. “I want us to be more than friends and I’ve been terrified you don’t feel the same and it’s been—”

You cut Xavier off by giving him a small kiss on the lips. You quickly pulled away from him, unsure of how he would react. You looked him directly in the eyes, and he pulled you in for another kiss, wrapping his arms around your back. Your wrapped your arms around his neck, and before you could even think, your hands were on fire, burning Xavier’s neck. “Shit!” He yelled, causing you to stumble back from him.

You instantly began to panic. You didn’t even help him, or explain to him why you even burnt him, which you insanely regret. You pushed open to door to his art shed and ran. You ran as fast as your legs could take you, even though he was yelling your name. You stumbled into a tree, far enough from Xavier that he wouldn’t be able to catch up just yet if he was chasing after you. You leaned against the tree, sinking to the ground. Tears started rushing from your eyes.

You endured years of losing friends because of your powers, and because you were different. You could not let your powers hurt anyone else, even if it meant having to distance yourself from Xavier.

+++

For the next week, you were “sick” in your room from a terrible fever. That fever being you heating up your face with your hands, but no one had to know that. Enid, Wednesday, and Ajax had come to your door to drop anything from soup to notes from class off. Xavier hadn’t darkened your door one time, which made you think distancing yourself ruined your friendship even more.

You couldn’t stay in your room forever, but you sure didn’t wanna go outside and face Xavier. You felt horrible for what had happened, and you didn’t want to ruin Xavier’s life by burning him every time you touched. You stared at the ceiling, wishing there was something you could do.

Suddenly, your door busts open, and you froze. You sat up from your bed and your eyes met Xavier standing in your doorway. On the back of his neck is a big bandage, and your heart sank.

“Uhhh I’m sick Xavier, you shouldn’t be in here!” You said with panic in your voice, giving a few fake coughs in between your words. He rolled his eyes and marched towards your bed. He sat an array of objects beside you, and took a seat on your bed. “Do you want to explain what going on or should I since you seem to forget sometimes that I have visions?” He questioned.

You cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “So when I was younger, I used to catch things on fire and fire would come out of my hands for every little thing. Most of the time it would happen when I had extreme emotions of anger, sadness, excitement. I got the hang of controlling them all, every one of them except for love.” You said, letting your voice get quiet at the end.

Xavier turned towards you so that his whole body was facing you on the bed. “Y/N, I don’t want to just be your friend anymore. I want to go on dates with you, I want to hold your hand and kiss you in public, I wanna be able to paint and draw a million pictures of you with you knowing. I want you to be mine. I don’t care about the fire or getting burnt, because that is apart of you.” He said, and you kinda wanted to tear up.

He leaned forward to kiss you, but you hesitantly pulled away. “I don’t know how to stop it from happening.” You said, looking down at your hands.

That is when Xavier smiled and picked up all of the things he had brought in. They consisted of oven mitts, winter gloves, and leather gloves. You looked at him and giggled, but he was serious about you putting them on. He slipped the oven mitts onto your hands and then placed them on the back of his neck.

You leaned in and kissed him, a little harder then the first time you two had kissed. This was a different type of burn, there was passion between the two of you. His lips were soft, and you loved the feeling of them against yours. Xavier smiled into the kiss and you laughed when the two of you pulled away at the sight of oven mitts around his neck.

“So you’ve been having dreams about me?” You questioned. He pushed his hair out of his face and looked at you shyly. “Well yes, but not about this, I kind of lied about that to get you to talk. Enid spilled the details to me about the whole ‘hands catch on fire when you’re in love’ thing.” You let your forehead hit his shoulder. Of course Enid told him.

“Can we please go be way too affectionate in public now?” You asked, and the two of you were off.

═══ -ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ- ═══

A/N: i am SO happy to be writing again! i am a little rusty so it’s taking me a bit to get through my requests, but plz keep them coming!! i love bringing your ideas to life

#xavier thorpe #wednesday #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe x fem!reader #xavier thorpe x male!reader #xavier thorpe x male reader #xavier thorpe x non binary reader #friends to lovers #kissing #romance #percy hynes white

[krookodyke]

thinking of how all the yellowjackets are cursed in one way or another. not even just the obvious ones, but all of them.

shauna is cursed to remain as a haunted house forever— she’s been grieving a girl for longer than the girl herself was even alive. most of shauna’s existence was already built on guilt even pre-crash but with jackie and shauna being directly responsible for it knowing that jackie had felt so cut-off from the group and yet she let jackie storm outside and didn’t fetch her at any time during the night, it’s that much more harrowing. she’s always going to be trailed by jackie’s ghost for the rest of her days. and even when she dies, she’ll be old and weathered and broken from all she’s done and jackie will still be the 17 year old teenage girl she’s always been and will always be.

taissa is cursed with a rot she was born with that she’ll never escape— her nana saw the man with no eyes and now she does, too. it was inevitable, even as tai, stubborn as she is, denies it and pushes it off. above all else, she’s pragmatic and a realist, and to be constantly watched by something inherited from her nana doesn’t make sense. she can’t be watched by something that doesn’t exist. that doesn’t make sense. she can’t let sleepwalking interfere with her life, she didn’t plan it that way. even as the rot festers and gets worse she still continues because she still wants to maintain this sense of Normality and this idea of Success she’s had in her mind since she planned her whole life out when she was a kid. she’s ignored the mold in her lungs for so long that she doesn’t even notice until she’s choking on it.

nat is cursed with a constant, pulsating sense of brokenness— her curse may be the most grounded and realistic, and yet it’s also not. she lives in a trailer park, she inadvertently killed her father, the other girls give her shit for filling the emptiness within her with alcohol or drugs or otherwise. and yet, 25 years later, she’s the same— in and out of rehab, occasionally making sure her mom isn’t dead. would it have been the same if the crash didn’t happen? we can’t say for certain, because she already had it the worst pre-crash. you were born broken. that’s your birthright. nat can snort, shoot up, smoke, take whatever she wants. it won’t erase her past and it won’t erase what’s in her blood.

misty is cursed with the all-consuming desire to be liked and loved and yet is so batshit in her desire to for such it never comes— misty wasn’t unpopular because she was weird, but rather because she’s insane. drugging coach ben and acting as his nurse, crystal dying with her worst secret, when misty reveals what’s closest to her real self everything crumbles. because while she could’ve fit in with the weird kids at high school, she didn’t because she has something much darker within her. because ultimately, she wants control over the narrative— that’s why she’s a nurse to senior citizens in present day. but no matter how many old people or vulnerable people or whoever else she plays with, she’ll never have the control she wants, and as such she’ll never get the love she’s been begging for all her life. after all, her life is a tragedy, not a comedy.

van is cursed with being unable to die— she doesn’t want to get up, but something always brings her to anyways. there was no explanation as to how she wiggled out of the plane set ablaze, there was no explanation as to how her face was torn asunder and she was only knocked unconscious, there was no explanation as to how she was lit on a funeral pyre and then came to, bloodied and beaten but alive. she doesn’t want to fight, but it’s the only thing she knows, and death refuses to claim her. rejected by her mother, rejected by her peers, rejected by death herself, even. she will always endure being on the edge of death, feeling all the pain and mercilessness of it, and yet is forced to live through it.

lottie is cursed with the package deal of hallucinations from her mental illness and real psychic visions— she could never tell which is which, and how was she supposed to? and yet, she’s crowned the leader, the all-knowing, the prophet. but she doesn’t even know, does she? when they put all the pressure on her initially there’s the stark reminder that she’s just a deeply traumatized kid. she’s both not psychic and simply severely mentally ill and yet also psychic and not mentally ill. but the horror of it lies in the fact she’s both— there are real visions there, but she has to endure scorching tricks of the mind to get there. she can’t be one without the other, and yet she doesn’t know which is which, what’s real, what’s fake, and she never will.

#txt #yellowjackets #yellowjackets meta #SORRY just felt like SPREADING my MISERY for the day!

[riftwirecrystal]

NINJAGO STARSTRUCK AU - SPINJITZU AT 25:00 OPENING

This is the opening of the Ninjago x Project Sekai Nightcord swap.

Hey guys, I worked hard to make sure I kept most of the character's traits present, while coinciding with N25's main story. It would mean a lot if you stopped by to read a bit!!

Harumi Yoisaki

"This isn't right. Maybe if I…? Yes, that works."

My name is Harumi Yoisaki. I am a digital composer.

I would be a second year student of high school, but I do not go to school. I live by myself and complete online courses. My parents used to work in music.

I work in a group. We meet every night on our night chat, Spinjitzu. Ever since my parents were hospitalized I promised to keep doing what they did.

I don't live in a very roomy apartment. I barely pay the rent. Sometimes I will forget to eat.

But, I continue. Because I must compose.

I visit my parents sometimes. They don't wake up. They never will.

Because they are dead. And it's my fault.

So I continue. And the cycle will go on.I must compose.

Even though sometimes it's hard, I continue. Because this is my place. I will save someone.

I just need to keep composing. And soon…I will be able to save someone from the same fate as my parents.

They went out to drive…

"No. I will not think about it. I will keep going. I must save someone…

"My screen lit up.

"Hey Rue, I finished arranging that part for you. Do you want the demo?"

It was from L. He arranges my music and adds lyrics.

"Yes please," I wrote back. He sent the file, and I pressed play.

A harsh, but sweet melody flooded the room. The composition flowed smoothly with the arrangements L did.

"Thank you, L. It sounds good," I typed.

"I'm glad. I think I'm going to log off," he typed back.

So early? That's weird…"Get some sleep! You must be tired, but it sounds good though," typed Nyad.

"Yeah, I heard you had class tomorrow, so rest well," added PIX.

Nyad works with our other member, PIX. Nyad does the art while PIX does the editing.

We post songs and music videos on our shared account, S25. Usually I get slightly more of the cut we make due to my living situation, but I still make sure to give them the amount they deserve too.

We've never met each other face to face, but I find joy in working with the three of them.

Even with that, I'm not doing this for fun.

I must compose.

Lloyd Asahina

I logged off the computer.

I am Lloyd Asahina, a second year high school student.

I glanced at the sheet of music on my desk, then the workbook that’s shoved to the floor.

Guess I should do that then, huh?

I slowly and miserably picked up the book from the ground, then placed it on my desk.

But I couldn't open it.

I didn't want to open it.

But I had to, didn't I?

I had to.

I ended up finishing the notes and assignments I was supposed to take next week.

Hopefully that will be enough…

My mother called from the hallway. "Lloyd? Are you still awake?"

"Yeah. Just finishing some things for next week," I said.

She softly opened the door. "Good. I don't want you being all caught up with those people online again. You know what happened last time. You're so talented and gifted, and I want the best for you… okay?"

It's hard to fight with her. I gave up a long time ago. Now I only hide.

"Yes, mom," I replied.

My mother is Dr. Misako Asahina. She is one of the most famous and world renowned doctors in the world. She has no interest in music, and expects me to take a similar career to her.

But I don't know what I want to do. I don't know who I am.

What do I want to be…?

But I continue to do whatever she says. I don't know why. I just can't defy her, no matter how hard I want to.

I'm supposed to be the best for everyone around me. Why stop now…?

I haven't known myself for a long time now. It's nothing new to feel like this.I can't help it. I still hate it.

But if that's the case, why can't I leave it…?Deep down, I knew the truth.I could not escape.

I have been forever alone.

I hate it.

I hate myself.

I have lost who I am.

Nya Shinonome

For forever, I have wanted to become an artist.

I have many names.

Nya Shinonome, for one.

But I can also be Kai’s sister, a little girl, the loner, etc.

I am all of them.

Yet I am none of what I want to be.

I do not go to school during the day.

I have never been able to choose my own path.

When I try, I am constantly told I’m not good enough.

I should give up.

I should stop trying.

I am not talented.

I am not valued.

But I persevere.

My destiny should be what I make. Not what anyone else says. I will be good enough. I can be good enough.

But am I really?

Yes, I always tell myself.

As I tell myself this again, I get a text message from PIX in the chat.

“Hey Nyad, can I see the storyboard you were working on for the next song?”

I quickly sent her the progress I’d made so far. “Here.”

“Thanks! You’re so talented, I’d never be like you,” she responded.

That made me feel a bit better.

Sometimes it does get hard.

Sometimes I feel like I can’t do anything right.

Sometimes I feel completely and utterly useless.

Sometimes I just feel like I want to disappear.

It’s the worst feeling in the world.

But I need to prove everyone who doubted me wrong.It doesn’t matter who tells me I can’t do it.

My parents, my teachers, my brother, none of them.

I will pursue my dream.

Even if it means I’ll have to fight all the doubts clouding my head.

Pixal Akiyama

I sighed.

Everyone else had logged off already.

What do I do now..?

I looked at my bag and remembered the schoolwork due next week.

"I really don't want to do that right now…"

I tried to ignore it and started working on the new music video. My name is Pixal Akiyama. I am a first year high school student.

I use my friend Nyad's art in edits for Rue and L's songs. Lately my inspiration has been lacking. I'm not sure why.

School life isn't much better either. It's been a while since I've talked to Sora… I noticed an influx in people calling me names and avoiding me too. I'm always excluded and made fun of.

I don't know why.

I miss my dad…

My dad is Cyrus Akiyama, a clothing designer with a very different approach to styles. He moved away to work for his company a few months ago.

I haven't had many people to talk to recently.

I miss talking.

It's been so long…

I miss having people to confide in. To run to. To trust.

No one accepts me. And no one will.

I am alone. Forever and ever.

#ninjago #project sekai #Pjsk #Nightcord at 25:00 #N25 #Lloyd Garmadon #Lloyd ninjago #Ninjago Lloyd #Lego ninjago #Ninjago fanfiction #Ninjago harumi #Harumi ninjago #Pixal ninjago #Ninjago pixal #Nya Smith #Ninjago nya #Nya ninjago #Proseka #25-ji Nightcord de #25 ji nightcord de

[sixty-silver-wishes]

Dumb "Caligari" hcs because it's that kind of night

Despite how awful he is, Caligari actually is qualified to give psychological diagnoses. However, he just gives out completely bullshit ones because he thinks it's funny and has no moral compass. Tells his patients stuff like "you have anxiety, stress, and attention issues, which means I'm diagnosing you with lycanthropy. You're a werewolf. Sorry"

Jane was a Weird Kid (tm) who, despite her parents' best efforts, always had a bit of a morbid streak. When she was a child, to shut her up during fancy dinner parties, her dad would give her one of his medical books so she'd be occupied with pictures of skeletons the whole time

Holstenwall celebrates Christmas, but they don't have a Father Christmas/Santa Claus figure. There's only Krampus.

Francis frequently comes up with shipping names between himself and Jane, or himself and Alan. Jumped out a window once when Jane asked him what "Frolsen" was

Francis will alphabetize everything.

Cesare's makeup never comes off. It's just like that. Don't question it

Francis and Jane keep a tally of how often they've heard Alan swear, which has been less than ten times. They also have a dictionary of "Alan swears," which are completely inoffensive interjections that he'll say far more frequently. They teased him for the "Alan swears," until they both accidentally started saying them in place of actual cursing.

Cesare isn't used to most foods, especially sugary ones. Ate a piece of chocolate off the ground once and actually did see the future

Most people in town have crushes on Alan, but he thinks they're all just really really nice to him. He's a super affectionate person and shows romantic interest in the same way he shows platonic love, which usually includes things like hugging, writing people poetry, sending them flowers, etc. As a result, Jane, who isn't romantically interested in Alan, thinks he likes her, while Francis, who is, thinks he only sees him as a friend. They're not a love triangle; they're just a hot mess.

Caligari keeps extra business cards in his hat. The hat is also specifically tailored to make Caligari taller than Cesare, because he's very insecure about the fact that he's shorter than him.

When the trio were kids, Alan and Jane would always play execution with Jane's dolls. Alan always wanted to play the doll that died, so he could reenact a dramatic death scene. Jane would "execute" his doll as punishment for ridiculous "crimes," such as not saying "please" and "thank you," as a way to vent her frustrations with her parents' strict rules. Francis would sit in the corner reading and ignore them the entire time.

Holstenwall has a serious crow infestation. The steep triangular rooftops don't do much to ward them off, as they always roost everywhere else. Alan loves the crows; Francis is scared of them. Cesare will sometimes grab them out of the sky with his bare hands while asleep.

The church in the middle of town is more frequently used for exorcisms than sermons. Many Holstenwall residents practice an odd strain of folk Christianity very loosely based in Biblical teachings, with very little resemblance to major Christian denominations at all. There are saints, but they're all very specific- there's a Patron Saint of Isosceles Triangles, a Patron Saint of Forgetting Dreams, etc. The town's older residents especially adhere to a number of strange traditions and superstitions, such as wearing striped neckties upside-down on Fridays to ensure good weather, despite the fact that the weather in Holstenwall is often overcast regardless. Francis has always made a point of defying local superstitions.

Alan is very accident-prone. He likes to bake, but often burns whatever he makes because he forgets he put it in the oven, leaves, and remembers at least an hour after he was supposed to take it out.

#the cabinet of dr. caligari #headcanons

[kisaraslover]

Do you think Kisara has any hobbies besides sitting in Kaiba's lap?

Well i like to look at established Kisara to draw out more traits so first things first is the dragonic nature. I think Kisara deeply enjoys nature and solitude and sitting in the sun. I dont mean this like camping either, from ancient Egypt we see Kisara already has unusual resistance to exposure to elements, with something godly in her veins so i think she might be really zen watching birds to flowers to the sky and basking her place in all this. We all have a passing moments of "everything IS everywhere all at once, all is one, one is all" but i think it would be a constant presence in her. she swings between "oblivious to life weird ass woman" and "enlightened higher being" VIOLENTLY. Meditating would be grounding to her, in the opposite way to all other people meditating.

and then music. dragons are a kind of bird <3 dont look that up. i think Kisara has an uncanny aptness when it comes to music. one of those people who can pick up any instrument and play a simple tune on it. i dont think she has a remarkable singing voice at all though. embodies "people sing because they want to not because they are good at it" hums gently music she likes. if she tries to seriously sing along to a difficult song her voice cracks loserly. she laughs and continues yknow? its still Seto's favorite and if he catches sound of her humming before entering a room, he waits outside to listen for a couple secs. its his secret no one needs to know shhhh. ALSO the fic Paper Roses has piano player Kisara and the romance is served so well by Kisara giggling while placing Seto's hands on the right keys so.

making things with your hand is a very grounding practice for anyone struggling to stay in the moment and stay present and i just cant move past these very artistic but expensive looking hobbies from youtube shorts -tries not to cry about capitalism locking the public out of arts- so after getting that Kaiba Money she'd just go "i always wanted to try glass art btw" and seto goes "?????. thats. alright ok. go for it"

im really conflicted on many "hobbies" and what makes them hobbies but if we work with the basis "how you spend your day is how you spend your life" i think she'd really be the least online person. the activies above WOULD be very frequent but i think Kisara spends her most days, ironically enough, socializing. she'd be talking to employees (important business) or talking to employees (just chatting lol) out with friends of all kinds and trades, Mokuba and his friends or Seto and HIS friends, or most surreal one, Seto and HER friends. shes the kind of awkward person who listens more than they speak, with her own charms and difficulties, thankfully when you try enough you can find people you can get along with. very endearing on the line of strange, bringing out peoples protective sides which is why she would gather Mom Friends and Bossy Bitches and Protective Eldest Siblings faster than you can say her name. while i characterize both Kisara and Seto as kind of introverted, i think Kisara would be charged with a thirst to know and understand humanity (both result of godly roots and alienated youth) so if her luck turned around after meeting Seto i think she'd build quite the social circle, not even realizing how many people shes getting close to at first. Seto's socializing would be more acknowledging part of healing means creating support systems, opening up to people -to whatever extent he can- surrounding himself with people who he cares about and who care about him in return, and definitely less easier than her collecting friends.

SO YEAH! sorry for the LONG ASS reply, i think Kisara is adopted by many Extroverts and on the time off she goes into her workshop does fuck all (DEF made a wooden dildo to see Seto's reaction. mokuba laughed his ass off thinking it would perplex him. he took one look at it and said its a pathetic cock and he could nude model for her. no ones laughing now.....)

#is this ask so lowkey shady? lmao i was tripping over myself answering like NOOOO MY QUEEN HAS MANY HOBBIES SHES FUN SHES INTERESTING #LISTEN TO ME DOCTOR HAN SHES INTERESTING #lmaooo #yugioh #ygo #kisara #not art #ask tag #her lowkey gift with instruments is quietly ignored by all of them. kisara plays an instrument shes seeing for the first time #all of them go 😑 i do not see anything strange. great job kisara youre so talented and its soo normal you can play everything. #so normal. you just got a strong ear. and strong understanding of what sounds come out with what movements on instruments #its normal its normal. no hocus pocus magic tricks here no sirrrrr

[bitwynn]

weird kind-of-kind-of-not sagau fic idea that i might make myself LOL

isekaied reader/guide introduces them to Among Us. Specifically to the Mondstat Vision Holders. Everyone goes fUCKING FERAL for the duration of the game-- maybe even AFTER the game AHAHAHA

and like-- god im just imagining this specific scenario where you recreate the amongus maps in ur teapot so you guys could play irl and albedo or tubby develops a teapot leisure device specifically for it so you guys could ACTUALLY FOR REAL PLAY AMONG US IRL IN THE TEAPOT

everyones wearing the suits and they got the tablets with the report button and emergency meeting buttons and everything, and albedo figures out how to stream it to the rest of Teyvat-- with everyones different povs and things and everyones just rooting for everyone and ISERHLgFSLERHJkG

okay wow-- i got sO OFF WHAT I ORIGINALLY WANTED TO SAY AHAHAH but hey at least i set some ground rules first AHAHA

but yeah. so, imagine this--

this game of among us is composed of the knights and also Venti. So thats Diluc, Kaeya, Jean, Amber, Lisa, Albedo, Sucrose, Eula, Noelle, and of course Venti. The map here in this scenario is irrelevant but, I do have to say that the "additional roles" of Scientist, Engineer, Shapeshifter, and Guardian Angel have also been added and are all implemented into this game.

the first round? rotation? whatever you call it is actually pretty eventful with Albedo, Noelle and Venti already dead. Its actually really alarming since even if its just a game, Albedo actually takes this game REALLY SERIOUSLY and shows off his skill as the captain of the investigation team. hes the actually legit detective player-- one of his greatest plays actually being how he immediately figured out who the imps are bEFORE the game even started and bEFORE ANYONE DIED. The imps that game were very annoyed (playful) to say the least.

Noelle getting got is also like-- really serious since, as everyone knows, shes very helpful. a little too helpful. when she fully trusts someone, she will do everything she can to keep them alive and safe. and if that someone is sus abt someone, she is determined to help them figure out whether or not that person is an impostor or not. ultimate crewmate basically. one of her more "scary" plays is when she unwittingly became third impostor and LITERALLY BROUGHT EVERYONE TO THEIR DEATHS. THATS HOW HELPFUL SHE IS. god she felt SO BAD afterwards but it was a good name nonetheless.

The imps killing Venti off early meant that they werent playing around anymore, because that man has the GREATEST SOUL READ OUT OF EVERYONE. helps that hes also god but we dont talk abt that and also he cant use his archon powers to cheat LOLLL. One of his most memorable moments is how before they even started the game, he cORRECTLY PREDICTED WHO THE IMPS WOULD BE THAT ROUND. when the imps received their roles, they were definitely a bit more than shocked. in that same game, he just voted the two imps to break the tie for shit and giggles. and thats how they won the game. crack energy was strong in that one LOL.

The fear and distrust is rampant the whole discussion time, with Amber and Sucrose lowkey and highkey respectively panicking, Eula making hasty assumptions, Lisa challenging those assumptions, Diluc and Kaeya at each others throats, and Jean trying and failing to get things under control. They did nOT get anywhere during that and all begrudgingly voted to skip despite being at everyones throats. everyones suspecting everyone and the only people there who are FOR SURE innocents are Amber or Sucrose.

this is because, while they both may be lousy at being imps, they still act mostly the same both as imps and crews-- aka trying their best to be helpful and win. they're both usually kinda bad at lying. not that theyre bad, its just that theyre not good and you can usually tell if theyre truthing or not by the amount of information they provide and how eager and confident they are abt it. using that knowledge, they all simultaneously agree to shadow those two everywhere since they can tell that yes, they are crewmates, yes amber did watch sucrose fumble the id card 15 times because she keeps dropping it or doing it too fast or slow, yes sucrose did the vials first before walking around the map a bit to find her next task.

so thats what happens-- they split up into group amber and sucrose and go on opposite sides of the map. and then the sabotage happens. the lights die. the amber group, consisting of, of course, amber, jean and diluc, is closer and they rush to lights where team sucrose hadnt reached yet. they all pile up into a group and pull up the lights interface. and as they set it down, theyre immediately greeted by eula reporting a dead body and amber screaming.

after jean manages to get everyone down to a respectable volume, she asks for everyone to give their testimony since she had the interface up. amber nervously says that since there were so many people at lights already, she decided to not fix it but instead watch out for any impostors that might make a move. but when she saw the blood splatter, she couldnt see who did it clearly since they were at the edge of her visibility which is when she immediately rushed forward and spammed the report button.

eula backs her up and them immediately accuses lisa of killing sucrose, off the bar that the second the lights went off she had lagged behind. lisa is greatly offended, talking about how shes targeting her since the first round with no solid basis and eula strikes back with her saying something that lisa did in the first round that made her look sus. and then diluc and kaeya start rilling it up by backing the side that they were with the most, diluc backing lisa and kaeya backing eula even if they only saw the other in passing. it gets real petty REAL fast. literally the only reason diluc is backing lisa is because while jean is trying her best to be fair, she obviously favors lisa a bit more while kaeya siding with eula is more reasonable because they actually spent time together.

it ends with amber tying the votes since despite trusting jeans judgement, all eula had done was back her up and let her voice be heard in the two times theyve had discussions and proven herself to be innocent-- lisa got voted out by kaeya and eula and amber, and eula got voted out by jean and diluc and lisa. the second their screens fade back to the table they all realize that theres gonna be no rounds left since they havent figured out who one of the imps are and theres only six of them left. all it takes is for them to kill two and its over.

they all decide to separate and spread themselves as far as they can throughout the ship to get their tasks done as fast as they can. and as amber and jean start to walk out of medbay and are greeted by kaeya and diluc suddenly appearing in the back of the room, they know that the brothers have won.

everyone is screaming when the impostor win screen pops up, featuring diluc and kaeyas beans. literally NOONE expected them to win, considering the fact that they have been at each others throats the whole time both ingame and irl. fucking NOONE expected them to just-- quietly team up to MASSACRE the entire ship. because really-- who WOULD expect it??

their entire among us game history is just them bickering with each other, it gets like-- really kind of emotional and concerning sometimes-- theyve gotten banned from playing multiple times since the whole "being an impostor" thing has very similar connotations with being a spy from another country and we aLL KNOW HOW THAT WENTTTT

the synergy between the two-- ugh--

eula is just mad she accidentally became the third impostor. AGAIN.

oh yeah, kaeya was the shapeshifter. the first kill in the first round was a double kill with venti and noelle. diluc vented out of the scene but popped up in a room where albedo was but his cooldown was still going so he just did his best to try and herd him away from the button and hope that he runs into kaeya. and fortunately kaeya does run into them, and a bit of hope blooms in albedos heart which was then promptly crushed by kaeya murdering his ass. he then watches as he turns into venti and they both leave the scene. from the second he knew they were working together, he knew they were screwed. but he does respect using the quiet expectation that they would never get along to their advantage.

the bickering did have some actual heat behind it though since diluc obviously almost fucked them in the ass when he vented infront of bedo AHAHA

#foejihurlksjdfnkjighjsfd just ragbros wORKING TOGETHER IAEOUHSDJFKEHJSDF #genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact au #genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #genshin impact self aware #genshin self aware #sagau #diluc #diluc ragnvindr #kaeya #kaeya alberich #among us #feel free to continue or add on lollll #but if u do pls credit AHAH

[fandom-junk-drawer]

The Witcher Headcanon - Chaotic Sibling Things Yennefer and Jaskier do to Annoy Each Other (and Geralt)

Annoying Each Other

Yennefer

Drags Jaskier by the ear for random transgressions

Spent a whole day 'accidentally' stepping on Jaskier's toes after he said her boots were ugly

Moves his plate away right as he tries to get something off it

Tries to push his face into his plate

Says something like "Look at this!", or "Jaskier, could you look at this for me?" and when he turns around/looks, she's just making a rude gesture.

If Jaskier needs an injury healed: Ooh, that's a slash. I only cover stab wounds, breaks, minor cuts, rashes, and certain burns. Sorry, can't help you.

Will blurt out random words when Jaskier is trying to practice a song

Appears out of nowhere and refers to Jaskier as her Darling Husband when she notices him trying to flirt with anyone.

Starts singing along horribly off-key when Jaskier is practicing a new song.

Will reverse Jesus all of Jaskier's alcoholic drinks, right as he goes to drink them.

Will randomly toss up a barrier to watch Jaskier bounce off it with an indignant squawk.

Chases Jaskier with whatever gross looking bug, dead animal/monster parts, or mysterious goop she can find.

Will say that whatever Jaskier is wearing is absolutely hideous, even if it looks good on him.

Jaskier

Stands behind Yennefer and makes faces behind her back

Will randomly shove Yennefer into a bush/puddle/body of water while they are walking by it

Caught the kiss she blew him, threw it on the ground, then stomped on it. (Geralt actually laughed out loud at that one. It is now A Tradition)

Grabs things Geralt is handing to Yennefer and licks them before giving them to her.

Will do live commentary on whatever Yennefer is doing

Tries to walk behind Yennefer and kick the bottoms of her feet to make her high-step

Refers to Yennefer as his Dear Wife in front of her colleagues.

Will stop in the middle of whatever he's doing, even mid sentence, pretend he's holding a magic wand, and yell 'Abracadabra!' whenever Yennefer casts a spell.

Will walk around Yennefer's lab and try to eat random things in bowls to watch Yen pretend she doesn't care, then rush to stop him before he kills himself.

Will jump into whatever argument Geralt and Yennefer get into and yell "Mommy, Daddy, please stop fighting!"

Will try to trip Yennefer to get to any door first.

Will find a noise that annoys Yennefer, and keep making it.

Pokes Yennefer with random 'jabbing sticks' he finds while walking.

Annoying Geralt

Play 'Who can Slap Geralt's A** The Most Times Today'

Hand Geralt random things to hold

Will take off in the markets, leaving Geralt wondering where the f*** they are

Make up an actual song for "Oh Valley of PEEnis!" and sing it randomly

Team up to casually insult anyone who is rude/mean to Geralt.

Will join in and vibe extra hard, matching eachother's chaotice energy when anyone starts singing in a tavern.

Will make random and often times inappropriate noises or sound effects when they both get drunk.

See how many euphemisms for any bodily function they can use in a conversation before Geralt gets fed up.

Make up stupid songs for every mundane task they do

Will get into wrestling matches over stupid things, then laugh when Geralt goes into Dad Mode ("If you two don't stop fighting, I will turn this horse around!" )

Randomly throw things at Geralt to see if he will catch them

Will have entire conversations that are just Geralt Impressions

Exclusively referr to eachother as "Husband" and "Wife". It annoys Geralt because he knows it's some kind of running joke, but they refuse to tell him what it is

Which makes it even worse when they referr to Geralt as "our son".

Will stand at the edge of any fight Geralt is in and make bad jokes, sarcastic comments, and offer unhelpful advice.

Play 'Geralt Can We Keep It?' (pick up random/weird objects(or even people) and ask Geralt if they can keep it.

Pretend Geralt isn't there and referr to him as 'Dad' or 'Daddy' (usually done after putting Geralt in Dad Mode)

Keep a daily tally of how many times they can make Geralt 'Hmm'

Or say 'f**k!'

Introduce Geralt to their acquaintances as 'Swear Bear'.

Yennefer will, without fail, tear Geralt a new one every time he says or does something she deems 'mean' to Jaskier.

When Geralt is extra grumpy, they will work together and use a combination of quiet music and patting to put Geralt down for a nap like a cranky toddler. And Geralt hates it. Because it works. Every. D**n. Time.

Will call Geralt by random names that sound vaguely like his. As long as it starts with a 'G', it counts!

#the witcher #the witcher headcanon #geralt #geralt of rivia #jaskier #julian alfred pankratz #yennefer of vengerberg #yennefer #geraskier #geraskifer #yenskier #yennskier #yenneskier #yennaskier #twn #the witcher netflix #geraskefer #chaotic sibling things headcanon #chaotic siblings headcanon

[tomwaterbabies]

ok. here's a list of things. im trying not to go too in-depth with my ranting here. firstly because i would literally just much rather gush about the og than spend MORE time on this trash, and secondly because my friends and i are already ranting about it lol

(keep in mind this is still VERY LONG. my actual full thoughts would be pages long if you could believe that)

but here we go. spoilers for the disney live-action pinocchio if that matters

the cgi is bad. as expected. immediately you see a lack of warmth and coziness in geppetto's workshop. and in place of the whimsical and creative clocks of the original, geppetto's workshop not only is a bad cgi set but contains 2 (TWO) scenes of... disney references... the clocks are a bunch of disney character references..................

weirdly emphasizes his love for his clocks. this is hammered throughout the film (i will come back to this)

geppetto has a previous dead son.

the fairy shoots a beam of light that bounces off the dead son's picture frame and into pinocchio. i think the implication here is that he has some of the son's spirit. this is never addressed further

the scene of him coming to life is the most awkward fucking imagery ever. they play up the comedy and the sense of wonder is just... lost (might have to go in-depth with this scene later when i compare some scenes from the og and this one)

she sings when you wish upon a star for some reason

the pacing, in general, is so terrible

there is a montage of pinocchio and geppetto living together. it's badly paced and awkward and i think they did it because of the cinema-sins level nitpicking that people do where they ask why geppetto sent him off to school on his first day of being alive

he has some weird super speed ability of being able to move his arms and legs super fast? this is used multiple times and i really dont understand why they made him like that

he does end up going to school but quickly gets kicked out for being a puppet. i dont really think this scene adds anything. there's a shot where he's on the ground super sad and upset while the teacher yells at him for being a puppet or whatever and the kids laugh... which i would definitely be into in a better movie. this will not be the first time a good concept is in this bad movie

he is less naive but they don't really do anything to fill out his personality. it feels like pinocchio is missing something. which he is

his voice acting is weird. not a bad voice but the actual line delivery is just... not always... good. kind of awkward. same with geppetto. most of the characters actually

btw jiminy is definitely more helpful here, but it isnt worth it

ive got no strings was such an insulting segment of trash and uninspired disrespect my brother and i started crying (another scene i would just have to breakdown)

this is where the love interest comes in. shes a little girl who controls a ballerina puppet. there isnt much to say. she doesnt do anything but give a lot of pointless dialogue. they dont get together at the end (she goes off to run her own puppet show after she gets stromboli arrested). im serious this added nothing

multiple new songs btw. they are not good

ok let me break down pleasure island in a few points

him going back to his house and then scooped up into pleasure island nonsense is quite literally a blink-and-you'll-miss-it transition

pleasure island is now more akin to a SUPER extravagant theme park. massive buildings, bright lights, and high-tech systems. and none of the original bite

no drinking, no smoking. this is not inherently bad if you have him experience something equally as terrible. but they dont. he drinks root beer (lmao???) and that's about it

so lampwick... a character representation of pleasure island as a whole tbh. he is not nearly as impactful as the og and is just. kind of There. less bite, more stupid dialogue to tell us what the characters are doing

The Donkey Scene. completely hollow. the visceral and harrowing experience of the original is completely gone. shots like lampwick's hands turning into hooves as he desperately claws at pinocchio is just Not There. laughable

the faceless dudes working at pleasure island are now vapor monsters. i think they did this to avoid the controversy of racism but holy shit what the fuck is this. just make them dudes...

not a big deal but he also gets wooden donkey ears and tail?? im not sure why they did that other than "haha he's made of wood" and it kind of goes against what i think helps the story when it's flesh/fur ears/tail like the rest of the human boys

ok moving on from pleasure island

so they find the empty house of geppetto. they learn that he sold all his clocks that he loved oh so much in order to buy a boat and look for pinocchio. this scene is so stupid. it's just characters going on and on about how much geppetto cares about pinocchio instead of just like... showing us that? why do they NEED to emphasize to pinocchio that geppetto loves him this much like just SHOW ME THROUGH ACTIONS

monstro looks stupid as hell lol

remember the original monstro? the gorgeous painting-like animation? thats nice. its not like that btw

the reunion with his father contains TWO SEPERATE MOMENTS of a possible tender moment but they trade BOTH out for comedy. there is no heartwarming reunion there's no profound forgiveness of geppetto it's just HaHa Funny!!! Funny Look!!! geppetto does mention he forgives him im just saying it was NOT done in a profound or emotional way

THE ENDING SCENE.

where to fucking begin with this. i suppose breaking it down works

so pinocchio Does Not Die. they escape monstro and instead geppetto is the one knocked out (i dont THINK hes dead like pinocchio was but im unsure). this is a stupid change because it is pinocchio's own sacrifice that makes it so profound

pinocchio... starts sadly humming/singing a tearful when you wish upon a star????????????????????? and this pissed me off because it dared try to use it for an emotional moment when they didnt do shit with the song in the first place. the message of this song is NONEXISTENT in this movie so having it here just feels so hollow and therefore insulting lol

and finally. finally. finally. we get to what is the best (worst?) example of "great concept in a bad movie" ive seen in all these pinocchio adaptions

pinocchio remains a wooden boy.

ah... You Are Mother Fucker. not only this but the scene... the dialogue... the message... the acting/animations/actions throughout it (even small gestures) are all things i so genuinely desire in a GOOD MOVIE

geppetto accidentally tells pinocchio in a moment of pride that a "real boy" couldnt do what he did. pinocchio's expression falls and geppetto immediately realizes what he said. he apologizes and tells him that if he made it seem like he wanted something more than him in the beginning that it wasnt like that at all. he tells him how much he loves him and that no matter what, he will always be his real boy.

the movie ends not at geppetto's home, but pinocchio and geppetto walking away from the sea. jiminy's narration comes on and he tells us that pinocchio may have been transformed physically, that it's up to interpretation, but that it doesnt really matter. because who he is inside is what counts, THAT is what makes him real.

(im summing it up and missing a few dialogue/acting moments but yeah)

screaming. crying. trashing around. i need to make it CLEAR that the only reason this whole ending is like this and is here is that they are taking what was presented in the og movie and expanding on it. i would LOVE this in the original movie yes, because i truly think that's where it belongs. but this fucking movie does nothing to be anything remotely as passionate and full of love as the original movie. it is heartbreaking to see this here

IN CONCLUSION:

disney remakes at the end of the day are about greed first. some will be worst than others. there are common trends that appear in various remakes, though not all trends appear in every single one. this movie has every single one of those trends. truthfully the worst ive seen and ive watched a remake that blatantly wrote a mental disorder that i have in the most offensive depiction ive seen of it (personally)

there is just no passion here. no love. the most i can say is that it does have sweet/good moments- specifically with small pieces of character acting and animation. but i cannot stress enough how minimal that is. it has a few good concepts but poorly utilizes them

it feels like it was relying on these moments to carry them through. but small moments like a genuinely sad/happy/loving pinocchio, as touching as that can be, will not actually mean anything or work when the story itself just isnt good. when so much of this movie is badly put together in every aspect. from writing to editing to animation to music to All Of It... terrible. disney doesnt care. not even about the history and art THEY made

tbh it's up to other people to keep the art alive. currently im working on my animated short (traditionally animated) and even enjoy my OWN work with pinocchio. including a sequel/continuation story idea that expands on the original's themes without being a piece of shit movie. if disney wont do it, we will just do it ourselves and/or find the people who still have the deep love and passion and All Of That for this piece of Art and Magic

#LONG POST #pinocchio #disney #disney pinocchio #rant #THIS IS A NEGATIVE BREAKDOWN OF THIS MOVIE. if you dont want to see someone hating it this post is Not For You

[busyfish]

i'm just journaling here so i'm going to just talk a lot under the cut

i cleaned the bird area and the cages and stuff tonight.

it's legitimately interesting to me to see like the areas of the cages where the birds are the most.

i know that ori's old cage is now the social area. they can all fit on the same perch in there. so like allll the poop is there. and the food area has some poop and obvi the food the falls to the floor.

the second cage is truly like the food area though. it seems to have near zero poops on the right side and only really a little poop near the food bowls. it is nearly just food that fell to the ground.

it's neat to be able to see the social habits of my birds just by cleaning after them.

-

it's a weird time for me.

it's 9 degrees right now and it's noticable that days are less bright too.

i feel like it's some-what better for me and i feel just a little lighter today even though i was so low energy i mostly just did bed all day.

i have been strongly and consistently depressed since June.

and when Ori died it made things so much worse.

and just July being July and me feeling like that was a time when my eyes got opened to something so hurtful, it just seems to like be "oh yeah it's time for that".

and of course being in the hospital recently.

right now i feel like i should be happier but i'm not.

the madoka movie trailer sort of got me off track of my like cycle i guess?

it's really like not something i want anymore.

it's not exactly just that i don't want to get over them or whatever.

i just feel like i can't.

i feel like i don't have much else to focus on when i feel lonely or i feel like i need some comfort and love and kind words or just someone telling me i'm cute and look pretty.

and it's not that i need the words. the words themselves are meaningless.

it's just having so much in common and feeling like we were kind of just meant for each and to be friends and on top of that having the words.

it's hard to replace that but also it's just hard knowing no one even really wants to replace that.

i'm not upset at anyone or anything like that but like no one really has time for me. we're at this point in life where everyone has their friends already, they have their busy lives, people work, most people function correctly.

i'm too much work and a hassle anyway.

-

i've really gotten into Kelly Moran lately.

she did a split with Prurient and i knew of her but didn't actually like look her up and like immerse myself into her works until very recently.

her regular piano stuff is cool but i wasn't aware she's a huge prepared paino composer.

which is juts amazing to me.

John Cage has always been a huge influence on me and when i heard that aphex twin album with all the prepared pieces on it i was like just in love in love.

it's something i've always wanted to do but never have had a lot of access to.

i've played prepared intrustments a bit but pianos are just so expensive and it takes a lot of work to prepare one properly.

one of these days maybe?

-

i have felt a lot of creativity inside of me lately.

there are things i want to express and perform and just geto ut of me.

but this depression i've been going through has juyst sucked the soul out of me and i find it hatrd.

i also just have gotten so fare rom like i guess, everything? i'm losing track of so many things now.

i forget to eat (because i don't get hungry) and i just don't take care as muic h as i should.

lately too my dyslexia has goten a lot worse nad also like dyspraxia has been hard to deal with,

there's also ust me having issues with words and stuff

there's just a huge like uh

i give up a lot of "necessary" congitive function to just pure survival but also i guess my mind sees and hears a lot of things that are expressive and creative instead.

and also just focusing on the liek special interest stuff.

so i feel like i am losing hte ability to keep myself like tangible to most people and it feels hard to me feral but also be like "please i need someone in my life"

i really do.

if only for a little bit.

just someone who can be there for me most days for just a little while.

keeup up with me and help me remember i am not lost.

i want to feel warmth and interest from someone.

i want to feel like i am a priorty and i matter al ot to them.

i don't know. it's asking a lot i guess.

people are either married or in romantic relationshops for that.

i'm never going to be married or have a romantic partner.

so i guess it's just not for me. i don't deserve those things.

but maybe once i get out of this depression i'll finish writing this thing i like a lot.

maybe i can draw it well enough too.

[ellevandersneed]

ok dream time. had a dream where i was legally required to apologize to an old professor i had in person because i apparently talked shit about her online and i felt super bad about it. my psychiatrist was the legal counsel and it all took place in my grandmothers house. the whole dream was me dreading the meeting but when the professor and her husband finally showed up i basically just said i was sorry and i didnt really know why i was mean. she was also british for some reason and either her or her husband had said that this is just how things are done in the UK, but they were both pretty understanding.

I wake up and fall back asleep.

Now I'm back in my childhood home, I'm turning 25. My parents and some extended family is there, telling me to get packed with whatever I can because I need to leave right away. I slip on a jacket someone gives me and put two small knives in my back pocket. The guests suddenly disperse and I'm alone, but only for a moment. I exit through the backdoor just as armed soldiers storm the house. I run, they give chase. I quickly zigzag past trashcans, slip between houses, barrel down streets until finally I arrive at my destination: Club Disney.

I enter a room filled with maybe eight or so people. On one end of the room sits a bench that stretches from wall to wall. Upon closer inspection it seems to be an extended piece of the back wall itself. Most of the people on the room are sitting on it. On the opposite side is a large projected screen depicting the Mickey Mouse logo, and on either side stand two somberly dressed guards. I sit on the bench between two patrons and glue my eyes to the screen. The logo begins to talk. I don't remember what it says at first.

Mickey Mouse shows us a series of clips of different video games. Some sort of puzzle platformer, a Kirby(?) fighting game, and something else. After the show has ended, Mickey reappears onscreen to awkwardly point out that I'd only been here a few days prior, and I look down to realize that, under my jacket, I've been wearing a Mickey Mouse clubhouse t-shirt thats exactly two sizes two small. I pull at its hem to try and make it fit, hoping that too much of my stomache isn't exposed. I get up and leave.

The next bit is sort of foggy, but I remember having a laptop open at or near the airport. I was trying to edit a picture of Colm Meaney by cropping a rabbit off of his red sweater, Colm was with me as I did this. Suddenly, I get a call from Chuck McGill, who is suddenly berating me, telling me this is no time to play games because I'm such a screw up. I knew instantly that he was the one who sent those hitmen to my house. I shout at him, calling him a sycophant and a freak, that there was something seriously wrong with him. Colm just gets embarassed. I slam the laptop shut and storm off.

Suddenly I'm in a sort of gallery, trying to keep my hand steady as I paint lines onto a sheet of paper. An older woman who reminds me a lot of Michelle Yeoh was up to me. She's tearful and wishes me a happy birthday. She seems really sorry about Chuck. I think she worked for him, because I'm suddenly struck with a vision of Chuck in his house being helped my staffers I've never seen before. The house is different too, it reminds me of someplace but I can't put my finger on what. The image fades away as this woman in front of me starts talking again. I can tell she really loves me in a motherly sort of way. She tells me she made the jacket I was wearing, and I realize its designed the same as hers. She hands me a birthday envelope and tells me I should get going. This is a tearful goodbye. We hug. I feel weird. I feel lonely, like this person is important to me somehow and I might never see her again. I feel like the past is always there was completely unobtainable, impossible to restore, always in the minds eye. I leave hurriedly. I do not want to be here anymore.

I'm now walking in a space outside. Its one of those dumping grounds for materials and trash you sometimes find behind big stores in America. Grass grows in patches up out of wherever concrete hasn't eaten the landscape. Gravel is strewn haphazardly down a short slope, as if spilled there years ago by a dumptruck, a half assed attempt at cheap parking space. I'm walking with a friend, telling them about the dream I just had. I'm saying something about how I must have been the main character from Better Call Saul in my dream, and that I didn't want to say too much in case previous events would spoil the rest of the show for them. I reach into my back pocket and find the two knives I put there earlier.

I wake up.

#my dreams #better call saul

[simpsonsnight]

Episode #709

Treehouse of Horror XXXII Season 33, Episode 2 | October 10, 2021

Welcome back to "the blog I refuse to proofread"

Opening: A parody Bambi with Bart as Bambi and Marge as Bambi's mother. This specifically spoofs the scene where Bambi's mother gets her head cut off with a chainsaw. In this version, Homer is a deer who gores the hunter, played by Mr. Burns. It's only edgy on it's surface level, but the satiric point is that Disney sometimes makes scary stuff for kids. It's a soft ribbing of their parent company at best.

Story #1: A parody of Parasite, which I never saw. This one's okay, but it's just not leftist enough! Rainier Wolfcastle is the rich guy's house. I really do think the Simpsons writers, who probably all own houses exactly like his, do sorta seem to have more of an interest in dunking on the working class. See, I wasn't even kidding when I said it wasn't leftist enough. YOU THOUGHT I WAS DOING IRONY, BUT I ACTUALLY FEEL THAT WAY AND BELIEVE THE STUFF I'M SAYING ABOUT THIS. AAAAUUUUUGHHHHH

Story #2: In the second story, Bart scares Lisa and Maggie with a spooky story on Halloween, causing them to interrupt Homer and Marge's love-making sessions. Homer sets his sights on the tree-house, and decides to chop down the tree in the backyard, citing it as the cause for his woes. Every year is the same thing, "three scary stories. Two of them good, with a lame one in the middle". Hey, I smiled.

The tree gets zapped by lightening and comes to life, pulling it's roots out of the ground and going on a rampage. It can somehow zap alive other trees, who form a posse against the humans. This one is dumb but fun visually, so I like it fine. And ya gotta respect the fact that it contains their least offensive trans joke yet, when Audrey II from Little Shop of Horrors says he identifies as a tree, because he's a "transplant". Not the most incredible joke in the world, and it's maybe a little hubristic of the Simpsons writers to think they can pull off non-alienating trans jokes. But it's worth noting, I guess.

Story #2.5: OH! They did a short! Because of their weird-ass four-act structure where the third act is very very short. It was Vincent Price reading a rude story in the style of Edward Gorey. One of couplets is a recreation of Bart the Lover.

Story #3: "Dead Ringer" is a parody of The Ring, which I literally watched last Halloween for the first time. Good idea, Simpsons, to parody a thing I know about. Anyway, I found this one to be the weakest.

And that's this one. I'm back, baby! (I am probably going to abandon this blog again right after this post)

MAIL BAG

Aw. AW HELL NO.

People say "The Last Exit to Springfield" is one of the greatest it's not its one of the worst why The Big Book of British Smiles we do not have those teeth. I know Americans need to have theirs cosmetically whitened. It makes no sense the book.

I'm starting to think that no book in the whole world makes sense. I look at those things and I'm just, like, "what is this". You know what I mean? This guy gets it.

I know fans and former fans like to trash the show and even think the show will last forever and ever and ever. But if you have some common sense the show will end if either Matt or a voice actor passes away. Everything comes to an end sometime.

I would not put it past the corporate entities that own the show to have bullied the cast into signing away artificial intelligence rights to their voices in the events of their deaths. It's just a hunch that I have. It was probably the only reason they were able to reach a deal in the last strike or whatever.

How dumb was Marge in the soap box racer episode agreeing with her sisters giving Homer the father test didn't she get it was probably to break them up.

Marge loves her family and is inherently trusting. These are good qualities, unless you live in a world where everyone around you has refused god's grace. She inherited a terrible world that is not suited for her. In other words... can you blame her?

The real reason on why Springfield Stem Academy was a failure was because the idea was from Marge Simpson and the episode had the name Lisa Simpson The Miseducation of Lisa Simpson. Both of them females.

Many in the community will argue that it is canon that "Man smart. Woman Smarter" as sung by Our Favourite Family, but many forget that was a Halloween episode, and thus not canon. Man Smart. Homer/Bart.

Homer a jerkass suppose he didn't know that the word was jackass? Also Homer has always been an ass when he was supposed to get Lisa a new saxophone reed. But went for a beer first. Then it caused the pony incident Lisa always wanted one but it was an incident with ponies being too expensive.

Ponies can be very expensive. Just ask my friend BING CROSBY! HAHAHA GOT 'IM. Nah, I think Homer got it from online. I get all my stuff from online.

#simpsons #season 33

[cutlikediamonds]

062323

i dont have that much to say but im down another pound or two. again, slowest pace ever but i really dont mind it. and i like when my methods are habits and not just desperate attempts to make the number lower that end up with me bingeing the second i get what i want and then having to do it again. lot of habits and routines that dont feel forced and are actually changing things, thats where im at now. 

my summer class is almost over and that keeps me really busy so im vaguely concerned about what losing that will do to my routines and all that but, i should be mostly okay i think. i hope. itll at least give me more time to work out which ive been craving to do so maybe itll be better actually. 

i think i referenced it once but one of my best friends is out of state for the summer doing a summer program and we go to the same school otherwise, so a new motivating thought is wanting to have lost enough that she notices it when i see her in the fall again. i doubt shed say anything out of respect but i can read her well so i just want her to notice it and wonder. also, the last time i lost a bunch of weight it was so obvious how i got treated differently over time, like that was the only time when friends who didnt before started play flirting with me or just referencing my physical appearance more often and theyd call me pretty casually, as if it was an obvious thing when they had never really said it before, and that was the only time of my life where i got genuinely asked out. whether it was actually cuz of my weight or just because i had more confidence because of the loss idk but it was an undeniable difference, and i keep remembering it and wanting to pull the same reactions out of everyone again. 

its annoying honestly, i like to put thought into my appearance. i like doing my hair and my makeup and playing with my gender expression but my friends dont really comment on it and i was used to it and didnt mind it until they suddenly did talk about it when i was thinner. i come off as having a very easy going vibe with that stuff so i guess nobody thinks i care about style or appearances like that but i do, i like the creativity of it, and i wish they were invested in mine even when i wasnt thin but.. also i wanna be thin too lol so i guess i cant be that mad. its motivating at least. 

another new thing, its always nice to relapse like this when ive undergone a lot of reflection in the mean time and know who i am more cuz now the inspo that i come up with in my head or find online hits harder cuz it feels so much more relevant to me lol. like, i never used to care about being strong or looking toned all that much but now thats one of the things that keeps me the most focused. arm workouts have been the easiest routine for me to stick to cuz i just never forget the goal of it, its nice. 

i like the slow progress so far. i like seeing the subtle changes. i like that the changes dont get lost if i have a bad day cuz theyre not that unstable. i like that even after a day of eating i can look at my body and still see the parts of it that have made progress, the bloating of the day aside. its very grounding. 

im also trying to respect my weird food habits. in the back of my head im trying to go on a journey of ‘unmasking’ a bit (neurodivergent thing) but its not at the forefront of my mind, but one of the aspects of that is definitely respecting myself when it comes to what foods feel safe or not and how eating makes me feel. its still annoying, sometimes when theres no safe foods around i just cant eat anything and i can tell that in that scenario pushing myself out of my comfort zone is probably what i should be doing, but i also would take the discomfort of hunger over the discomfort of feeling overstimulated or out of control from whatever i made myself eat any day. i know some people would say thats food or the ed having control over me, but i think you could also say its me respecting myself and taking control of my environment and triggers, so who knows. 

i guess i did have stuff to say today lol

[drabbles-of-writing]

Miscommunications²

AO3

Summary:  The thing is that, at the end of the day, Raine knows they don’t know Eda as well as they wanted to. Not now, and probably not then.  Even still, this felt like…a very weird thing to lie about. Eda had lied about a dozen things before, but they didn't think she'd gotten to the point of lying about 𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴. Some might call it bizarre. Raine called it concerning. So, really, one can't blame them for taking matters into their own hands. Besides, if Eda was going to leave her tape lying around, they may as well see what the fuss was about.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The thing is that, at the end of the day, Raine knows they don’t know Eda as well as they wanted to. Not now, and probably not then.

However, they do know two things; Eda is not malicious, and she knows a dumb lie a mile away. She’s petty, yes, but the worst harm she ever wishes upon people is a mild inconvenience for being jerks. She knows how stupid most of her plans are, and has enough sense to know when her ideas go from ludicrous to downright painful to be part of. 

And yet, there she had stood, reaching out and pleading, claiming to have seen Raine. Two weeks ago. When they had been in the infirmary.

And this felt like…a very weird thing to lie about.

Eda was an actor, sure, but something felt so off about how excited she’d been to see them, how she so casually mentioned Darius and Eberwolf by name, how dead-set she was on insisting they’d seen each other not weeks before.

Eda could probably hold her own against the Emperor if she wanted, but she didn’t fight a lost cause unless she thought it was worth it. And Raine likes to think they made it very clear they didn’t care for whatever stunt Eda was trying to pull this time.

Why, in all the Boiling Isles, would Eda lie about when she’d last spoken with them? It made no sense. They’d hadn’t spoken in years, not even a passing glance on the street in at least five. She had no reason to suddenly drop in and insist she and Raine were buddy-buddy again. She hated the Coven’s, but she wasn’t the type to try and deceive her way in and systematically take it down. She was more likely to blow it up in one go.

Raine blamed their concern over Eda’s wellbeing as the reason that, when the guards came to fetch them, and Eda had vanished into thin air, they’d paused at the sight of a small, rectangular black box on the ground.

She’d forgotten her tape. The one she’d played that made Raine’s head pound and only served to aggravate them further. The one she’d shoved in their face with such certainty that it’d do the trick.

Raine was worried. So that, clearly, was why they had picked up the tape, knowing the guards couldn’t care less, and tucked it into their pocket.

And now, here Raine was, sitting at their desk, hands folded in front of their face, staring down at the tape recorder before them. It’d been over half an hour.

Each time they pressed the play button, a headache would start. They figured it probably had something to do with a concussion, they’re pretty sure Terra said they’d gotten one of those. Concussions could last for quite a while, they hear.

And each time the pain started, they drank more of Terra’s tea, (as much as they loathed to take anything from her) waited for a minute, and tried again. Same results.

They supposed it could've been something that Eda enchanted it with. But why would she curse a recorder to give people headaches? She could probably just put on one of her screamer songs and it’d do the same trick. No, it must have had something to do with being bedridden for a month.

They were determined to hear the whole thing through, though, because for whatever reason, Eda deemed it important. So Raine grit their teeth, held their head in their hands, and listened.

They did recognize it. It sounded…awfully familiar to a song Eda used to play on her mandolin. Raine’s Rhapsody, they recalled. They thought the name was silly, so, of course, Eda kept it.

It wasn’t the exact song. It was blended in with an entirely different one, but they knew that had to be where they remembered it from. The nagging hissing at the back of their mind was just mad about the headache, that was it.

It was a spell, they realized at one point. It had to be. The song Eda would play had been a spell in its own right, albeit a very weak one, but a spell nonetheless that affected all the surrounding areas. It’d been blended with a viola, two entirely different spells creating a new one.

Which was why Raine was staring down at it now, contemplating. Because Eda had asked if they’d remembered it. And they had a sneaking suspicion she wasn’t trying to guilt them into remembering that old Rhapsody. No, if she was truly that cruel, she’d have a recording of that alone, not whatever this was.

Raine was not immune to flaws, so they could admit they were curious. About Eda, about her motives, hell, the whole situation piqued their interest. And this song was just one piece of it, but an important piece nonetheless.

Raine sighed, let their shoulders slump, resigned themself, and hit play. They’d lost count long ago.

They powered through the headaches, listening intently to the keys the viola struck. That, they could figure out first. They gritted their teeth, rubbing at their temples, and hit play again. They listened, tapped out a rhythm, and at one point, pulled out a piece of paper and pen. They hit play again, and began to write. Paused, rewound, listened, wrote. Hit play, strained their ears, frowned, erased more notes, rewound, listened again.

At some point, the headache became a dull thrumming, rather than a harsh strike that shot through the whole of their skull. But they wouldn’t notice that for a while, instead muttering under their breath as they wrote down all they could determine.

It really was quite a nice song. Raine couldn’t help but wonder who Eda had played it with. Come to think of it, they didn’t even know Eda still had her old mandolin. Maybe it was a new one. Regardless, they thought she’d given up playing quite a while ago.

They supposed they felt a little proud about that, knowing the hours spent in the empty classrooms and fields, trying to teach Eda the proper way to hold the instrument, hadn’t all been forgotten. Or maybe she was still holding it wrong and powering through anyway. Both were plausible.

At one point, Raine paused, and looked down at their notes, and realized that their guesses were only going to go so far.

The door to their office was always shut, and the only one who came to check on them was Terra, and she’d already come by a few hours ago.

Raine slowly stood from their desk, placed the scrap of paper on the edge, and summoned their viola.

They placed their bow on the strings, inhaled once, closed their eyes, exhaled, untensed their hand, and played.

They almost immediately hit a sour note.

Raine frowned, grumbling and setting their bow down to inspect the paper again. It seemed about right, but then they reached for the recorder and let it play, they frowned when they heard the difference. They played too low, it needed to be higher. They nodded to themself, set it aside, and scribbled down the change.

The only real way to get it right was through trial and error, after all.

They counted the lines, nodded, and played again.

They got a total of five seconds in before they hit another note that sounded off. That, and a spike of pain through the side of their head that had them gritting their teeth and slumping out of their posture. Maybe playing with a concussion was a bad idea.

They groaned, setting down their viola and popping the lid off of their hollowed out tooth flask. They threw it back, sighing as the ache in their head slowly faded with it. Every day, they were eternally grateful for the healing coven's ability to join with practically any magic there was. They’re pretty sure that’s how Terra made it, at least.

They blinked, paused, frowned, and looked back down at the sheet of paper. They were supposed to write something, weren’t they? They’d gotten something wrong. Their frown deepened. Which note did they mess up, again?

“Whispers?”

The knock at the door didn’t quite scare Raine out of their skin, but it scared them enough for their arm to smack against their desk and hiss at the pain that shot up it, clutching their arm close.

“Uh, yes?” Raine called, voice strained as they hastily scooped up their viola, letting it and the bow vanish back to the little case they stored them in back home.

“Head Witch Terra is asking for a report of the, er, events of the parade.” The person beyond the door said. Probably one of the scouts, or lower guards.

“Of course,” Raine sighed, just a bit tired. “Tell her I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Yes, Head Witch.” The guard said, and old habits had Raine’s ears pricking and waiting till they heard footsteps retreat down the hallway.

Discussing their ‘kidnapping’ was the last thing they wanted to do, but they supposed Terra would accept a vague overall summary of the events. Not like she’d get anything useful out of it. The Coven had started focusing more on the approaching Day of Unity rather than deal with capturing the Owl Lady. Which was a little odd, because Raine could’ve sworn it was like over half the efforts to capture her had dropped overnight, but then again, they hadn’t been paying too much attention to it.

Raine just shook their head, and opened a drawer in their desk before stashing the tape, and the notes, inside. If anyone asked, they’d just say they were trying to learn a new piece. It was technically the truth.

One hand rubbed at their temple with a sigh. Another time, then.

,

It ended up being more difficult than it should’ve been.

Being Head of a Coven, Raine didn’t exactly have a lot of free time. But when they did, they’d pull out the recorder, and the notes, and try and decipher just what kind of spell was being performed.

The problem was that for every new line Raine learned, they forgot the tiniest piece of another. Which would’ve normally made no sense, considering how many complicated pieces Raine had long-since memorized, some of which were just for fun. But Terra had explained back when they were in the infirmary that their brain would probably be a little fuzzy for a while, so it was probably something they’d have to push through.

Their note-taking definitely helped them stay on track. They’d just have to replay a note a few times to make sure it was the right one, and that it was held for an appropriate amount of time. They’d find themself leaning back in their office chair, chewing on a pencil as they read over the sheet music and tried to determine the kind of spell they were listening to.

What they had figured out, when they were almost halfway through, was that it was at the very least a powerful spell. One often had to make the conscious effort for music to not turn into magic, and Raine had neglected to do so about twice. Which had ended in the room being engulfed in a golden light, a sort of trance-like magic.

It was a blanket spell, but with a much wider reach, and the kind used to combine two kinds of spells. The kinds used when one wanted to flood an area, or set it on fire, or cause a jungle of vines. Which had them nothing short of perplexed, because Eda’s song was definitely part of it, and hers was almost the same, albeit with a shorter reach.

So, Raine was waiting for the second half for whatever that blanket spell was waiting on to kickstart it. To make it something more.

Which was why Raine was on the balcony of their house, viola in hand, squinting at the notes clipped onto their music stand.

It was already late, dusk painting the sky an array of oranges and pink. They’d normally be wrapping up the last of their documents and piles of paperwork, but they’d pulled an all-nighter previously so they could afford to have some time to practice. 

Raine leaned back, placed the bow along the strings, counted the notes, and let music quietly fill the air.

The deja vu had faded over the amount of times they’d heard the song on repeat, but the headaches never did stop. No other music seemed to cause such headaches, which made Raine worry, again, that it was some sort of mental spell. But if that were true, then it shouldn’t affect them when they played it, only the grossly unstable ones did that.

Just another oddity, they supposed.

Raine made it just past the halfway mark before they felt a slam against their head, and they harshly exhaled as they set their viola aside on one of the chairs out on the balcony. They took a swing of their flask, sighing and shaking their head. A less stubborn witch would’ve given up by now. Unfortunately, Raine was known for being relentless. Tough luck.

They sighed, shook their head, and picked up the tape again to listen.

They shut their eyes, tapping one finger against the back of the chair to the beat, ignoring the ache. Listening to it still gave no hints as to what kind of spell it was. It sounded just like an unfinished blanket spell, nothing more. It would’ve been normal, if Eda hadn’t been playing the second part. Maybe it was some kind of strong levitation spell?

It finished with a click, and they turned to scribble down a few more notes on the paper before they got distracted. It kept happening, and they didn’t want to make this process longer than it already was.

“You just love to make things difficult for me, don’t you?” Raine muttered, taking another sip of their tea in between the writing. Their ears didn’t so much as twitch at the sound of a soft clatter behind them.

Their eyes scanned over the shabby sheet as they picked up their viola again. They kept their eyes on it, even as the bow lay on the strings, and they played once again.

The dull throb was there, but they pushed through it as the song filled the air. They made about half an effort to not let the surrounding area become enveloped in gold, because at this point, they weren’t sure if there was a second part to the song. Also, their neighbors probably wouldn’t appreciate it. They barely put up with their nightly music sessions as it was.

It wasn’t quite the same, without the mandolin accompanying it. Almost made Raine pause and listen to it again to see if they missed anything. But they weren’t, so they kept their eyes on the page and followed it as though it were an actual sheet of notes.

Raine wracked their brain as they reached the end of the line, and managed to play a few keys that sounded startlingly familiar before there was a much lower pitch than how it was supposed to be.

“Not even close,” Raine muttered to themself, lowering their viola and holding it off to the side attempting to shift the bow over into their viola hand while picking up the pencil and scribbling it down. “And then a low–no, high C, it was a high C.” Raine shook their head, erasing the half-made attempt and re-writing it.

A shuffle went unnoticed.

Raine nodded to themself, unclipping their flask from their belt (a rather difficult task, they had to say) and taking a single sip before clipping it back. They then stepped back, held the viola up, breathed out, and listened as the strings sang.

The first half or so was almost muscle memory now, even if they squinted at the notes and swore they didn’t remember it looking like that before. So they let themself step to the side a bit, allowing themself to unfocus from their surroundings and eyes cloud over as they focused on the music.

A sharp sound, and Raine winced, immediately stopping. Did a string break? That sounded horrendously wrong. They moved their viola away from their neck, inspecting it with a frown. It looked fine enough, but surely they hadn’t hit a note that bad, had they? That was a rookie mistake, they were well beyond that–

“Back here, Raine.”

Raine did jump out of their skin then, jerking back and colliding with the music stand, sending it falling to the ground with a loud clang. They winced at the sound, which was not helping their almost constant headaches now. Their viola was raised, halfway back to their neck in a defensive position, because they knew nobody was supposed to be here, they lived alone, and guards tend to knock before entering–

There, at the very back of their balcony, leaning against the railing as if she wasn’t trespassing, was Eda.

She looked just as surprised as Raine felt, which was odd, because Raine’s pretty sure they’re not the one who broke into someone's property. Maybe she didn’t know it was Raine’s? That one was understandable, Raine had moved three times in the last few years with their changing promotions, she probably just saw a fancy house and thought it was a good idea to try and loot from it.

Eda’s arms were loosely crossed across her chest, wide eyes flicking up and down Raine’s frame as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Raine’s shock, however, was slowly morphing into just plain confusion. And maybe a hint of annoyance.

“Eda,” Raine said, clearing their throat and eyeing the fallen stand, wondering if they could risk putting down their viola to pick it up. “What are–how did you–you’re not supposed to be here, you know, this is private property–”

“Is that my tape?” Eda asked, one hand raising, pointing to the chair where said tape lay.

“Oh, uh,” Raine flushed, just a bit, because, oh, yeah, they technically stole that from her, didn’t they? “I’m–yes, yeah.” They nodded, ears twitched just a bit lower. “You left it, so I just…I didn’t want to leave it there.” They said, stepping a little closer to the chair. “Someone might have stolen it.”

“Right,” Eda said slowly, disbelieving. Which was a little unfair, because that had been why Raine had taken it. Half of it, at least. “Now, I know I’m getting a little old, so forgive me if my ears are faulty, but were you just…playing it?”

“Er,” Raine coughed, eyes darting to the side. “It was…well, you see, I–” They grasped for something, because when confronted, the excuse that ‘I wanted to see why it was so important to you’ or ‘I felt drawn to it for no other reason than I recognized our old song’ didn’t sound so solid anymore. “It’s…it’s a powerful spell, isn’t it?” They settled on.

“Huh?”

“I can tell these things, Eda.” Raine said, and decided that Eda probably wasn’t here to fight them again. And if she was, then at least Raine could throw a right hook. They let their viola move away from its position, laying it on the chair next to the tape as they turned back to the music stand. “It’s a blanket spell, and…” They paused, and they knew Eda noticed. “And a levitation spell, I think. But a very strong blanket spell, which makes no sense to waste on a levitation one, if it even is that.”

“I thought you said you could tell these things?” Eda raised a brow.

“Well, you always liked to make things difficult.” Raine may have been a little curt, back turned towards Eda as they set the stand straight, hoping it hadn’t dented. “And no matter how many times I would play that rhapsody, it never could make up its mind on what kind of spell it was. And you never explained.”

“You never asked.” Eda said, and she sounded a little distant.

They didn’t, now that they thought about it. But then Raine noticed then that the sheet was gone from the stand, and pushed the thought from their mind. They blinked, looking around the ground for where it could’ve fallen. They swore they used a clip, didn’t they? Did it come off?

“Have you seen–” Raine turned, and realized why Eda sounded distant.

She’d moved places, almost on the opposite corner of the balcony, notes in hand. Raine tensed a bit, though, really, what would it do for Eda to skim over them? She’d played it, it’s not like she’d learn anything new out of it, even if it wasn’t her part.

“Have you been trying to learn it?” Eda asked, looking up from the notes, nothing short of shocked and…hopeful? For some reason?

“It’s a powerful spell.” Raine repeated, hands twitching to snatch it back. They’d already put so much effort into remembering it. “And it’s one you played, I figured I should, well, know what you did.” They said, a little lamely. “Since it seemed like such a big deal.”

“It was.” Eda said, eyes flicking from the notes to Raine. “You don’t remember how to play it?”

“Me? I don’t think I’ve ever done a spell quite like this, Eda.” Raine shook their head, stepping around their stand, closer. “I recognize your part, but that’s all.” They said, and Eda looked just a little sad at that. 

“Aw, was I that memorable?” Eda joked, but it sounded hollow.

“It was one of five songs you played.” Raine deadpanned, even if they were more than a little put off. Something was wrong with her before, and it seems to still not have left. “Of course I did.”

“Right,” Eda nodded, sadness dissipating with a definite bit of force.

And in the standstill, which was a very awkward one, Raine realized a few things.

Eda looked…different. They’re sure they saw it when they spoke in the alleyway, but there wasn’t exactly time to dwell. But now there was, and the first thing they noticed was the white streak through her hair. They had guessed that her hair started graying out from the curse rather than stress a while ago, but now they were wondering if her hair was going to turn stark-white at some point.

The second was; “what happened to your eye?”

Eda stared for a second, starting to raise a hand to her grayed out eye before shaking her head and letting it fall.

“Oh, uh, it’s a long story.” Eda chuckled, a little uneasily. “It didn’t have anything to do with the spell, if you’re worried.”

“I wasn’t,” Raine said, and was at least at ease figuring Eda could still see out of that eye. She seemed to have a fine depth perception back in the alley. “You’re not crazy enough to use a self-destructive spell like that.”

Eda’s expression grew tense and vaguely uncomfortable. Raine didn’t have time to try and discern what that meant before Eda stepped forward, notes in hand. Raine eyed her, and Eda stopped a reasonable distance away.

“It’s…a destructive spell.” Eda said eventually, hand stretched out, offering the notes. “So, not a levitation one.”

“It wasn’t?” Raine asked with a hum, hesitantly reaching out to take the paper back. 

“Yeah, unfortunately, that ol’ rhapsody’s glory days are long gone.” Eda said with a weak chuckle, and Raine was a little surprised Eda didn’t linger when they took the notes, letting her arm move back to a crossed position across her chest. “You can thank the curse for that.”

Raine’s head jerked up. Ah, okay, we were mentioning that in casual conversation now. Out of nowhere. Cool, cool, very cool.

“I see,” Raine said slowly, very careful of their words now. The ‘how’s the curse been, then?’ and the ‘have you been handling it alright?’ would have to wait, possibly forever. “What kind of destructive was it, then?”

“Not entirely sure,” Eda admitted, and she started walking again, and Raine stepped to the side as she passed. “Of the specifics, I mean.” She said, continuing till she was just to the side of the music stand, one hand on the railing. “What I do know is it would’ve killed every living thing that had the misfortune of being in the area. Disintegration, maybe? Eating it away? I’d tested it, like, twice before.”

“Oh,” Raine said, cringing a little. “What…goodness, when would you ever have had to use that spell?” They asked, a little shot of fear hitting them. “Is–Eda did you–”

“No one’s dead.” Eda said with a wave of her hand, and if it wasn’t the Boiling Isles, a normal person would’ve been shocked at how casually she said it. “We didn’t complete the spell. Got pretty damn close, though.”

“Ah,” Raine nodded slowly, cautiously stepping closer, just to slip the notes back onto the stand, eyes warily watching her. They pursed their lips, hesitated, and asked; “May I ask who this ‘we’ is?”

Eda turned her head back to them, blinking like a deer in the headlights. Raine rolled their eyes a bit, and since they were satisfied Eda wasn’t going to take the sheet for whatever reason, turned back to their chair. 

“There’s two instruments in the song, Eda.” Raine said. “I know the mandolin is you, nobody else knows that song, and remind me to ask when you picked up music again, but you were never good with violas.” They said, picking up their own in emphasis. “So, who were you playing with? They’re remarkably good. And for the record,” They added quickly, Eda’s spooked expression still remaining. “You may use an alias, if you’re worried. I’m not going to go hunting down a witch who’s willingly worked with you, but I will warn you that I can’t promise special treatment.”

They fully expected Eda to grin and crack a joke, something about ‘who knew the great Whispers could be impressed?’ or ‘oh, so I’m the only one with special treatment, then?’ because that’s just…what she did. 

Instead, Eda’s face crumbled even more, something akin to remorse and guilt, and Raine panicked for a second that they’d hit a sensitive spot. Someone she’d had a falling out with, maybe? It wasn’t odd, Eda wasn’t always an easy person for most to get along with.

“That…” Eda swallowed, and Raine almost told her to forget it, but she just shook her head, turning fully around, both hands behind her gripping the railing as she faced them. “Raine, I played that with you.”

“What?” Raine blinked. “You–no, no you didn’t.” They shook their head. That was out of left field. “I would’ve remembered if I was anywhere near you, Eda.” They said, hesitantly glancing at their bow and deciding to leave it. “And I’ve definitely never played this before.”

“You have.” Eda said, as though it were a fact of the world. “You–you have to have the sheet music somewhere, you played it without hesitation. Unless you made it up on the fly, in which case, I am beyond impressed.”

“Eda, I don’t often forget my own music.” Raine said, letting their annoyance seep into their voice. “And I most certainly don’t forget blanket spells of this power. You don’t have to tell me who you played this with, it was just a simple question, good grief.”

“You were there,” Eda insisted, one hand leaving the railing. “Raine, I swear to you, on my life, I wouldn’t lie about this. You were the one who made us stop playing, I wouldn’t–” She shut her mouth with a click, ducking her head.

“And that’s another thing,” Raine said, deciding to let her sudden aversion go. It was nothing new. “I still don’t understand why. You’ve tried to trick people on some pretty crazy things, but this is pushing it.” They said with a shake of their head. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head on something? Even I have trouble believing you’d try to spin a lie this ludicrous.”

“Because I’m not.” Eda insisted. “I’m thinking you might’ve hit your head on something.”

“And I might have been inclined to agree,” Raine said, reaching out and pulling their stand just a bit closer, eyeing the notes that were already starting to look new to them all over again. “Had you been saying we’ve spoken months ago, not a few weeks. I was in the infirmary, not running around with you.”

“And I’m telling you that you weren’t.” Eda said, both hands off the railing. “I don’t know what I’ve gotta to do convince you of this, but if you have any idea, do tell.”

“Well, you’ll certainly be in better graces with me if you got off my property.” Raine muttered. “I’m a bit busy at the moment, if you can’t tell.”

“With my tape,” Eda reminded, appearing just a tiny bit miffed. “I was worried where that thing had gone, in case you were wondering.”

“Do you want a copy?” Raine drawled, as though they hadn’t already decided it was best to make one as a backup.

“I’d like it back, actually.” Eda said, standing straighter. “Since you already know what the spell does, no need to keep learning it, right?”

Raine hesitated, a moment too long to be brushed off as them trying to find their words. Why did they want to know in the first place, anyway? Because Eda thought it was important? They would’ve given it back then, surely, if it was important to her. Because they wanted to know the spell? Sure, but they could’ve handed it off to other bards under them who could’ve figured it out in half the time it took for Raine to learn it.

“I’ll just make a copy for myself, then.” Raine said, turning their head away. “You can keep the original if it means so much.”

“Why have it at all?” Eda asked, arms crossed, in that tone that said it was a trap, and Raine knew they’d already hit it. “I just told you what it does.”

“You could be lying,” Raine said quickly, fingers dancing along the neck and strings of their viola in a nervous gesture. “I may as well check.”

“You’d need two instruments to check it.” Eda said, leaning against the railing. “And I don’t see you practicing with anyone else.”

“I doubt anyone has the time to learn a one-off song and never use it again.” Raine huffed, eyes locked on the sky in the distance, now almost completely blackened. Besides, it felt wrong to have someone else play the song Eda made for them. They could switch it around, they supposed, but that…also felt wrong, somehow.

“So you admit that you aren’t trying to repeat the song.”

“Would you get to the point?” Raine snapped, shoulders hunched up, grip tightening on their instrument.

“Would you?” Eda shot back. “Raine, seriously, why do you care about a song you don’t even recognize?” 

And Raine…didn’t have an answer for that. They opened their mouth, closed it, ears pressed back, thought for a second, almost spoke, then trailed off. 

Even if they got the mandolin section down, two people would need to play it if they truly wanted to check the spell. And Eda was right, her curse most always messed with her magic in some way, so it’d be impossible to fully replicate unless she was playing, or she somehow had no hiccups. She had no reason to lie about the severity of it, hell, she was more likely to lie about it being safer. 

Why did they care?

“I don’t–” They started, bringing their hands up to their chest, tightly clutching their viola and bow. “I’d just like to know, that's all.”

Technically not a lie, but not the truth, either. Any answer would be enough if it got Eda to leave, because now there were a dozen thoughts tumbling over each other in their head, and it wasn’t doing their frequent ache any favors.

“Mmhmm,” Eda hummed, clearly not believing a word of it. “That definitely makes sense.”

“Oh, you have no right to be deciding what does or doesn’t make sense!” Raine glowered. “You can’t seriously think you can drop in, tell me the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, and then fight me about it, and expect me to brush it off.”

“I’m not asking you to brush it off, I’m asking you to listen.” Eda stressed, ears pressed back, lip twitching over her gold fang. “Somethings happened with you, and I don’t know what, but I want to help–”

“Well obviously something happened, I was in the infirmary!”

Eda winced back a bit, and some part of Raine hoped their neighbors weren’t going to investigate their shouting. Probably not, from all the noise they caused on a regular basis, but that didn’t stop them from worriedly glancing off to the other buildings, if just briefly.

“What were you even in the infirmary for?” Eda demanded, eyes narrowing. “A tuba falling on your head or something?”

“I’ll have you know it was–” They paused for half a second, flinching as a flash of pain shot through their head. They’d spoken to Terra just a day before they left the infirmary, right? The walls were white–no, gray–and there had been guards–nurses–walking around, and Terra had said…“a field accident.”

That’s probably what she said. Or something akin to it. Come to think of it, they aren’t sure if Terra explained why they were there at all. But that made sense, it’d be an embarrassment if they were in a simple mishap rather than an attack on the field. Darius wouldn’t have let them hear the end of it.

Granted, they didn’t think Darius, or Eberwolf, had been in the same room as them for quite a while.

They remembered the moving, gliding position over their viola of a controlling spell and dark, reaching abominations. Then another shot of pain hit their head and they grit their teeth before grabbing at their tea again.

“Field accident.” Eda repeated. “What kind of field accident?”

“Why do you suddenly care?” Raine hissed, voice raspy, and if Eda’s cringe and pinched expression were any indication, it’d been spit out harsher than they meant for it to. They blamed the pain in their head for that, downing a quick gulp of the tea. They had more in stock, right? This one was already past halfway empty.

There was a moment of silence, one where Raine stayed glaring at the tea in their hands and wished, not for the first time, they could have a civil conversation. For starters, it’d make them feel less miserable.

“I always did.” Eda said, so much softer than they’d heard her in a long, long time, and despite giving her a shocked stare, she continued; “And while I know we’re getting a bit older these days, I don’t think either of us are at the point where we’re forgetting entire events.”

“Eda, I don’t know what else to tell you except repeat the same thing over and over.” Raine sighed, shaking their head. 

“Neither do I!” Eda was starting to sound a little frantic. “I’d give you witnesses, but they’re kind of in the Conformatorium right now. Titan,” She sucked in a breath, eyes darting to the side and staring off before darting back. “Do you even remember a kid by the name of Katya?”

It struck them as familiar. They frowned, fingers twitching over their viola as they turned their head to the side and thought, squinting. Maybe that was one of their students? There was a flicker of sharp teeth and the hasty closing of a notebook before their head complained loudly and they elected to not follow that thought. Why would Eda know any of their students?

“Oh Raine.” Eda breathed, eyes wide with something that might’ve been horror if Raine wasn’t too afraid of the thought of Eda being this disturbed. 

“Eda, look–” Raine started, taking a step to the side, uneasy. They paused, squinted, and felt a flicker of something familiar, and the words were out before they could think to keep it to themself; “what happened to your eye?”

It hadn’t been grayed before. When had that happened? Had she been blinded? They doubted it, she moved just fine in the alleyway, but it would possibly explain some odd behavior if she’d recently suffered some kind of issue with it.

Eda stared. They immediately knew it was a mistake to speak, because Eda looked like she’d been slapped in the face, the maybe-horror only growing as her face fell.

“Raine, you–” Eda shook her head, ears pressed back, hands halfway through reaching out. “Raine, you already–”

“Raine Whispers?”

Both froze, stiffer than boards as wide eyes stared at each other. Well, shit.

Raine hastily held a finger to their lips, though they’re sure Eda didn’t need to be told twice. They set their viola aside and hurried to the edge of the balcony, gripping the railing as they peered over.

A hesitant, uneasy guard stared back up at them through their empty mask. There were two others with them surveying the street, and Raine had no doubt that there were more at the front door.

“Er, hello?” Raine tried an unsure smile. “Is there a problem here?”

“Yeah, uh, we’re sorry about this, but,” The guard glanced at their friend, who seemed wholly indifferent. “We got a noise complaint from one of the neighbors.”

“Ah, my mistake.” Raine said with a nervous chuckle, if a bit miffed, because sure, they and Eda weren’t exactly being quiet, and there was a little yelling, but they’d certainly heard louder before, and they’d stopped complaining a good while ago–

“We heard there may have been an…altercation?” The guard added on hesitantly. “We don’t mean to be a bother, Head Witch, your neighbors were just worried you might be in trouble.”

Ah. That made more sense. Raine leaned back just enough that the guard couldn’t make out their grimace, looking back over their shoulder to find Eda a few paces back, very clearly listening in, expression a conflicting mess of emotions.

“Oh, that.” Raine said, waving a hand. “Yes, I was simply…having an argument with someone.” They said, very aware of Eda right behind them. “Over a scroll. I apologize if I was being bothersome.” 

Couldn’t fault their neighbors for being worried, they supposed. Even if it had terrible timing.

“We were told there was a, and I quote; ‘feral figure’ around here.” A second guard said, sounding incredibly uninterested at this time of the night. “Can we just come up and inspect the place so we don’t get reprimanded for being lazy?” They sighed. “The last time we faked an inspection, our captain found out from someone on standby and we were on shore patrol for a month.”

Raine cringed at the mere thought of it. They remembered shore patrol, back before they were even a teacher. It was fuzzy, but they knew of plenty of accidental burns and creatures from the shallows that liked to rear their ugly heads on those patrols.

“Well,” Raine glanced back at Eda, who’s ears kept twitching and swiveling in every which way. “Sure thing.” They relented, ignoring the way Eda’s head snapped towards them. “Will you give me a moment?”

“Try and make this quick, Head Witch.” The guard sighed, gesturing to the others. “We don’t want to be here any more than you want us.”

Raine didn’t bother responding, stepping away from the railing and back out of sight, turning to see Eda try and shake her expression off into something contemplative, though Raine could see the clear distress a mile away that she was trying to smother. They could focus on the eye thing later.

“You need to–”

“Hey, I’m not looking forward to going head-to-head with the guards, either.” Eda raised her hands in a placating gesture, voice wavering. “I’ll leave.” She said, sounding like she’d rather do anything else.

“Eda,” Raine started, voice quiet, though they’re sure the guards were off at their front door now, and they probably couldn’t hear them at normal volume. “Look, just…” They exhaled, shaking their head. “Get out of here, alright? Bonesborough, I mean.” They added when Eda gave them a confused look. “Clear your head, it really seems like you need it.”

“I’m fine.” Eda huffed, and Raine only raised a brow. She wasn’t even trying to hide that lie. “And I-I’d still like that tape back.” She added, looking over them as though they’d disappear. 

Had they mentioned the tape already? Raine’s pretty sure they had. It felt a little muffled in their head.

“I’ll make a copy and give you the original in a day or two, and then you can go.” Raine relented, ignoring Eda’s frown. “Just…” Their arm twitched, half raised, a moment's hesitation, before they placed a hand on her shoulder. “Just go home, Eda.”

Eda stared at their hand for a moment, at a loss. She then looked at Raine’s face, something downright vulnerable there, and Raine was quick to drop their hand when they saw Eda’s begin to inch up. Some longing part of them regretted it.

“Okay,” Eda said quietly, nodding her head with a swallow. “Alright. I’ll see you sometime then, yeah?” She said, a slight tilt to her lips.

“Just for the tape.” Raine reiterated. “I’m serious about taking a break. I’m worried about you.” They said, meaning it far more than Eda probably knew.

“I’d be touched, truly, if I wasn’t the same.” Eda said, eyes darting to the side, ear twitching, and Raine knew she was trying to hear for the guards. Lost cause, really.

“Of all people, you really don’t need to worry about me.” Raine said, turning to walk past her, deciding that it wouldn’t do anything to linger. “I’ve been doing just fine, and that isn’t changing anytime soon, I assure you.”

Eda didn’t speak for a moment, and Raine didn’t look back as they unclipped their notes from their music stand, glanced over the unfamiliar writing, great, and folded it up to tuck it back into their front pocket.

“Yeah,” Eda finally said, and Raine spared a quick, hopefully unnoticeable glance back, unfortunately seeing that Eda was staring right at them, looking nothing short of worn. “Yeah, you can handle yourself. Sorry for causing a scene, that–I didn’t mean to–yeah.” Eda crossed her arms, turning her head to look elsewhere.

“Just tell me you’ll take care of yourself.” Raine said, frowning as they halfway turned, looking her over. “You look like a wreck. And I’m putting that lightly.”

“I have been.” Eda said, and she started moving when Raine turned back to pick up their viola. The guards would be getting antsy soon. “Trust me.”

“You make it kind of hard to.” Raine said, picking up their viola from the chair. 

“I don’t–” Eda stuttered, then sighed. “Yeah, that-that’s fair.” 

Raine turned away from the chair then, viola in hand, to find her swinging a leg over the side of the balcony.

“At least have your staff at the ready!” Raine exclaimed, mildly panicked. “That’s not a small drop, Eda–”

“I’ve fallen from worse heights.” Eda waved it off, perched at the edge without a care in the world. “Besides, they’ll see me if I fly off.”

“If you break your legs, I’m not calling the healing coven.” They warned, and Eda, for once, cracked a smile. It didn’t reach her eyes, but Titan, it was something.

“And here I thought you were worried.” Eda teased, a tilt to her head, halfway turned.

“I can be worried and still not encourage your terrible behavior.” Raine defended.

“Like you’ve done any better.”

“I have, actually, and quite frequently these days, I’ll have you know–”

“Head Witch Whispers?”

“Shit,” Raine hissed, hastily glancing back to the other side of the balcony, where guards were still awaiting, and ignoring Eda’s little snicker at their curse. “I need to go–”

“Yeah, yeah, go deal with your high and mighty Coven buddies.” Eda said, with no real malice behind it, waving a hand. 

“It’s an inspection–never mind.” Raine sighed, and hesitated, for just a second, realizing only when they reached the sliding glass door that they’d left the music stand out on the balcony. They figured they could go back in and grab it later, but they were already out here, so really–

“Take care, Rainstorm.” Eda said gently, and Raine dared to look at her, and knew fully well that the soft, longing look Eda was sending them wasn’t imagination. They’d long since stopped imagining that.

“Huh,” Raine said, and they allowed the smallest of smiles that might’ve been only a little ironic in turn. “Haven’t heard that one in a minute.”

Eda’s face became crestfallen only a moment later, and Raine felt a twinge in the back of their skull. They felt bad for it.

“Yeah,” Eda echoed, giving a curt nod. “I’ll, uh, see you around. Soon.”

Only then, at the distance, and in the faint glow of the lights inside their house, and the way Eda’s body turned to push off the railing, did Raine notice the lack of a glint, or even a glow, from a spot just under her collarbone. The absence of a bright golden gem.

Raine’s eyes widened, and time didn’t freeze in that moment, but their eyes certainly didn’t process anything else, stuck on the black, ovular piece sticking to Eda’s chest, practically invisible in the dark light.

They knew why Eda had gotten that gem. She had no care for them, even teased Raine for their own when they were younger. Lilith had been the one to explain its significance to the curse, and it was through broken, forced-out sentences. But Raine knew what a black gem meant, and they were sure anyone could’ve seen the moment their horror sunk in.

Course, by that time, their head decided to catch up with their surroundings. And Eda was gone in what felt like a blink.

A quick, impatient knock.

“Coming!” Raine shouted, hurriedly opening the sliding glass door and laying their viola on the couch as they passed by, rushing to the stairway in a blur that didn’t register until they were opening the front door.

“Whispers,” The guard at the door greeted, and Raine counted three at the door, and if they pricked their ears, they could pick up two more footsteps approaching.

“Sorry about that.” Raine said, the words sounding cheerfully hollow as they stepped to the side. “Please, come on in. I don’t mean to keep you waiting any longer.”

The guard grumbled as they walked in, and among the five, one of them could almost be described as apologetic as they breezed on by.

They knew they wouldn’t find Eda. Even when her place of residence was known, nobody could ever get a hold on her. Which was a shame, because if they didn’t know that, they’d blame it on the reason their hands were shaking.

They crossed their arms over their chest, smiled, and hoped they had enough painkillers to last till morning. Their headache still hadn’t left.

,

They found a sheet of music in their folders not even twenty-four hours later, a fresh flask of tea at their hip, and still holding off on making a copy of that damned tape. They couldn’t tell you why they waited, if only because they didn’t want to know themself.

They hadn’t yet written anything new on their sheet. They still had work to do, after all, so they held off on listening to the tape, and it certainly gave them a much needed moment of reprieve. Instead, in their brief breaks, they reorganized their old folders and sorted through songs they might want to put in lessons for teachers within their coven.

Coven leaders didn’t teach classes. They mourned the loss of that, but such is the way of life. They couldn’t say they regretted it, really.

And there, among their sheets, was an old piece of paper that really shouldn’t have caught their eye. Its title was simply Reach, and there was nothing remarkable about the notes. It was a spell made to go with another piece, a blanket spell that worked much harder than it had any reason to.

Their eyes skimmed over it, and they began to set it over with one of the lesser-powerful spells, when–

They paused, frowned, and drew the sheet back, looking over the notes.

There was a distinct sense of deja vu.

Slowly, Raine reached for their drawer, pulling it open and withdrawing their mystery notes, unfolding it and setting it next to the current sheet.

The beginning notes were identical. From the many times Raine had erased and rewritten and decided which fit best, it all looked the same. Raine hastily looked between the papers, finding only slight notes off from each other, too similar to be a different song. Had they written a song from someone else? Did one of their students make this–?

Raine stood, chair screeching against the ground, grabbing the sheet and putting it on the edge of their desk, hastily summoning their viola. They had barely any practice that day, and their fingers were a bit clumsy as they hastily got into position, reading over the notes again and again to be doubly sure.

Even still, they played.

It wasn’t perfect, they stumbled here and there and hit a note too high on one occasion. But that ache in their head returned, which only served to spur them on.

Their fingers lay across the movements as though they had a dozen times, a remembrance settled into that would’ve been easier if Raine could get out of the millions of thoughts running through their head and focus for once.

Before the last note was even done echoing in the room, Raine quickly set their viola aside and reached across the desk, rummaging in the drawer they didn’t shut and withdrawing the tape, hitting play before they could even bring up the sheet to inspect and tap to the beat.

Sure enough, the same exact song, almost to a T, was repeated to them. Each note on the sheet matched the song, matched to what they had just played.

A harsh pang in their head, and they gritted their teeth and pressed one hand to their temple. 

You have to have the sheet music somewhere, you played it without hesitation.

When did they forget that? It’d been only last night, how could they have already–?

Raine harshly set the tape down, placing their hands on the desk and staring. They itched to reach for their flask, to calm the headache, but a part of them worried they’d forget all of this if they dared look away. Maybe they would. Maybe their concussion was more serious than they thought, or they’d had one strange set of amnesia, because they hadn’t played this before, but clearly they must have, because this was a folder of music they made, they checked the name of it, and when would any of their students have time to make a copy? 

Who was it Eda had mentioned? She mentioned a student, and Raine wracked their brain for a name that wouldn’t come. Had Eda played a dangerous spell with one of their students? Why would one of their students ever be working with her? It was far-fetched, so that only left–

“What in the world have you seen, Eda?” Raine murmured, standing up straighter, jaw setting.

Eda knew a bad lie a mile away. Raine knew a sincere Eda over a deceitful one all too well. And yet, Eda had spun the most ridiculous tale they’d heard, and Raine had ignored the confliction on her face and brushed it off as what? A midlife crisis?

Raine sighed, resisted putting their face in their hands, and snatched the music sheet and tape off the table. They’d done enough work today, they could afford to go home early.

Eda was going to come by for a copy of that tape, and Raine wasn’t going to keep her waiting.

They had a conversation to do-over.

#the owl house #owl house #toh #raine whispers #eda clawthorne #raeda #fic #ao3 #amnesia #memory loss #raine drank the tea #memory altering #music mention #miscommunication #confusion #hurt #not really a comfort per say but they're getting there #should i tag this as hurt no comfort #viola #forgetfulness #drabble post #writing #HEYOOO GUESS WHO POSTED FINALLY #MORE WHERE THIS CAME FROM #emperors coven guard #sheet music

[nebulousfishgills]

flower asks!

white carnation, jasmine, azalea, bluebell, tigerlily, aster (lol), lavender, and/or freesia

Thanks for the ask! This one's a long one so buckle up.

White Carnation - Would you ever want to get a piercing? Where?

This may sound funny, but I have zero piercings (not even my ears) and I highly doubt I'll ever get any. It's just never appealed to me, idk. My grandma never pierced hers, she always wore clip-ons.

Jasmine - Describe your dream partner or best friend. What kind of personality traits do they have?

All my friends I would consider my "dream" friends (my irls and if we're friends on Tumblr you also count). As for dream partner... I mean, I'm not sure. I guess someone who's nice. They should be supportive of me and, to quote a thing my mom sent me, "the weird little things that make my heart happy." Someone who makes me excited to wake up in the morning and who would take me to the theatre once in a while. Someone who encourages me to be the best version of myself. Also someone who can take my darker sense of humor and keep me grounded when I inevitably become a whirlwind of undiagnosed adhd or whatever the fuck I have. Also some blue eyes, same as my mom blue eyes can make me absolutely weak.

That was a tangent, but I am a writer so-

Azalea - What is the most recent song you've listened to? How do you feel about it?

Okay this is gonna sound completely fucking unhinged, especially since it's so short, but last night I had Busted from Phineas and Ferb on repeat for like, three hours as I was doing a doodle because it came across my youtube feed and I realized it's like... exactly like a major scene I have planned for a fic, just without the musical swagger.

Cut to me fifteen minutes into this loop alone in my dorm room pretending I'm [Unnamed Character A] telling off [Unnamed Character B] for [Unnamed Event].

Bluebell - Do you have any pets? If so, what are their names?

I'm currently separated from them by "educational distance" but I have two kitties at home, a Tortie named Jackie and an Orange Boy Cat named Maggie (He has a more feminine name because PetSmart told us he was a girl when we adopted him since they *said* they did a spay operation... but then he had to get a surgery where they told us he was a boy... but by then Maggie had stuck and we'd already gone through three hours of arguing on what to name him in the first place).

Tigerlily - Do you have any favorite quotes from any movies, tv shows, books, or poetry? (Or from people in real life)

Y'all, I have a million favorite quotes from a million things. For now I'll give you one of each

Movie: "Ghosts are real. This much I know. There are things that tie them to a place, very much like they do us. Some remain tethered to a patch of land, a time and date, the spilling of blood, a terrible crime. But there are others-- others that hold onto an emotion, a drive, loss, revenge... Or love. Those-- They never go away." -Edith Cushing in my all time favorite movie, "Crimson Peak."

(I'm also like, 99% sure I'm being followed by a ghost or spirit of some sort so)

TV Show: I'm pretty sure me saying Henry's fifteen minute monologue in Stranger Things is cheating since that's, like, many many quotes, but I'll say it anyways because those fifteen minutes were life changing.

Book: I wish it was easier for me to find a quote, but unfortunately all my books are packed away for move-out in a couple weeks. My memory is eluding me so just pretend like I either said something really profound or something extremely stupid.

Play: "You're still beautiful." "You don't have to lie to me." "It's not lying, it's looking at things another way." From Wicked, my favorite musical (am I basic for that, maybe). Seeing this on Broadway last summer was a religious experience and I'm gonna have another one when I see it from the seventh row next year.

(I changed it to play because, fun fact, I don't read poetry that much. Another thing from my mom, she hates poetry... bear in mind this woman has a BA in English)

Real Life: "People are like 'you're weird' and I'm like 'yes, I've been waiting sixty years to get that compliment'" -my history professor. The man's said so much wild shit this semester I have an entire discord channel devoted to recording his quotes, dude's a legend.

Aster - Do you have any fictional crushes on any movie, tv show...

...

Okay I had a collage I made of every character I've had a crush on, lemme see if I can find it so I can be concise.

(One frantic search later)

It's not fully updated, so lemme just make one rq, every character I actively have a crush on (give or take one or two):

Moving on.

Lavender - What's currently on your mind (aside from the ask game)

How much of a degenerate I am.

No, but in reality, I have two packages I'm waiting for and I keep obsessively tracking them because I'm terrified they'll not get to me before my move-out date.

Freesia - What do you want people to remember you for? Serious or not serious answers.

I can say my writing in a serious and a not serious way. Remember me for my s tier descriptions and remember me for whatever the fuck this is:

#fishgills speaks #ask game #flowers ask game #ask box #my inbox is open