#(especially because i have zero plans of coming out to anyone in my family bc there's only one thing upsetting me abt it)

[rjwrites22]

So I'm basically being forced to play DND with my younger siblings over the summer. Thank god for part of my sanity, my little brother is the DM this time, not me. I wonder if my mother realizes that the fastest and most effective way to turn someone off something, even something they really enjoy, is to fucking force them to do it?!

First session is today and I'm already dreading it, partly because it's at one pm and I'm rarely up before like 3. Partly because I only found out about the thing yesterday evening and I wanted the kid to record a few goddamn details of his campaign before starting even though Mother argued that he can't because his handwriting is awful. (In her defense, it is, but that's completely beside the point.) Gonna have to do a disorganized campaign with a 10-year-old for a DM, and I can't fucking say anything because I don't want to DM myself. Maybe it'll be fun?

Also I'm already in a bad mood because for some damn reason I got to thinking about band and reminded myself that nobody in my section's groupchat said happy birthday to me last week which made me VERY sad but I can't fucking tell them because I just can't, that's not something I do. I'm terrified I'd come across as either passive aggressive or just looking for attention, especially seeing as my birthday was on Sunday and it's fucking Friday now. And it's summer so there's no reason for them to think about it in the first place, plus only like three of them are friends with me on Facebook, etc etc I'm an idiot.

There's also some other things upsetting me right now, I'm just not in the best mood overall and it's not anything I could ever talk to anyone but myself about. Especially because the biggest thing is fucking ridiculous for me to be upset over.

[swanqueensalad]

TRIGGERWARNING!

Without triggering anyone I wanna ask two things:

1) Was Cora ever physically abbussive towards Regina?

2) I know many ppl's head canon is that Leopold raped Regina again and again as his bride, but is that your headcanon too?

ok again TRIGGER WARNING for abuse & SA (and brief mention of suicide) for anyone reading/scrolling!

i'm going to just explain my personal interpretation of the show and these subjects, bc i find regina so interesting and heartbreaking. and i actually do think part of what makes regina so fascinating as a character is her relationship within the cycle of abuse and how yes, she was incredibly hurt and manipulated all her life, but she eventually managed to break free of it all and work to be better for her own child.

buckle up because i have a lot of feelings and this is probably going to be LONG

so, my thoughts on exactly what happened and why regina is as fucked up as she is:

so yeah, cora was a horrific parent. it's canon that she abused regina both emotionally and physically for practically all her life.

in practically her very first scene, we see cora using magic to hurt her eighteen year old daughter - to violently restrain her/drop her to the ground when she 'misbehaves' which pretty clearly says this is a woman who uses power and fear as a control tactic, and is not afraid of physically hurting regina.

and if this is what she was doing when regina is almost an adult, i think it's safe to assume she's been doing it since she was very young - regina's response 'please don't, i'll be good' is the conditioned response of a much younger child. everything about the way regina was written, her relationship with cora, and the way lana and the directors chose to play it screams abuse victim. she is hypervigilant - she jumps when people come close or make sudden noises. when she's choked with magic she immediately knows not to struggle or fight back. as a young girl, she is terrified of doing things wrong.

(also, when we get the flashback to actual 10 year old regina, cora says she can't help her because 'it needs to be someone who's magic has never hurt her')

while i think most of the time cora relied on magic to physically punish regina - knowing how much regina particularly hated it/was afraid of it - i think she was definitely not above slapping her for more minor infractions

beyond just physical abuse, cora was clearly emotionally distant and got regina to a place of being pretty touch-starved and desperate for affection. (lana and barbara play this so masterfully as well) we see her being constantly, nastily critical of everything her daughter does.

i think it's also implied in the regina rising book that cora was controlling/restrictive of regina's food to ensure she stayed thin/attractive which is just a whole other can of worms

as for leopold. please bear with me while i RANT:

nothing will ever make me more mad than the fact this man was never held accountable in the narrative for his role in regina's story and how absolutely fucking awful he was.

first of all, even before he meets regina, he is dodgy af. he supposedly genuinely loves cora, but throws her out immediately when he discovers her pregnancy without even asking her if it's true/discussing it. also, even in that flashback the man is visibly much older than cora and even more so than eva, who he actually does marry (although i do believe they came to truly love each other). so yeah he has a habit of Not Listening to women and not looking at women his own age

and then we get to regina. the eighteen year old daughter of his ex fiancee (younger even than the unborn child who cora carried when she was engaged to him)

yes i think he raped her. because powerful old men do not marry pretty eighteen year olds for the company. (also, if it was just so snow would have a mother figure, well, she already had her maid joanna. and if snow really wanted regina around that badly, leopold could have just brought her to court as a lady in waiting, a fitting role for a noblewoman, and more appropriate seeing as regina was only about eight years older than snow)

regina is visibly distressed by the proposal. she is panicked. she looks to her father to help. cora accepts the proposal for her. and leopold does not care. i think this tells u all u need to know about his views on consent

(also it all gets ickier when you remember leopold was attracted to cora, and regina is considered to look like cora did when she was younger)

leopold clearly had zero interest in regina as a person. he used her for arm candy for events, to make snow happy, and to keep his bed warm. (later, he invades her privacy so much regina counts on him reading her diary as a thoughtless and integral part of a plan, and locks her up for receiving a present from another man) and yet he is never treated as a villain or ever held accountable (besides regina killing him - good for her - but even then it's framed more as a way to villainise her for tricking sidney) and it makes me FURIOUS

i sometimes see the take that leopold might have stopped raping her towards the latter years of their marriage, but i disagree - i think maybe it did get fewer and farther between, but regina was still his wife who he only saw as serving a few purposes, and the way he is so possessive of her in 1x011 makes no sense otherwise, seeing as he was so uninterested in her in every other way

i do think a lot of regina's rage and vendetta against snow is because of this abuse too.

hear me out: in s1 especially, both snow and regina refer to snow as 'ruining her life'. because regina blamed her for everything that happened to her. not only did snow cause daniel's murder, it was her desire for regina as a mother that prompted leopold to marry her.

and this marriage was hell. and i think people don't realise how long it lasted either - snow went from a child to at least her late teens before regina killed leopold. regina was a traumatised young girl, grieving the love of her life, with no friends, no allies, nobody except the literal dark one who was grooming her for his own gain. (no wonder she clung to the brief sense of freedom and control his lessons offered. no wonder she nearly killed herself.)

and while regina suffered, she was forced to play with snow white every day, who was so spoiled, so loved, so happy, and had no idea of the life she had unwittingly trapped regina in.

so yeah, it's all pretty dark.

and it's for all these reasons i think ouat ended up shying away from many more regina backstory episodes centring on the time she was married/pre-evil queen years, because they were on abc after all, and i don't think they were really equipped to deal with the horrendousness of the story they'd created

but lana most certainly did her work becaue i think all of this nuance does show in her portrayal

and it all just makes regina's ending - the good queen, in her own name, safe and strong and loved, part of a true family, her bond with snow healed - so much more of a relief.

[poetrusicperry]

the poets and their first summer jobs

i’ve seen some discourse about how rich all the boys/their families are, and of course there would be like very little reason for them to work, but i couldn’t help wondering who would do what for their first jobs (summer jobs bc they couldn’t work while they’re at school). andddd that led me to writing this lol

neil: so neil would have like absolutely zero time for a job between all his normal coursework/extracurriculars and his summer classes (”you know me, always taking on too much”), but i guarantee you he would still take the time to get a job and have his own money to do with whatever he chose. mr. perry wouldn’t care much because it showed neil “taking initiative” or whatever. neil would likely work at a diner as either a bus boy or a waiter. he’s super personable, so he’d always strike up conversations with people sitting at the counter, and he’d get loads of tips bc he’s cute (: he’d bring his summer school work with him to do during lulls in business, which his boss didn’t mind because it’s neil and everyone knows how responsible he is. the poets would come visit him pretty much every day (to eat, see neil, and escape the heat in the air conditioning), likely taking up a whole booth, and making an absolute mess of the area. charlie would be making spitballs, aiming at cameron and knox every time (earning a “charlie, knock it off, i told you three times already! so mature of you, really.” from cameron) and meeks/pitts would try to see how many straws they could connect to make “ultra straw.” todd would come hang out at the counter when neil was closing, admiring his pretty bf as he worked (’: neil would always make todd a chocolate milkshake with whipped cream and rainbow jimmies on the house, claiming, “we have to empty out the ice cream machine anyway” (but really he’d take the cost out of his paycheck, just wanting to make todd happy). his boss would hire him back every summer, loving how much business neil drove in (even if the poets made a mess every time they hung out and ate) and absolutely adoring how much effort neil put into what anyone else would seemingly call a “meaningless” job.

todd: you can’t tell me that todd wouldn’t look forward to working. especially during the summers, it would get him out of the house and away from his parents judging his every move. being the shy introvert he is, he’d likely do things like mowing lawns or gardening for people around his neighborhood. minimal interactions, but still decent pay (as all the people in his neighborhood were likely super rich and could afford to pay him well). the poets’ parents would hire him, after much convincing from their sons (”todd’s just trying to make some money, dad. please?”) and todd would appreciate this more than they ever knew. he’d become super familiar with flower types and he’d become a lot more nurturing after taking care of plants and grass for multiple summers. he’d keep a little journal or notebook with drawings or sketches of the flowers he’d taken care of, complete with descriptions and magazine/newspaper clippings from his mom’s better homes and garden subscription (a lot of his poetry would become nature-related as well). it would be his late night project, or something he’d do if he couldn't sleep (which was pretty common for todd). he’d call neil on the phone some nights and just gush about all kinds of flowers or tell neil how he accidentally got stung by a bee and cried about it because he knew the bee would die (all the while, neil would be listening so intently, taking note about which flowers were todd’s favorites for future use (’: the calls would have to be pretty planned, bc if neil wasn’t working, he was doing school work, or his parents were keeping an annoyingly close watch on him. but sometimes neil would call him impromptu and that made todd just the happiest little camper ever). todd’s nails would be really short (he’d cut them really often because he doesn’t like the feeling of dirt under his nails), which means he couldn’t bite his nails anymore, causing him to pick up a new anxious habit of biting the inside of his bottom lip ): overall, though, todd would like his job, and even find pleasure in being surrounded by little flowers all day. also if/when neil ever got the chance, he’d absolutely tag along to see his sweaty boyfriend in action (come on, neil would go absolutely nuts for todd in a cutoff shirt, 5″ inseam shorts, and converse mowing a lawn looking all manly and tough). 

charlie: obviously, charlie wouldn’t need to work because of his financial situation, but his mom would 110% make him get a job just so he wouldn’t be around the house causing trouble/bothering his siblings for fun (”i’m hosting a lot of book club meetings for the country club this summer, i can’t have you putting spiders in the ladies’ hats again, charles”). similar to neil, mr. charlie dalton would work his summers at an ice cream/custard stand. he’d have to wear a white, short sleeve button up, a red and white striped apron, and one of those white, rectangular hats (his least favorite part HAHA, stating, “my hair is one of my best features and this just takes it all away. it’s unfair.”). the poets would visit often, both for ice cream, but primarily to give him a hard time about his uniform (”i’ll give you twenty bucks to wear this on our first day of classes” meeks would tease, completely gobsmacked when charlie showed up to their first chemistry class in his uniform, earning lots of demerits, but also twenty dollars). charlie would hate it at first, but obviously he’d adjust, being the extroverted/personable person, not taking himself too seriously and being one of the best ice cream slingers anyone had ever seen. he’d give the cute girls (and boys) extra scoops of ice cream for free, winking as he handed them their orders. like neil’s boss, charlie’s boss was even more thankful for charlie’s presence because they’d likely be raking in at least triple the income they would in a summer without him. he’d become a sundae expert, spending many dead poets meeting making them for his friends while they read poems and stories. that being said, he’d come to hate eating ice cream, publishing an article in welton’s honor demanding that they remove ice cream from their dessert menu (yes, almost exactly like the “girls at welton” prank, but he’d make the call collect this time. mr. nolan would be fed up to the point where he wouldn’t even punish charlie physically, just suspend him from rowing [which charlie wouldn’t mind at all HAHA]).

meeks & pitts: after their hi-fi success and the fact that they are seemingly inseparable, they both sought out jobs at the local radio station where they were hired as interns/assistants, running errands and picking up coffee or lunch for the station. but sometimes, when they worked pretty late, the night shift dj would let them pick the records and show them how everything worked (: after nights like that, meeks and pitts would go to one of their houses and add modifications to their hi-fi radio, staying up all night modifying and researching (by the end of the summer, they had made another hi-fi (portable) and their og hi-fi would have been morphed into a huge nationally reaching radio that they keep in the cave (since it would be disallowed in their room at welton). another job that the two of them would have would be answering calls for the station about song requests. with this knowledge, charlie and the other poets would hang out at someone’s house, calling and requesting the same songs over and over and over again. their biggest task for the summer would be organizing the shelves with all the records into alphabetical order (”duh, we should go by first name, meeks. which other way would it be” pitts would argue, only to find out that after they had spent about three weeks alphabetizing by first name, they were supposed to go by last name. “now who’s the idiot?” meeks would jeer, beginning to pull the records off the shelves). they’d also learn a lot about music from their night shift coworker, which would help in their quest to woo some ladies the following school year.

cameron: cameron liked spending his summers doing research projects for fun and just reading a whole lot, so you can imagine his displeasure at when his parents asked him to get a job (presumably to help with paying for his schooling). while upset about it, he wouldn’t complain, and took it on the chin, understanding the reasoning. he’d apply to a couple places, but ultimately end up as a grocery store cashier/stock boy. much like charlie, he’d have the same kind of uniform, but with a green apron instead. he’d spend most of his shift ringing people up at the register, being friendly and personable (something no one ever really realized about him !!). the poets’ moms would always see him and choose his register on purpose, using it as a chance to catch up or tell him to tell his parents that “the overstreets say hello!” or “mrs. anderson says hi!” pitts, meeks, and charlie would utilize cameron’s position at the supermarket to buy nudie magazines unembarrassed/slightly illegally HAHA (”come on, cameron! it’s not like you won’t be included in seeing them next year, too. we bring them to the meetings, you know that!” charlie would say, leaving cameron at a loss, reluctantly scanning the magazines and bagging them as pitts and meeks sniggered). charlie would wave, blow him a kiss, and wink as they left, “love you, richardddd.” sure enough, the magazines would make an appearance during the following school year and cameron was glad he had decided to let them buy the magazines lol. 

knox: out of all the poets, i feel like our knoxious would be the least inclined to work (yes, even less inclined than charlie). his parents wouldn’t even make him get a job because he simply didn’t need to, but to everyone’s surprise, he would volunteer at the animal shelter. the poets would later find out that it was a great way to meet girls (which is why he did it lmfao so they endlessly goaded him about it). charlie would visit often, and even took a rescue puppy home, much to charlie’s younger sister’s delight. charlie even wanted to start volunteering at the shelter to also meet girls, but he was too busy at the ice cream stand (plus, he had really grown to like it there so he didn’t want to leave). another effect of volunteering made knox super interested in zoology and animals, which brought out a newer, more nurturing/caring side to him, and who knows, maybe he’d go vegetarian somehow. he’d want to pursue a career in animal science or becoming a veterinarian, but mr. overstreet was hellbent on knox taking over the firm, so it seemed like a pipe dream. knox would continue to volunteer at the animal shelter, well into his career as a lawyer, and would even go to veterinary school in his 30s (when he was a nationally famous, established lawyer) to get certification to work with animals in a broader way (: 

hope you guys liked these. it was pretty fun to write, and i'd pay such good money to see neil, charlie, and cameron in their uniforms (and todd, but that’s neither here nor there). happy thursday !! let me know what you guys think of these <3(:

[whomst-art-thou-whomst-whomst]

Texts from the Lost Tomb part 6.1

🎶 Back on the bullshit I never got off🎶

Is this another unnecessary story arc?? With three sections??

Yes.

Wushanju Crew Chat

Wang Meng: You know, I’m someone who appreciates consistency in my day. My life is pleasant, very few issues indeed if you ignore the big ones. And yet. Yet here we are. With unresolved messes at the end of a day.

Wang Pangzi: SOMETHIN YOU NEED TO SAY MARY POPPINS

Wang Meng: We need to talk about Huo Daofu and the glittery bead curtain.

Wang Pangzi: MY FAVE TEEN WIZARD SERIES

Wu Xie: did you turn on that suggested word thingy lol

What glittery bead curtain

Wang Meng: I closed the shop at 6:00pm this evening on the dot. I locked all of the doors in and out of the shop very carefully, especially in light of recent events. The hall leading to the back office was empty. I filed the day’s paperwork, updated and sent emails, and then spent an extra hour organizing receipts and dusting. When I came back out, there were glittery iridescent bead curtains over the front entrance to the shop.

What could this mean?

Wu Xie: uh that you need to spend less time at work?

Wang Pangzi: LOOKS LIKE WE GOT ONE FOR THE DETECTIVES. THE MYSTERY OF THE BEDAZZLED THRESHOLD COMMENCES

Wu Xie: I think we can be relatively secure in thinking a glittery bead curtain isn’t a hostile threat

Wang Pangzi: SAYS YOU

I REMEMBER YE OLDE EXPLORATION TIMES HOW FAST THINGS GOT FURIOUS

BEANBAG CHAIRS SET AFLAME AND LEFT ON DOORSTEPS AS A WARNING

GLITTERBOMBS FOR DAYS

PANIC AT THE DISCO

Wang Meng: Ugh, forget it. I should have just taken them down, regardless of who they belong to.

Zhang Qiling: They are not mine.

Wang Pangzi: A BOLD STATEMENT COMING FROM OUR PRIME SUSPECT

SOMEONE QUICK GO DRAW CHALK AROUND THE DOORWAY TO MARK THE SCENE OF THE CRIME

Wang Meng: Do we know anyone who *would* sneak in and put those up? For whatever reason, legal or not? Even as a joke?

Wang Pangzi: ARE YOU SERIOUSLY ASKING WHETHER WE KNOW ANYONE WHO IS CHAOTIC, AN OUTLAW, A PRANKSTER AND/OR SNEAKS INTO PLACES

BECAUSE THAT WOULD MEAN OUR SUSPECT LIST IS LITERALLY EVERYONE WE KNOW EXCEPT FOR YOU.

Wu Xie: okay let’s think about this; for starters, I didn’t break into my own shop

Wang Meng: You would be in danger of doing some work in the process, that’s true.

Wang Pangzi: LOL

Wu Xie: ANYWAY let’s keep going. For example, Xiao Ge would only break in somewhere for a good reason. Xiao Ge, did you do this?

Zhang Qiling: No.

Wu Xie: okay who’s next

Wang Pangzi: YOU REALLY MISSED YOUR CALLING IN INTERROGATION TIANZHEN

REALLY PUT THE SCREWS TO HIM

IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE;)

Zhang Qiling: How can we be certain *you* didn’t do it?

Wang Meng: Admittedly that was my guess, too.

Wang Pangzi: WOW I SEE HOW IT IS

BLAME PANGZI AS USUAL

ANYWAY HOW DOES HUO DAOFU FIT INTO THIS

Wu Xie: Oh yeah him! Oops I got distracted

Wang Pangzi: UR ENTIRE HISTORY IN A NUTSHELL

Wu Xie: Ugh fuck off

Wang Meng what abt Huo Daofu??

Zhang Qiling: ?

Wu Xie: oh sorry xiaoge I didn’t realize you wouldn’t have spent much time around him last year

He and I go way back

Zhang Qiling: Way back where?

Babysitters Club Chat

Wang Pangzi: I CANNOT BELIEVE HE IS BUYING YOUR INNOCENT ACT

IF YOU EVER TURN TO EVIL WE ARE FUCKED

Zhang Qiling: ?

Wang Pangzi: YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHO HUO DAOFU IS

YOU WERE EXTREMELY POLITE AND BORDERLINE FRIENDLY TOWARDS HIM

Zhang Qiling: I wanted him to feel welcome. I wanted to be sure he understands he has a place here. A specific place.

Wang Pangzi: FOR A SILENT GUY YOU ARE A MASTER AT SUBTLE POWER PLAYS IM ALL TINGLY

LMAO THE IDEA OF WU XIE LEAVING YOU FOR HUO DAOFU IS HILARIOUS AND ALSO NOPE

Zhang Qiling: Rationally, I understand that.

Main Chat

Wang Meng: Huo Daofu is coming for the weekend—didn’t Wu Xie tell you? Wu Xie asked me to check in a week ahead so we could start getting ready for his arrival

Wu Xie: oh yeah I did do that

Wang Meng: Fortunately I know you and so I already went ahead and took care of everything.

Re: the trip

He made a deal with Wu Xie’s doctor that he would do periodic checkups on him here at Wushanju

Bc Wu Xie hates being in the hospital

And frankly the hospital hates him too

Wang Pangzi: FAMILIARITY BREEDS CONTEMPT LOL

I FORGOT HUO DAOFU WAS DOING THAT

A VERY CHIVALROUS GESTURE

WOULDNT YOU SAY

XIOAGE

Zhang Qiling: Is it safe for him to be here with a criminal loose on the premises?

Wu Xie: Right, back to the curtain! Let’s focus on the curtain, hmm?

Wang Pangzi: I AM SO LOOKING FORWARD TO THIS WEEKEND.

ALSO WE CAN RULE OUT XIAO BAI FOR THE CURTAIN SHE JUST SENT A SELFIE FROM NORWAY COVERED IN GREEN SLIME WITH ZERO CONTEXT, UR PROTEGE INDEED

Wu Xie: okay but who else would do something so oddly charming yet illegal and—wait.

Snake Eyes Chat

Wu Xie: hey, Glasses hasn’t been in touch lately right?

Li Cu: uh nope

Unless u count the outdated memes

Why, is money or Xie Yuchen missing

Or is this curtain related, I saw Wang Meng’s tweet

Wu Xie: haha no nothing to worry about really

(I mean maybe? but who knows)

Wang Meng is probably just getting a little paranoid in his old age

Li Cu: better than getting reckless and stupid as hell in ur old age

Wu Xie: …hey:(

Unknown Number: Li Cu, we discussed this.

Wu Xie: ????????

Li Cu: *sigh* fine, reckless and stupid as heck

Unknown Number: …close enough.

Wu Xie: EXCUSE who is that

Madame, Sir, Non-Binary Tree Spirit, etc—whomst the fuck

Are you

Li Cu is underage FYI

So Im staying on this chat

Li Cu: okay first of all, it’s not like that

Second of all I’m literally not underage I s2g

u threw the embarrassing surprise bday party, okay so u should remember

And C, that’s my counselor and I invited her. She wanted to meet u and I knew u wouldn’t agree to a visit so I added her to our chat

we have been discussing u

Wu Xie: Oh wow!!!!!!!

What a surprise:)

hi so nice to meet you:)

Main Chat:

Wu Xie: RED FUCKING ALERT

FUCK THE CURTAIN FUCK THE VISIT

IVE BEEN TRICKED INTO FAMILY THERAPY BY A SMUG TEENAGER WHO TEXTS UNKNOWN NUMBERS

Wang Meng: I assume that means something to someone here?

Not my problem? Good.

Wang Pangzi: AHAHAHA GOD I LOVE LI CU

HES LIKE ADORABLE KARMA FOR ALL THE SHIT YOUVE PUT ME THROUGH

IM RAISING HIS ALLOWANCE

Wu Xie: wait i give him an allowance

has he been collecting on two allowances??

Zhang Qiling: Three. I knew about both of yours.

Snake Eyes Chat

Wu Xie: so uh may I ask your name?

Unknown Number: you can call me Ms. Lee.

Now, if you’re comfortable talking in this format, why don’t you tell me how things have been going?

Wu Xie: oh everything is normal and fine and safe as usual, why do you ask:)

Li Cu: I heard about ur necklace thing. nice of you to NOT mention it.

another dangerous adventure. again. prick.

Ur lucky your cool boyfriend cares about you so much or you’d have already died like ten years ago

Wu Xie: lol try twenty years ago

Li Cu: That isn’t funny.

Unknown Number: …What?

Wu Xie: shit ur right, okay that was a bit glib, my apologies.

…I use humor as a coping mechanism?

Unknown Number: and Li Cu, how do you feel about that?

Li Cu: he doesn’t even know what that phrase means

He doesn’t cope, like ever

In fact

It’s kind of why we met

Which is a funny story in retrospect tbh

Wu Xie: haha what are you talking about sweetie hahaha need I remind you of certain anecdotes that could idk send me to jail maybe lmao

Unknown Number: …You know, perhaps an in-person meeting might be more effective?

Wu Xie: haha such a nice idea but why

Main Chat

Wu Xie: If I go to jail, I’ll have to create alliances for protection, right, that’s how it works on tv

Who do we know who spends time in jail

Other than Hei Yangjing, he’s only ever there for like 12 hours and i suspect he just gets himself arrested bc he enjoys the breaking out process

Also how’s the curtain case coming along

Zhang Qiling: Has someone threatened you?

Wu Xie: well not yet but soon I’m sure

Wang Pangzi: WHERE WAS THIS PARANOIA WHEN WE GOT TAKEN TO THE TEA HOUSE HUH

Snake Eyes Minus Your Fucking Therapist Chat

Li Cu: okay how tf did u pull off spy and undercover shit

u are sus as hell

Wu Xie: damn son is it pick on Wu Xie night

I missed the flyers or I would’ve invited my uncles

Also re: the curtain it’s been mostly solved

Li Cu: I’m not your son, idiot.

Wu Xie: …oh. Sorry, sorry, you’re right, bad choice of words, haha

Forget i said anything

Delete this chat even

Li Cu: shit I meant

Legally, biologically, I meant—

shit

…I turn into an asshole as a coping mechanism?

Wu Xie: oh that’s all okay! I have to go do something else now let me know if you need anything okay kid thanks!

Li Cu: goddamn it calm down who’s the kid here

lemme organize my thoughts so I can articulate my emotions fuckin healthily or w/e

Ugh maybe for like one afternoon we could go to Ms. Lee together? She knows how to word stuff

Wu Xie: uh…okay.

Li Cu: Anyway you don’t need to worry abt jail

As if you would survive prison for one day you’d piss off half the place in like an hour or less

I gave Ms. Lee the heavily edited version of the desert highway to hell roadtrip and i discussed it more in terms of like “nightmarish but still wouldn’t take any of it back”

Well maybe the sand

that shit was everywhere

Wu Xie: oh kiddo. It’s fine, really…You don’t have to explain yourself to me.

Li Cu: no, no it’s just

I do technically have a dad

who is an asshole. Being a son doesn’t really mean shit to me bc it sucked.

So you need to stop backing down just cuz ur guilty abt stuff. I’m really really glad ur not my dad in a good way. Do u get what I mean there

Where’s the mafia widower I followed into hell, huh

Wu Xie: Ur a good kid, despite my influence. I’m really glad you have someone to talk to after everything I…after everything. Wow this talking through feelings thing is kind of weird but nice ur right

Jfc no wonder it took me and xiaoge so long to—you know what, we won’t get into that

Li Cu: ew tmi

Also re: this week’s recent necklace fuckery

I moved my stuff here, I live here now

So you can’t die anymore

Or else…Idk I don’t have a threat planned

anyways abt the curtain

Wu Xie: oh my god, kid…kid you have no idea

I am in tears.

Li Cu: see this is why I can’t be nice to you I can sense the hallmark channel from here

Ugh don’t be sad in ur room that’s dumb

Go hug Pangzi or something

Maybe delete this chat

Or the curtain thing

Focus on the curtain thing

Just stfu and go away

Wu Xie: <3 screenshotting this <3

Li Cu: I take back everything I said. This is why Xiao Ge sleeps on the roof. I hope the ghosts of the Wangs put up that curtain to strangle you somehow. Go die in a stupid way, it’ll suit you.

Wu Xie: lol don’t worry I’m not gonna embarrass you with it or anything

Main Chat

Wu Xie: omg guys look how cute my kid is *sending screenshot*

Wang Pangzi: I MEAN

HE IS WISHING YOU DEATH

BUT SURE

CUTE I GUESS

Wu Xie: no but read the whole thing:):):)

Zhang Qiling: It is indeed very hard to remain angry with you. And you are welcome to join me on the roof.

Wang Pangzi: UH NOPE

NOT WHENI HAD TO BLEACH THE COUNTER IN THE KITCHEN

DONT TRAUMATIZE THE EARLY BIRDS THEYRE ALREADY FREAKED OUT BY U YA HOODIE CRYPTID

Wu Xie: ok true but babe ur like a sexy cryptid

Wang Meng: so, are we just accepting that there is a glittery curtain of unknown origin, and Huo Daofu is going to have to see it while he’s waiting for you at Wushanju bc you’re going to family therapy?

Wu Xie: right

Wang Pangzi: SHOULDA TAKEN EARLY RETIREMENT HUH

Wang Meng: I’m going to go dust something.

Unnamed Chat:

Unknown number: so the curtain…

Unknown number 2: yep, not my best work but I kinda panicked last minute u know

Unknown number: what is in the water at Wushanju that makes everyone dumb and attractive

Unknown number 2: relax they’ll figure it out

[snackhobi]

pairing: min yoonji x reader / word count: 9.7k / genre: f x f smut, assassin!au

summary: a fic inspired by this post and that’s pretty much it-

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), talk about death/assassination (nothing graphic dw! but they are assassins, so), mild violence, unnecessarily sexually charged lipstick application, face riding, fingering, multiple orgasms, oral (f giving/receiving), use of restraints, overstimulation, squirting, kind of dom!yoonji?

a/n: this is an entirely self-indulgent fic I wrote as a gift to myself for my bday, it’s a lil rushed bc I wanted it done for today! women are so very beautiful and I am so very weak, thank you ladies for all being so amazing ily. this was meant to be a short pwp and now it’s almost 10k but I have no regrets bye

--

la petite mort French literal meaning: ‘the little death’; also an expression used to refer to the brief loss or weakening of consciousness, specifically the sensation of orgasm as likened to death; an orgasm.

--

“It’s just unacceptable.”

The woman in front of you is clearly wealthy. Her dark hair is perfectly styled and her pale nails are perfectly shaped and her subtle makeup is perfectly flattering; she’s starting to get older but rather than shy away from it, she’s leaning into it, and she looks almost imperious in her beauty, eyes sharp and set of her lips severe. Park Dahye was born into wealth and has clearly thrived in the life that she’s been afforded.

“Mmhm.” You try not to yawn. 

“He’s flitting around with some young, silly thing on his arm, with no consideration for the family’s reputation— my reputation,” she continues. Her posture is perfect, from the set of her spine to her crossed legs to her folded hands that rest on her knee, somehow demure and yet highlighting all of her beauty and riches; the jewellery on her wrists and fingers, the expensive heels on her feet, the slit of her haute-couture dress, no doubt tailored for her and her alone. “I’ve already spoken to him about his behaviour, but he’s just ignored my warnings. We may have agreed on the divorce but we’re currently still husband and wife— has he no shame?”

“Awful.” You don’t even try to hide how bored you are, but Dahye is so quietly incensed that she doesn’t even notice as she launches into the next part of her queenly diatribe, and you muffle a sigh.

That’s the problem with rich clients. Sure, they’re willing to fork over stupid amounts of money to you, but they also think that their issues are of paramount significance— like they’re the centre of the universe and their problems are the only important ones in the world. Like you’re interested in what they have to say. Like this is the only job you’ll ever do that holds real weight or meaning.

For them, it’s a life-changing (life-ending) decision. 

For you? It’s another Tuesday.

“Yes, yes, that’s just so terrible, gosh, I don’t know how you manage it,” you say once she pauses to take a breath, using the opportunity to cut her off before she launches into another part of her articulate rant. “Anyway. Would you prefer if his death was embarrassing or quiet?”

For the first time since you’ve met, she seems unsettled. “Pardon?”

Namjoon is much better with people than you, smooth and charming with his boyish dimples. Normally any discussions would go through your handler, but this woman had demanded to meet you personally and had been willing to pay for the privilege: so here you are, with your relative bluntness instead of Joon’s winsome smile.

“You know,” you say, gesturing with your hands. “When they find the body. Do you want him to be caught with his trousers around his ankles—literally or figuratively, that’s up to you— or would you rather it seemed like something natural and unpredictable? Like a sudden heart attack in his sleep, for example.”

When it comes to rich clients, a lot of it is about reputation. When someone’s shuffled off this mortal coil, it’s not just that they’re removed from the equation, it’s also about the ripples that their death leaves in the high society that they’ve lived in. Does she want her (soon-to-be) ex-husband made a mockery of, or does she just want him out of the picture?

She can’t see your face, behind your mask as it is, but you can see hers in perfect clarity. For all that Dahye seems put together and almost impassive, you see the tiny flicker in her eyes. Ah. She’s not just mad because he’s ruining their reputation. She’s hurt.

Man, that sucks. Honestly you bet it’s easier being an assassin than a rich housewife. At least when it comes to backstabbing you can literally involve a knife to sort your problems out. (Well, knives are messy, but you get the picture.)

“I’d prefer something quiet,” she decides. “I’d worry that it could lead back to me, otherwise.”

You’d be offended at the idea that you’d leave any trace that could implicate anyone or that this man’s sudden death was in any way suspicious, but she’s paying you enough that you find that you don’t care. You take pride in your work, but for the amount of zeroes involved in the fee you’re being paid, you think you can take an unintentional insult or two. Or three. Or ten.

You like money, what can you say.

“Sure thing,” you say, giving her a lazy, two fingered salute. You’ve been reclining against the desk of the hotel suite, flicking the complimentary, heavy metal pen between your fingers, twirling it like the world’s most underwhelming baton. You straighten up and let the pen drop back into the pen pot—wait, no, of course it’s a handmade porcelain jar, an alarmingly well-made Joseon porcelain replica. Everything in here stinks of money. “RM will confirm where the money is to be deposited. Half of it now as collateral, and half upon completion of the job,” you say. “If you change your mind between now and then, we’ll be keeping the original 50%, but if for some reason something goes awry, you’ll receive that money back. Sound good?”

She seems surprised at your directness. “I—”

“Fabulous!” You clap your hands together, although the sound is muffled by your gloves. You’re not about to leave your fingerprints everywhere, geez. “Alright, time for me to skidaddle I suppose! I’ve got work to be doing, people to be watching, men to be killing!”

Dahye flinches imperceptibly, but by this point you’ve already slipped out onto the balcony and into the night.

--

Being an assassin is hard work.

Technically, everyone has the capacity to kill another human being. But killing as a job involves a lot more than just caving someone’s head in with a rock—that’s why Cain isn’t referred to as an assassin, what with how he’d just bashed his brother Abel with a convenient stone that happened to be lying nearby. He was just a straight up dick.

No, when you kill professionally you need to be familiar with an array of different techniques, each one far more sophisticated than the last. You need to know how to be stealthy, how to blend in as you watch your target, how to set up the scenes of their death in a way that doesn't arouse suspicion. Or, instead, how to set the scene up in a way that lets any onlookers know that this person had been offed by someone who knew what they were doing, and knew it well. There's a difference between being a killer and being an assassin and you are firmly in the latter category.

So, if your client wants her husband to be shuffled off quietly, then that’s what she’ll get.

They really have pulled out all the stops for this charity gala. Everything is shining, glittering and bright: the surroundings, the food, the people. Especially the people. The rich elite have come together for an extravagant and exquisite night of ostentation and luxury, all in the name of raising money for some needy cause. (You try not to think of the irony and/or hypocrisy behind that.)

It’s almost laughable how easy it is to blend in here. Namjoon had secured (forged) invitations for you both, and so you hang off his arm as you make a slow sweep of the room, trailing unnoticed after your target. You’re not planning to make a move right now but you want to feel out exactly what he’s like: the more information you have about the person you’ve been contracted to assassinate, the better. 

Plus it’s an excuse to dress up nice and eat free food— though that last part is mainly Namjoon.

“God, these canapés are so good,” Namjoon moans quietly to you, hoovering up the flaky pastry crumbs from his fingers with single-minded intent. You dig your fingers subtly into his arm.

“I thought we agreed on not eating tonight, Joon,” you mutter to him, although you say it with a beatific smile in case anyone is watching; the place is heaving with people but you’re always on guard. (Even if Namjoon is right. The hors d’oeuvres that are on offer do look incredibly tempting.)

“You have a glass of champagne,” he points out.

“And you may have noticed that I haven’t drunk any of it.” You titter, as if he’s just told a funny joke, and lightly slap his arm. Again, you’re fairly certain no one is watching, but you can never be too careful. “It’s all about creating a facade, Joonie. It’s what we in the business call a ruse.”

Even throughout your back and forth, you’ve kept your eyes on your man of the night: Park Minjae, a middle-aged businessman who’s been greeting people and getting swept up in conversation, all while a slip of a blonde clings to his arm, stuck to his side like a pretty limpet. She’s cute, sure, but she lacks the poise that Dahye has, so you frankly don’t get it. Then again, not everyone finds strong women as attractive as you do. Weirdos.

You’ve been focused on Minjae but your eyes have also been flitting around the room, drinking in your surroundings, drawing up a detailed map of your environment (of course you’d scoped out the building before tonight, but with all the banquet tables and chairs around the layout is a little different). The people, too, have been subject to your scrutiny, although so far they all seem summarily unimportant and uninteresting, just as you’d suspected. You lift your glass to your lips and pretend to take a tiny, demure sip, glancing up through your eyelashes to scan the room again, and you freeze.

Holy shit.

You take back what you just said about everyone being unimportant and uninteresting. 

The woman who’s just walked in is fucking stunning. Her sleek dark bob is unstyled, but perfectly frames her beautiful face: sharp eyes, soft nose, flushed lips. Her cocktail dress lets you see almost every inch of those perfect legs, the line of her thighs to her calves and— oh, you swear you could shed a tear of joy. She’s already tall and she’s made even taller by the heels she wears, towering above most of the men here, a fucking Amazonian goddess who looks powerful and undeniably elegant at the same time. 

(Thank you for your service, tall women.)

You don’t know who she is, but goddamn, do you want to. She’s scanning the room, and for a brief moment, your eyes touch. A tiny thrill shudders up your spine at the darkness of her keen eyes, that quick and astute gaze. 

It’s only the tiniest of moments that’s over as soon as it’s started. The dark-haired beauty looks away and is already disappearing into the crowd before you realise, and it’s only then you notice that you’re staring, utterly drawn in by her cool poise and presence. You’ve been frozen in place with the rim of your champagne  glass resting against your mouth, and your eyelashes flutter as you blink and glance down.

The imprint of your lower lip has been left on the glass, stark red visible against its edge, and you squeeze Namjoon’s bicep.

“How does my lipstick look?”

He takes one look at you as he swallows down another tiny vol-au-vent. “Like half of it is missing,” he says, and you frown.

“Ugh. I’ll go touch it up in the bathroom. Keep an eye on our guy, I’ll be right back.”

It’s not until you’ve made it to the toilets that you realise that you do not, in fact, have any lipstick in your ridiculously small clutch bag. When it comes to your actual work, you’re meticulous and thorough and well-planned, but for some bizarre reason, a tube of lipstick is never the top of the list when it comes to equipment. Unbelievable. (You knew you should have worn the 24/7 stuff, but it was always such a nightmare to get off.)

You’ve been so busy rummaging through your bag that you’re completely caught off-guard at the sound of a quiet voice from behind you.

“Lost something?”

Oh, fuck. It’s her, your dark haired and dark eyed beauty, meeting your gaze through the mirror when you glance up from where you’re resting your bag against the marble counter  (marble, marble, marble, it’s all marble: the floors, the counters, the sinks; why do rich people always love marble?). She looks altogether too amused at your plight and at how your eyes have widened perceptibly upon seeing her again. But can she blame you? Her presence is so graceful and commanding and she’s so dizzyingly attractive it’s insane. Surely she must get this all the time.

You stare for a little longer than is probably polite, and even behind her fringe you can see how one of her eyebrows rises.

“Sorry for staring,” you say once you notice. “You’re just so beautiful.”

She pauses as she takes in the compliment. You see how her eyes flicker over your face and settle on your mouth; your upper lip, tinted burgundy red, while the lower is faint and smudged.

“Lipstick problems?” She cocks her head at you, still staring at your lips in the mirror. God, she’s so hot.

“Can you tell?” You sound rueful as you glance down at the reflection of your mouth, touching your bottom lip lightly with a fingertip. “I forgot to bring any with me so now I’m stuck.”

She finally looks away from you. You hear a small, metallic click as she unclasps her evening bag— marginally larger than your own— and lifts out a small tube of liquid lipstick. “Would you like to use mine?”

Fuck yes you would. 

“Oh, would that be alright?” You finally turn around, and you have to tilt your head back to look at her, taller than you in her heels. Jesus Christ. She’s going to be the death of you. Why are women so gorgeous? Who gave them the right? “I’m not sure the shade will match, though?”

You watch her beautiful mouth curve up into a small smirk as she pulls out a tiny pack of makeup remover wipes from her bag, and you swear could propose to her there and then. Beautiful and tall and organised? Holy shit. What a woman.

She’s got her bag in one hand, while the lipstick and wipes are clasped in the other; her hand is held up in such a way that you think she means for you to take them from her, but when you reach out she shakes her head.

“I’ll do it for you,” she says. The quiet note of authority in her tone makes you go weak at the knees.

Thank god the toilets you chose aren’t the main ones, because it means there’s no one around to see how she tilts her head at the marble counter in the universal gesture of get on there. It’s entirely unnecessary, but you, of course, immediately comply. You brace your hands against the cold stone before hitching yourself up, careful with the draping folds of your dress; the cold touch of the stone is noticeable through the material of your dress, but it’s instantly forgotten when your enchantress steps closer. 

You spread your knees so she can stand between them. Holy shit, she’s even better up close. Her lashes are wispy but they’re the perfect frame for her gorgeous eyes, which are dark and intent. You suppress a shiver. You hold yourself still as she leans forward and around you so she can put her clutch and lipstick down, trying to ignore how close she is, but there’s no way she can’t realise what she’s doing. Your heart is pounding. You wish you didn’t have a job to do tonight because you would so much rather be getting, ah, acquainted with this woman rather than following some old businessman around.

The only noise in the bathroom is the sound of peeling plastic as she opens the tiny packet of wet wipes before she curls one around her finger, glancing at you through her lashes.

“Open,” she instructs.

Your mouth drops open immediately. She sweeps the wipe over your lips, bottom, then top, touch firm but careful, drawing away the red from your skin; you stare at her as she works, how her eyes are cast down as she stares at your mouth. She’s using her free hand to grip your chin and you feel deliciously powerless in her grasp. 

You purse your lips a little to try and help her, watching the way her eyes flicker as she pulls the wipe back over them— somewhat firmer, this time, with more intent. Lingering. The only barrier between her finger and your mouth is soft and flimsy, the texture of the wipe against your lips like cotton as it drags across them, and it would be so easy to pull it out of her hands.

She flicks the dirtied wipe aside, heedless of how it lands on the unsullied marble, before reaching for her lipstick. She twists the tube in her fingers, motions of her hands precise and deft, and you’ve never been so attracted to how someone’s uncapped something before. 

You watch her hands. (She watches you.)

Your eyes trail over the wand as she pulls it out, dragging the doe foot against the rim to catch the excess before turning it towards you, putting the tube by your thigh, near where your hand is bracing against the marble. She takes hold of your chin once again. You stay quiet as she starts to sweep the lipstick over your lips, painting them the same flushed pink as her own. Once again she’s staring at her work so you’re free to drink her in, almost drunk from her beauty, eyes catching on the tiny moles on her pale skin, the smallest freckles that are only noticeable because you’re this close.

The squelch of the applicator sliding into the tube is almost lewd in the silence of the bathroom, and this time you can’t suppress a shiver when she pulls your chin down to open your mouth so she can go back in again on your lips, drawing a sharp, crisp line. Tracing the edges of your lips, the flushed swell of them, the peak of your cupid’s bow.

She glances up. For a moment you’re both still, staring at each other, tension in the air palpable, but then she smacks her lips and you copy the motion, evening the application of the makeup on your mouth. 

“Perfect,” she murmurs. “One more step.”

A small, confused frown flits over your face. She’s put the lipstick aside but then she lifts a finger and points towards your still parted lips. You take in a small, shuddering breath when she speaks again and you realise what she means.

“You don’t want to get lipstick on your teeth, do you?”

Both of her eyebrows have risen and she’s looking at you like you’re being silly if you disagree with her.

“No,” you say. You’re not about to deny her. “No, I don’t.”

Your eyes remain locked. You lean forwards, taking that perfect, long finger into your mouth, dragging your lips upwards so that any excess lipstick is caught against her pale skin, a ring of deep rose circling her bottom knuckle; you curl your tongue around her, hot and wet, feeling the crease of her knuckles and pad of her fingertip against your taste buds as you slowly, slowly pull away. 

It’s undoubtedly indecent and risqué and you can feel the flush of arousal settling in your lower belly, an almost embarrassing flush of wetness leaking out of you at the taste of her skin. She, however, remains unmoved, although she lets her finger linger just for a moment on your bottom lip, almost rough against their softness— but before you can swallow those fingers back down and ruin her meticulous work, she pulls away, lifting the discarded wipe to sweep it around her finger, catching the lipstick you’d left on her skin.

“Done.”

She steps back and you feel like you can finally breathe, a breath so deep you can feel how your lungs fill, oxygen rushing to your brain so fast you feel lightheaded. You watch as she sweeps everything back into her bag, clicking it shut with a note of finality; the sullied wipe is cast carelessly into a tiny, chrome bin with a flick of a wrist, her every motion regal.

You slide off the counter. You still can’t take your eyes off her and you don’t want to. It feels like whatever heaviness was in the air has dissipated, gone in an instant with a turn of her head— normally you’d let it slide, even if you feel disappointed, but she’s just so magnetic. 

“Thank you,” you say. You can see yourself in the mirror now and to your complete lack of surprise, your lipstick is perfect. The shade is lighter than one you’d have chosen for yourself but it’s beautiful on her, of course.

“You’re welcome.” She’s in the middle of washing her hands, but she glances over her shoulder at you, and the firm set to her face lightens a little as she smiles. It’s a small, sly thing, and you realise with a start that she knows exactly what effect she has on you.

I’m coming back for you, you think to yourself. You have work to do tonight, but—

“What’s your name?”

She pauses. She shuts off the tap with a quick motion, reaching forward for a rolled hand-towel, a neat stack on a metal tray nearby. You wonder if she’s not going to answer but then she speaks, looking at you instead of the soft cotton she’s rubbing over her skin. “Yoonji,” she says. “I’m Min Yoonji.”

Min Yoonji is the most gorgeous fucking woman you’ve ever seen.

“I love your dress, Yoonji,” you say, and it’s true, you really do— but you’d prefer it if it was off. Not that you’re about to say that, of course.

She lets out a breath of laughter. “I know.” Oh, god, you love confident women. “What’s your name, darling?”

You have that same split second of hesitation, similar to Yoonji’s only moments prior. You use a codename when you work, of course, and you have a plethora of fake identities that you use and are intimately familiar with— but the idea of your real name falling off Yoonji’s flushed, petal lips? Woof.

“Y/n L/n,” you say. 

Oh, Joon would be so unimpressed right now, giving some mysterious woman your full, real name just because you think she’s the sexiest thing since sex, but whatever. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“Well, Y/n,” Yoonji says. You were right, your name sounds so good falling from her mouth, the mouth that’s turned into a small, almost smug smile. “I certainly hope to see you at the charity ball in a few weeks?”

“Of course.” Your schedule has been magically cleared and you’ll definitely be in attendance for whatever ball Yoonji is referring to, even if you have no idea what it is. You only come to these things if you have to for work but for Yoonji you’ll make an exception. You’ll make a hundred thousand exceptions. A hundred thousand quinquagintaquadringentillion exceptions. “I’ll make sure to remember my lipstick next time.”

And there it is, the thing that seals the deal, the final nail in the coffin: Yoonji glancing at you out of the corner of her eyes, a sharp, dark touch that shoots through you as her smile edges into hunger.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m sure it won’t stay on your lips long enough to matter.”

--

The thing you’ve discovered about Minjae is that, with his divorce due to be finalised soon, he’s apparently lost any sense of routine and is revelling in his new found freedom, which is kind of irritating when you’re trying to tail the guy. Sure, you’re still going to take him out, but you prefer it when targets have some sort of schedule that they adhere to— makes it easier to set up a kill.

“You’re certain that he’s going to be here tonight?” You’d been sceptical considering how the guy’s apparently thrown his schedule out of the window, but Namjoon had been certain.

“Positive.” He’d said. “He’s there every Tuesday night. You’ll have plenty of time.”

The house appears to be deserted. The driveway is empty and all the windows and doors are locked tight. It’s just one of the properties that the Parks own in the city, and for all its size and lushness it appears as though this one is rarely frequented; you imagine that the cleaners and gardeners spend more time here than the owners themselves.

It doesn’t take you long to evade the watchful eyes of security cameras to pick a lock and slip inside. You're grateful for the dying evening light that helps cover your tracks from any onlookers from the street, although you imagine the high walls do good work at preventing people from seeing into the grounds anyway.

There’s still enough light to navigate through the house, the golden tinged sunset casting warm shadows across the spotless furniture and fixtures; you take a moment to let your eyes slide across a huge canvas hanging on a wall that spans two storeys, some impressionist piece that’s surprisingly ugly for all the talent that’s obvious in its brushstrokes. Maybe that’s why the Parks are never here? You’d certainly try to avoid seeing this thing if you could. Eurgh.

Even though the building is empty, you’re careful as you start to make your way forwards. You always place your toes down first whenever you take a step, soundless as you start to map the house out in your mind; there are so many rooms you can hide in, but you’d prefer to be close to wherever Minjae ends up. Saves faffing around later. 

You’ll overpower him, inject the toxin into his blood and wait for him to die before setting him up on the toilet— it’s surprisingly common for people to die while on the shitter, the strain leading to an untimely heart attack, especially in older people. The poison you’re using tonight will mimic the symptoms of a heart attack in the case the coroner decides a post-mortem needs to be undertaken.

(Being found on the bog might not be a particularly graceful way to die but when you’re dead it’s kind of hard to be embarrassed.)

You’ve eased the door open into a large bedroom, and you’re just inspecting if it looks like this room sees more use than the others when you pause. It’s deathly silent in this building, the air still minus where you glide through it as you move, but there’s a feeling in your gut, some instinct that makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You freeze, ears straining to catch any noise to let you know if there’s someone else here, when—

There. In the reflection of a burnished pot, the tiniest shifting movement.

You react almost faster than the eye can see. You spin to parry a hit that was aimed for your head, and the strength behind it shudders through your arms. You only have a second to take in the details of your assailant— dressed in dark clothing, masquerade style mask in place, a professional just like you— before you’re deflecting another flurry of blows, flipping backwards out of reach before spinning into a kick, hooking that burnished pot with your foot and sending it flying towards the other assassin.

They dodge it. You both ignore the sound of clattering metal as you lunge forwards, trying to catch them off guard after their sidestep— your fist makes contact with their palm instead of their face, your hand engulfed in theirs, and you startle at their speed. You might not be the strongest but you’re damn fast. 

There’s a pause, and you can only see a slither of their eyes through the sockets of their mask, but you can tell that they’re impressed. And honestly? So are you. 

The moment shatters when they use the hand they're holding to twist you, locking an arm around your neck and putting you into a chokehold; they’re strong, stronger than you, cutting off your airflow. You need to get out of this before you fall unconscious, but if they’re trained as well as you then they’ll know how to combat the usual ways you’d use to get out of this.

So, in a demonstration of your flexibility you kick a leg up, using the strength of your thighs and calves to slam it into the arm that’s around your neck. Your assailant lets out a noise of surprise and pain as you slip out of their hold and cartwheel across the room before spinning to face them.

There’s a beat. The air is tense. You get another chance to take in the details of whoever’s just tried to choke you out; you stare at her as she stares at you, the two of you poised and ready to strike, watching and waiting. 

Knives might be messy but of course you’re not unarmed. You have multiple sheathed weapons in your clothes, though you don’t make a move to draw any of them. Yet. “I suppose you wouldn’t tell me who your employer is, would you?”

Your opponent tilts her head. “You don’t know?” She sounds amused, even through her mask. “Minjae took out a contract on the assassin who has a contract on him.”

Your lip curls back from your teeth. The only way Minjae would have heard about your contract is if Dahye had told him. Presumably to try and shock him out of his behaviour, or something, who knows. “This is the last time I’m accepting a job from these rich old farts,” you mutter. 

“That’s for certain,” she says. 

She starts to move and you catch her arm just as she goes to unsheathe a wicked looking blade, knocking it aside before she overpowers you and you start to wrestle. It’s messy and graceless but sometimes you just have to fight dirty. 

Whoever this woman is, she still has the upper hand because she was expecting you and you weren’t expecting her; she knocks you onto the bed and pins you down, swooping the knife up from where it had been thrown onto the mattress. You go utterly still as she holds it against your throat, towering over your from where she’s straddling your waist and kneeling on your arms. Any sudden movement from you now could lead to your untimely demise— and, unsurprisingly, you absolutely want to avoid that at all costs.

Namjoon would never let you live it down if you were killed on the job.

You hum. “It seems like we’ve reached an impasse.”

She doesn’t respond. The knife doesn’t dip any lower, though; you’re undoubtedly at her mercy but you notice she’s careful to keep the knife still, hovering above the skin of your neck, but not making contact.

“Well,” you continue. “At least I’m going out the way I’d always hoped to.”

Even in the dying light and with how her face is covered, you notice her face shifting behind her mask— a silent, questioning raise of an eyebrow. You give her a cheeky smile that crinkles your eyes.

“In bed with a beautiful woman, of course.”

At this she huffs out a laugh. “Do you flirt with every person who tries to kill you?”

You’re trying to look as non-threatening as possible to keep that knife away from your jugular. The longer you talk, the longer you live, even if you can’t see a way to get out of this situation right now. “Only the pretty ones.”

The small laugh she lets out this time seems more like a scoff. “You don’t even know what I look like.”

“Please.” You roll your eyes. “Any woman who can fight like you and knows how to handle a knife? Automatically hot. I don’t need to see your face to know that.”

The knife still hasn’t moved. She continues to stare you down and you go tense when her free hand moves. She tugs the cloth of your mask down to reveal your face, the air of the room almost cold against the suddenly bared skin, your breaths free to curl out unhindered.

“Usually I like to be taken out to dinner at least once before we get this intimate, but for you I suppose I’ll make an exception.” You’re still grinning cheekily at her, but your mind continues to race as you try to think of a way to get out of this, especially now that she’s seen what you look like—but you suddenly notice that she’s gone very, very still.

“Y/n?”

The grin freezes on your face. Oh, you’re so boned. You’re so very boned. Like, yeah, you’ve been seconds away from death for the past, hmm, five minutes, but this is somehow worse. How the fuck does she know your name?

You’re given the answer almost immediately. She withdraws the hand from your chin and reaches for her own mask. Your eyes widen and your breath stutters in your throat once you see who it is.

“Holy shit,” you breathe.

Yoonji is staring down at you. She’s every inch as imperious and stunning as the last time you’d seen her— hell, even moreso now that you’ve seen what she’s capable of. No wonder you hadn’t been able to find out anything about her after you’d met at that garish charity gala. Because she’s untraceable, just like you.

“Well.” You stare back at her, not even attempting to keep the surprise off your face. “If anyone has to kill me at least I can die satisfied in the knowledge that it was you. Can I make a request? I’d be eternally grateful if you smothered me to death with your thighs. Just a suggestion, feel free to ignore it if you want.”

Yoonji cocks her head. Her bob is tied back, but there’s a loose lock of hair curled by the side of her face that shifts at the motion. Your fingers twitch. If she wasn’t kneeling on your arms you know you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from tucking it behind her ear. Any excuse to touch her. “Do you always talk so much?”

“Hey, if it means I get to feel your legs around my face before I die, I’ll give a full fledged TED talk,” you say. “I have to admit, though. When I pictured us in bed together I didn’t think it would be like this.”

The knife still hasn’t moved from your throat. She continues to stare, as if considering what to do next, though her face remains impassive. “What did you think it would be like?”

“Well, you know. Less knives and clothes involved and a lot more making out,” you answer. “You, telling me what to do. Me, entirely at your command. Anything the lady wants, she gets.”

The human body is a fickle and strange beast. Ever since you discovered who’s straddling you, you’ve been growing wetter and wetter, even if you’re trying not to let on that you’re steadily growing more aroused— you’re still distinctly aware of the knife that’s only centimetres away from your skin, but somehow your body is more focused of the fact that the woman you’ve been daydreaming about is finally in front of you again. 

(Well, less in front of you and more on top of you, which is an admittedly preferable option, sans the knife involvement.)

You see how Yoonji’s eyes are darting over your face. No doubt taking in how your pupils are dilated, how your breaths are a little shallower, quicker— signs of fear and signs of arousal are surprisingly similar. You wonder if she can identify which it is. Probably. You’re not exactly very subtle in your attraction to her.

“I forgot my lipstick again,” you add, and Yoonji’s passive mask finally breaks when she rolls her eyes.

“Didn’t I say you wouldn’t need it?”

Even the way she throws the knife aside is gorgeous. The sharp undulation of her wrist as she sends the blade skittering across the polished wood floor is careless and fluid. Her hands cup your face as she bends down, and you send up a mental thanks to any god or higher being who might be listening before Yoonji presses her lips to your and your brain goes blank.

Apparently Yoonji likes it messy. One of her hands is grasping your chin in a mockery of the last time you’d met and she’d painted your lips— your mouth is open and she licks past your lips as you shudder beneath her. She’s still got her knees pressed into your arms, pinning you down, but you desperately crane your head towards her, chasing that kiss; you tilt your head to deepen it, and the whine that leaves you when she pulls away is almost embarrassing.

The sun has finally dipped below the horizon and the room is dark, painted in shades of grey and deep blue. You wish you could see Yoonji properly and you can’t help but wriggle a little underneath her, but then you watch her raise her hands and clap three times in rapid succession before the room floods with dim light. Sound activated lights? Damn.

Yoonji’s mouth shines, covered in a sheen of your mixed saliva, her pretty lips flushed rose pink; even without makeup they’re beautiful and their colour is deep, the blooming petals of a flower. Your eyes trail over her face, down her neck, over the fall of her chest and stomach— you’re both far too covered up in these stupid ensembles of yours and you want to strip the clothes off her. You want to see every inch of her beautiful, majestic body, bared for your lips and hands.

Fuck, she’s so gorgeous.

“Not to, um, ruin the moment, but my hands are going numb.” The weight of Yoonji’s body being pressed into your arms has pretty much cut off the blood flow to your fingers and you can feel the telltale sensation of pins and needles spreading through your skin. “Can I have those back, please?”

Yoonji lifts her knees just enough for you to slide your arms out from underneath them. You immediately shed your gloves and go to grab her ass but she gives you a sharp look and you freeze, slowly settling them on her thighs instead, which she allows with only the slightest raise of her eyebrows.

“Watch,” she commands, and who are you to disobey?

She reaches for the tie in her hair, tugging it out and letting her dark locks fall to frame her lovely, beautiful face. You hungrily swallow down each sight that she feeds to you, the skin that’s revealed as she shrugs off her layers of clothing. She unbuckles the weapons hidden underneath her clothes as she sheds them; she’s a veritable arsenal of firearms and knives, all cast carelessly aside until her upper body is finally, blessedly naked. You’ve been staring at her the whole time, the graceful column of her throat, the delicate lines of her collarbones, and your gaze falls to her breasts, small and perfect, nipples dusty pink and hard. You want to put your mouth on them.

“Holy shit, you’re perfect,” you say.

She smirks. You watch as she rolls her body, lifting up from her knees and standing up, towering above you on the bed—your hands fall to the mattress as she pulls her trousers down, tight material dragging against her skin as she slides it over the curve of her hips and down her long legs. There’s a dagger strapped to her thigh, which she unbuckles and lets fall to one side, but god, if she used it to kill you right now, you would die a happy woman. The image of Min Yoonji towering above you in nothing more than some flimsy underwear is one you want to take to the grave.

You can see how the material around her entrance is darkened with her arousal, and you feel your own body react to the sight, pussy throbbing, your own lower lips slick underneath all your layers of clothing. Yoonji hooks her thumbs into her panties and pushes them down, and you’re enraptured as you watch how the wetness clings to them, before that last bit of clothing is cast aside too. 

You moan, unable to stop the sound bubbling up in your throat. From how she’s standing above you, legs spread from how her feet are either side of your hips, you can see everything—how her cunt is flushed, how wet she is, her folds shining. You bet she tastes so fucking good.

You let your mouth fall open, tongue lolling out in a way that’s obscene. You see Yoonji’s eyes flicker as she traces the motion, the way she takes in your expression: wide, hungry eyes, parted lips, wet tongue. Your hands skim up the back of her calves as she shifts forwards and returns to her knees, her naked core so, so close to your mouth, and you dig your fingers into her skin.

“Bon appé-fucking-tit,” you murmur, and then you pull her onto your face.

Yoonji gasps. 

(You were right. She tastes so, so fucking good.)

You’re utterly shameless as you slurp up her juices, the wetness that continues to leak out of her as you bury your face into her cunt, tongue lapping over her entrance as your nose brushes her clit. Your hands have moved to the flesh of her ass and you encourage her to grind against you, rolling her hips towards your greedy mouth; you’re staring up at her, drinking down her reactions, the way her face twists with pleasure and the shuddering breaths she takes in, perfect little breasts jumping at the motion. There’s a flush spreading down her neck and chest, pale skin blushing pink, and it’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.

You purse your lips against her clit, circling it with your tongue before dipping back down between her folds. Each time you breathe in all you can smell is her scent, heavy and dark, all your senses filled with Yoonji, Yoonji, Yoonji. When you hum against her, Yoonji arches her spine and throws her head back, so when you press your tongue into her you hum again, letting the vibrations shiver through her.

“Yes,” she gasps, rutting against your face. “Yes, yes—”

Her thighs tighten around your head. You redouble your efforts, watching her face as you continue to swipe your tongue up her slit and through her folds; you wish you could swallow each of the noises that are falling from her lips as she reaches the crest of her pleasure, the little gasps and moans each time you move your tongue in a particularly wicked way.

“There,” she says. “There, there, just like that—”

Your jaw aches but you don’t even register it, too intent on keeping your mouth open and hot and wet against her. It only takes a few more swipes and flicks of your tongue before she shudders violently, canting her hips towards your mouth as her legs go tense and she cums. She continues to straddle your face as she rides out the waves of pleasure, and you swallow down the wetness that flushes out of her rippling cunt, ignoring the throbbing between your own legs.

You can’t talk, muffled by her as you are, but your mind is singing. Look at you, you think. Look at how gorgeous you are. God, I could eat you out all day. (What a blessed life that would be.)

You can tell when Yoonji’s edged into oversensitivity, jolting when your tongue sweeps over her swollen clit; she settles back, knees spread as she rests against your heaving chest, legs tensing each time an aftershock shivers through her. Your mouth is open as you pant in air, but she watches as you swipe your tongue over your lips, catching the lingering taste of her on you, your chin opalescent with her arousal.

“Okay,” you say, breathless. “I’ve done everything that’s worth doing. I’ve peaked. Everything is downhill from here. You can kill me now.”

You’re only half joking, but your thighs instinctively go tight to rub against each other when you see how Yoonji’s eyes darken.

“I’m not done with you yet,” she purrs.

Yoonji might be naked while you’re still clothed, and so still armed, but she’s undoubtedly the one who’s in control right now. You are so, so okay with that. You watch with wide eyes as she shifts back, her hands grabbing the material of your jacket to tug you upwards, but before she can strip off your clothes you capture her lips with your own.

The taste of her is still heady and deep in your mouth and you nip at her bottom lip before pressing your tongue forwards. The kiss is already slick from Yoonji’s wetness and when you pull away, there’s a thin string of saliva that connects you for a moment before it breaks, which Yoonji wipes away from your chin with the pad of her thumb.

“Dirty girl,” she says, and you bite back a moan at the unabashed lust in her voice. Her grip on your chin is firm. “Did I say you could kiss me?”

“No,” you answer. “I couldn’t help myself.”

She tuts, as if disappointed, and every one of your nerve endings feels electrified, ready and anticipating whatever Yoonji is going to do next. “Such a shame,” she says. “You just can’t keep your hands or mouth to yourself, can you?”

“Can you blame me?”

Yoonji huffs out a laugh through her nose. She strips your jacket off in one sharp motion and then your shirt is similarly pulled off with single-minded intent, along with every other piece of equipment cinched to your arms and body. When you reach for her, though, she captures your wrists, her face stern.

“If you keep moving without permission, I’m going to take that privilege away from you.”

You don’t have to see your own eyes to know how your pupils will have dilated from that statement, blood thrumming through your veins, and you can tell Yoonji has noticed when her expression shifts.

“Oh.” A small, triumphant smirk appears on her face. “I see.”

You lift your arms up so she can pull your sports bra off (of course if you had known you’d been running into Yoonji again you would have worn something nicer). Rather than touch your heaving chest, however, she pushes you down onto the mattress, a hand around your wrists so they’re held above your head.

“Keep still,” she says.

She reaches for the holster that you’d had around your upper arm, lazily casting the knife aside before looping it around your wrists and pulling it secure.

Yoonji’s fingers ease under the nylon as she checks the fit. It’s tight, but not so much so that it’s painful or dangerous, and there’s a hushed moment when the realisation hits you— Yoonji and yourself are both skilled enough to know that you could easily free yourself if you wanted to. It would only take a little motion of your wrists and hands and you could slip them out of the makeshift cuffs in an instant.

You melt into the mattress. Yoonji’s eyes shift away from your wrists as she takes in the way you’ve gone utterly relaxed and limp below her, staring back at her. You see an expression flit across her face faster than you can see, before she slides down your body so she can push your legs apart.

You lift your hips to help her strip your trousers off. Her hand lingers on the concealed holster around your thigh, eyeing the small pistol nestled inside it, before that too is stripped off and cast aside. Her hands trail over the soft skin of your hips and stomach, eyes skimming over the bared length of your body before settling between your legs, the slickness of your inner thighs.

“You got this wet just from eating me out?” Her pretty mouth is curled into an expression that’s almost mocking, and your legs jolt as she runs her fingers lightly over your lower lips before rubbing her fingertips together to feel the wetness she’s gathered. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Your nails dig into your palms as your hands twist against each other and you shift your legs further apart. “Please, Yoonji,” you plead, shameless from desperation and arousal.

She laughs at your obvious hunger. “I suppose I should return the favour, shouldn’t I?”

You watch breathlessly as she lifts her fingers to her lips, swallowing them into her mouth to get them slick and wet. The motions of her tongue are languid as she licks across her fingers. You’re like a livewire, thrumming with electricity, and the sensation of her finally sinking one of those fingers into you sends sparks throughout your body.

Yoonji’s maddeningly slow. Your body takes her readily, her long finger gliding easily in and out of you, but she makes no move to speed up; you let out a small noise and she moves upwards to kiss you, as if indulging you, and you’ve just relaxed against her mouth when she plunges a second finger in.

She swallows your gasp as her fingers speed up, before she starts to kiss across your jaw, your neck, between the valley of your breasts and then closing her mouth over one of your nipples— she times the flick of her tongue with the thrust of her fingers, and then you feel how she takes her thumb to press your clit at the same time and you’re gone, falling over the edge faster than you’d expected. Your orgasm is fast but deep, your walls clenching tight around the fingers that continue to curl in and out of you, but she doesn’t stop.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “It’s too— oh—”

Those two fingers continue to rub your sweet spot as you edge into oversensitivity but Yoonji doesn’t let up. She continues to lick and bite at the skin of your chest, putting her mouth to your other breast and circling the hardened bud of your nipple with her tongue before kissing down your stomach, your pubic bone, and then pressing her lips to your swollen clit.

You whimper. Her pace of her fingers has quickened, and she curls them each time she almost pulls them out, the squelch of their motions obscene as they slide through the cum of your first orgasm. She stares up at you, lapping at your clit with her tongue, and you can feel the saliva that’s dripping from her mouth and over your flushed core, every inch of you oversensitive but screaming with pleasure.

It’s almost painful, but you can feel an orgasm creeping through that ache; you wring your hands together and sob as Yoonji continues to finger fuck you without mercy, her pace almost bruising, the thrust of her knuckles against you each time she bottoms out just one more layer on top of that overwhelming pleasure.

“Yoonji,” you gasp. “I’m g-gonna cum again.”

She hums against you, and you make an incoherent noise at the feeling of that sound against your clit, almost too much— and then she presses one more finger into you, and that’s it, that slight burn and stretch sending you hurtling over that edge again. When you cum, your hips buck and you gasp, air rushing into your lungs before it escapes you in a moan of ecstasy; the only sensations registering in your mind right now are the ripples of pleasure spreading through your cunt as Yoonji pulls her fingers out of you, pressing down on your clit in a way that’s almost cruel, and you sob as your legs instinctively try to tighten but are prevented from doing so by Yoonji’s unyielding presence.

She’s staring down at you as you start to go lax, and you think she’s finished with you, but you watch with widening eyes as she takes her ring and middle finger to run them through your sodden folds. You sob again when those fingers plunge back into you, palm pressing against your clit each time she curls her fingers, and you squirm underneath her.

“Yoonji, it’s too much,” you cry.

“One more.” Yoonji’s leaning back and staring at you, taking in the sweat that’s beading across your skin, the tears that are gathering in your eyes and threatening to spill down your face and into your hair. “You’re doing so well, darling, you can give me one more, can’t you?”

Your reply is incoherent, a small noise that shudders out of the back of your throat. You’ve never been thrown so thoroughly into pleasure like this, overstimulated and aching, but there’s that flicker of pleasure still between your legs, growing each time Yoonji beckons with her fingers, curling over your abused sweet spot again and again and again.

“Just say the word and I’ll stop,” Yoonji says, the wet plunge of her fingers into your abused pussy so messy and loud but not enough to drown her out. “One word and I’ll stop.”

You don’t say anything. You just let your eyes roll back into your head as you cant your hips towards her, trying to latch onto that thread of pleasure that’s thrumming through you below all your screaming nerves, and the noise Yoonji makes is pleased.

“There we go,” she praises. “Look at you, so good for me. Pretty darling.”

You can feel how your pussy clenches around Yoonji’s fingers, how the coil in you is squeezing tighter and tighter, how another orgasm is somehow creeping up on you— you tilt your hips towards that feeling, towards Yoonji’s hand, and then she’s pulling her fingers out of you in an almost rough motion and you’re cumming harder than you ever have before.

“Oh, fuck!” You sob. 

It’s indescribable. The sensation rips through you as your back arches off the bed and you’re cumming and squirting and gasping and you can feel the wetness that slicks out of you, your toes curling as your brain goes blank from the staggering pleasure and static consumes every one of your senses. Your entire body feels like nothing more than a vessel for the ecstasy that’s shooting through your veins, spreading out from your core and to every corner of your insides and limbs.

It takes you a while to come back around, aftershocks wracking through your body. You feel sluggish and slow as your mind slowly clears, focusing on the sensation of warm hands stroking over the skin of your stomach and hips and thighs; your eyes flutter open and when you glance down you can see the shine to Yoonji’s skin, evidence of your pleasure painting her in a thin sheen of liquid.

“Oh my god,” you moan. “Holy shit.”

She smiles. “You were so, so good for me,” she says. She leans down to press a light kiss to collarbones and you shiver. “So beautiful. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve died and gone to heaven before coming back again,” you reply. “Oh, that was so good, Yoonji. I’ve never squirted before. I didn’t realise I could. God.”

Yoonji laughs lightly. You can’t help but watch the way it transforms her face, the way her chest jumps at the motion, every inch of her gorgeous and majestic and cute and pretty. “You did so, so well,” she praises, before she kisses you, her mouth so soft; you barely notice the sudden easing of pressure around your wrists as she releases you, more intent on the sensation of her soft petal lips against your own.

You stare up at her as she pulls away. Powerful, amazing Min Yoonji, kneeling between your legs, naked but not helpless. Definitely less vulnerable than you right now. And yet she’s still making no moves to grab one of the many weapons littered around the bed so she can finally finish her contract by completing the kill. It would be so easy for her.

The silence of the room is suddenly broken by a tiny buzzing noise. You both glance over at the sound, one that Yoonji doesn’t recognise but you do— the communicator in one of your wristbands, the one you use to keep in contact with Namjoon.

You watch the twisting of Yoonji’s body as she leans over the bed to hook the band with a finger before proffering it to you. You pause, but then grasp her wrist and lightly pull so she ends up pressed against you, softness of her breasts against your own, and you hold the communicator between your faces as you accept the call.

“Thank god you answered.” Namjoon’s voice is obviously frantic even through the tinniness of the small speaker. “Dahye cancelled the contract because Minjae wants to reconcile with her, but apparently he’s already put a hit out on you— tonight was a ruse, Minjae isn’t going to be there, you have to get out of there—”

“Bit too late for that,” you interrupt. Yoonji’s hair is tickling your cheek. “Don’t worry. I have it in hand. Send some flowers to Minjae for me, will you?”

“Flowers?” Namjoon sounds understandably confused. “Why?”

“As a thank you for taking out a contract on me,” you say. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m a little busy.”

“With what?”

“With me,” Yoonji says, and you hear Namjoon’s surprised intake of breath before you cut the line.

You end up laughing to yourself. “Oh, he’s going to hate me for that,” you giggle. Yoonji’s hand trails up your stomach and you continue to giggle at the ticklish sensation. Her skin is still slick against yours, and you suddenly realise how cold it is in the room, the air touching the cooling liquid that’s rubbed off against your skin, and you shiver. “Mm. I think it’s time to clean up. Want me to scrub your back in the shower? I give very good massages.”

Yoonji’s eyes are dark and warm before she presses her nose to your neck, lips soft as they touch the delicate skin of your throat. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

[cdt12345]

We've been friends many years but I've never thought to ask; Top 10 gay OTPs?

1.) Ian & Mickey (Gallavich) - Shameless us

What can I say about these two that we haven’t already said about them?! They are my absolute all-time favorite couple ever! Gay or straight. They perfectly complement each other, they love each other on a level I feel like I’ve never seen before (and I have watched a lot of tv/movies), they’re like a comedy duo, they support each other, understand each other better than anyone else ever will, they fell in love as kids, they bring out the best in each other, and they’re each other's best friend. I’m a sucker for opposites attract, who are also best friends. Gallavich really fits that bill. I wish they didn’t have to struggle so much to get their happiness, but I’m happy they finally got it. When they got married, it felt like the biggest victory ever! We went through those years of struggle with them, rooted for them, mourned for them when John Wells let Noel go after season 5. So much has tried to keep these two apart, even real-life circumstances tried to keep them apart. The chemistry between these two characters and between Cameron and Noel was so powerful, they were brought back to the show. That kind of thing doesn’t happen very often. When an actor leaves a show, they don’t usually come back as a series regular, let alone two actors who have already left the show. It felt like a miracle! I will never forget getting the news that Noel was coming back from you @luckyshazmrsmonaghansblog I was crying with happiness bc we wanted this for so long and I never believed we would get to see both Cameron and Noel back on the show. Or that they would get their happy ending outside of a jail cell. Especially after Cameron left the show in season 9. With their return we got a wedding, an entire season of them as a married couple, we got to see them dance with each other twice, we got them singing together, we got to see them start a lucrative business together, we got to see them free and happier than we’ve ever seen them before, and we got to see Terry get what he deserved after putting them through hell. We are only halfway through season 11, but I already feel so fulfilled with this extra time with gallavich that we were never supposed to have. JW tried to take that away from us. I will never understand why, but he failed. I am not surprised this is the one I wrote the most about. I can go on and on about gallavich!

2.) David and Patrick - Schitt’s Creek

This was everything I ever wanted to see onscreen, where there was zero homophobia. The pansexual character didn’t need to have a big coming out or tell everyone in the town of his sexual orientation, except his best friend. The gay character had a coming out with parents who loved and accepted him for who he is and was only upset that he felt he couldn’t tell them sooner. I dreamt of a day where I could see this kind of representation onscreen. The casual treatment of their sexuality was so refreshing and something I’ve been waiting for. There is no darkness or huge struggle they had to overcome to be together or a sad ending for them. They were allowed to be together without the major conflicts most LGBTQ characters have to go through. Once David made the first move Patrick was comfortable allowing himself to fall for David and start a relationship with him. He was so sure of his feelings for David after that first kiss, he never looked back and I loved that. They had such an adorable love story. Truly one I have been waiting to see for so long between two LGBTQ characters. They made me smile every time they were on screen. They are another of my OTPs that are exact opposites who complement each other perfectly. Patrick was welcomed into David’s family and blended in with them so well, even when he and David had very different upbringings. Patrick serenading David with Tina Turner and then Mariah Carey at their wedding is one of the most romantic things I have ever seen!

3.) Holt and Kevin - Brooklyn Nine-Nine

Captain Holt and Kevin are strange men on their own but together they are the perfect pair. They get each other in a way no one else does. The best part is their adorable fur baby, Cheddar! They seriously make the cutest family! I was so nervous when they went through a rough patch for a while because I didn’t want them to split up. Thankfully, they made it through and are still going strong!

4.) Will and Vince - Will & Grace

On the show's first run, Will and Vince were in a serious relationship and Vince was Will’s longest relationship on the show. They broke up a few times but were together by the series finale. The two reunite during the funeral of Will's father. There was a time jump on the series finale. Though I didn’t love everything about the last episode, I did love the fact that Will and Vince had been together for 20 years and raised a son together, who was conceived through in vitro fertilization with a surrogate. After the time jump, nearly twenty years later, their son goes to college and meets Grace's daughter, whom he would eventually marry. Though I wasn’t happy with the fact that Will and Grace didn’t stay close over the years, it did allow for their kids to one day meet, fall in love, and get married. I did like that outcome out of the finale. My family and I used to watch the original show, but we refused to accept or watch the 2017 revival because they completely changed everything from the original series finale. The second I found out they were changing everything; I knew I couldn’t watch it. They even wiped the existence of their kids from the first series finale. The revival was an attempt to cash in on the reboot craze and I wasn’t happy about that already, but even more so when they were going to break up one of my OTPs for easy money. Bobby Cannavale, who played Vince, has become even more famous since starring in Will & Grace. So, I already figured he wouldn’t be back for the show as a regular, but I know he did guest star. I won’t accept the revival and to me, Will and Vince stayed together, and their son married Grace’s daughter. THE END!

5.) Albert and Armand - The Birdcage

Miss Albert and Armand were the earliest gay couple I remember ever watching onscreen when I was eight years old. I have watched this movie more than I can count over the years. It is a family favorite that we quote often. Their son is planning to marry a girl whose father is in politics and is very conservative. They have to hide the fact that he has two gay fathers for one night, but everything goes awry, and comedy ensues. Nathan Lane and Robin Williams give a wonderful performance without resorting to using the stereotypes that are often used on gay characters, especially back then. It’s a classic!

6.) Stefon and Seth - Saturday Night Live

Okay, hear me out on this one! They’re not the most conventional OTPs on my list, but I really do love them so much! Stefon started doing a correspondent segment on Weekend Update on SNL. The first time Stefon came on, he flirted with Seth Meyers. The second he did I was like ooh they would make a cute couple! Stefon the wild party guy and Seth the serious news anchor. It was a match made in heaven for me. Before Seth Meyers left SNL to do Late Night with Seth Meyers, Bill Hader came back to play Stefon for Seth’s last episode. I didn’t expect what happened next to happen at all! They gave Seth and Stefon the ending that I haven’t even gotten from some actual scripted shows. I never expected Stefon and Seth to have this big ending, but I could not be happier that they did. I’m posting the link to the six-minute skit/ending and I hope it works. It’s worth watching. Though the video says it’s Stefon’s farewell it was really Seth’s farewell episode.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rj-wYWMdWNk

7.) Mr. Simmons and Peter - Hey Arnold!

Anyone who grew up watching this show already knew that Mr. Simmons, Arnold’s teacher, was probably gay. It was hinted at in the Thanksgiving episode. Arnold and Helga visit Mr. Simmons on Thanksgiving at his house and his family and “friend” Peter are there. Mr. Simmons mother says she didn’t know Peter was coming to dinner and Peter responds with the infamous line “There’s a lot of things you don’t know.” When Mr. Simmons mom tries to get him to take a woman friend to the ballet, he says he loves the ballet and Peter gives him a disapproving look and Mr. Simmons immediately declines. Those were enough hints for us fans to decide Peter was his boyfriend. Years later, the show's creator Craig Bartlett finally confirmed Mr. Simmons is gay and had them together in the 2017 Hey Arnold: The Jungle Movie. It was so exciting to finally get the confirmation years later, even though I was already certain of it for many years. I was happy that the cartoon no longer had to settle with vague hints about it.

8.) Callie and Arizona - Grey’s Anatomy

I was very happy to see a lesbian couple on prime time tv and I really liked both characters. I was excited to root for them but sadly as most couples on this show, their relationship took a turn, and I wasn’t thrilled about it. I was disappointed that it came to an end. By then I was already getting tired of watching the show. It was starting to feel like a chore to watch it every week. I tried to stick it out because I don’t like to give up on shows in the middle of it, but I just couldn’t do it anymore. I’m glad I did though because the shocking events with Derek Shepard, is something I’m glad I wasn’t around for. Anyway, I heard things between Callie and Arizona got even worse, so I was even happier I left when I did.

9.) Sherwin and Jonathan - In a Heartbeat

This was one of the cutest things I have ever seen! I wish this got the full-length movie treatment instead of a short film. But it was still a step in the right direction for the LGBTQ community. Gay characters in cartoons always bring me such joy and that was the focus of this short. A boy with a crush on another boy with a cute ending. What is not to love?!

10.) Mitch and Cam - Modern Family

Another show I had to give up on in the middle of the series. The show began to be less funny and more annoying to me. Another reason, that really has nothing to do with the show itself, that used to annoy me was that this show repeatedly beat out Parks and Recreation during award season. Parks and Recreation is a superior show when compared to Modern Family. This show won almost every year for years and it got really annoying especially when the quality of the show started slipping and they kept winning. After a few years, they finally stopped winning all the time. But before all that, I was a fan of Cam and Mitch. They were a great couple who I loved watching on the show. They were the best part of the show most of the time. But sadly, my annoyance of the show no longer being as funny as it used to be, was enough for me to stop watching.

[thechampagnelovers]

thoughts on each 1d member? not about the music, but about how you see them and how you feel about them

nony, this is an amazing question.

i wanna start by saying they’re all very talented musicians and the nicest people in the music industry and they all deserve good things in life. this is my personal opinion on how i see them portrayed by social media/general public/the fandom.

I’m gonna start with Zayn. I think he’s madly talented (maybe a little bit more so than the rest of the boys) but he’s inevitably gonna drag all his past with him forever (not only because he left yk, but the fact that he’s the only no-white person out of ot5 has already condemned him, bc the music industry is racist :) ) and that must unmotivate him so much. also the fact that he was so overworked in 1d that he literally can’t be on stage again just infuriates me so much, if anyone has to sue s*mon is zayn. he deserves so much better, but i hope he’s happy and i hope he knows we love him and we’ll follow him to the end of the world. I want to hear him sing about love, about his baby, about his art and his cute little farm. i want to see him happy. 

Liam: everyone is so quick to dismiss Liam and his feelings. He always shows himself very happy and his managment always tries to sell him on the sex appeal side and it’s so easy to miss whats really underneath all that. Liam has faced mental health problems that led him to substance abuses. he was a father at only 23. none of you know how YOUNG that is to be a father. he has battled his problems and has found a healthy way out of them and that takes so much ENERGY and it’s so painful to do. recovering is so hard, and not everyone makes it. Liam has been through a lot and people don’t realise it (but that’s because we don’t hold the same standards to all of them oops)

Harry......... I respect him a lot, because he said “fuck it, im gonna do what i want, sing what i want, dress like i want and im not gonna hear anything you have to say about it” and he took that approach because EVERYONE has an opinion on him and ughhhhh that must be so annoying tbh. ngl tho, the fact that he’s so distanced with his fans doesnt sit right with me, but i have a feeling it’s because of how toxic many of them are (im talking about stalkers and crazy het harries here) so i get it, although it makes me a little sad for the good fans. In many regards i feel like post-1D zayn and harry are very similar but the only difference is that harry is white lol, and that is why they’re treated so differently by everyone (and probably the reason Z is mad at him because he knows thats true)

Louis: remember what i said about not holding the same standards for all the 1d boys? Louis is what I meant. When everyone is so quick to dismiss liam’s story and trauma, on the other hand the only thing people seem to talk about louis is about his family and what he went through. we all love louis but i cant help but feel like many people (and many stans) feel pity for him, and louis would HATE that. Louis is the strongest person i’ve seen and a clear example of not letting fame get in your head, and all his life experiences (even before he became famous) made him that way. I feel like people struggle to see Louis without another lense that’s not “poor boy, he’s been thought a lot” when in fact we are more than our experiences and our losses. i feel especially drawn to him bc we both come from very similar families and both our families have gone through similar experiences, and that’s why it infuriates me when people can’t see beyond it. 

lastly, Niall. it’s no surprise niall is my fav and i’ll try my best to be as objective as i can. that being said, niall is truly, out of all of 1D, who has made it almost intact. what i mean is, niall has managed to make a name for himself as an artist without dragging with him all the dramas and bullshit from the past. and you know how did that happen? he didnt have dramas from the past, BECAUSE HE WAS THE MOST UNDERRATED 1D MEMBER. From day 1 they made niall feel out of place and like he wasnt enough, he was pushed down in every way possible. all the boys always felt protective of niall because he always got the worst part and was made fun of. if you’re not a niall stan you might not know this but niall was planning on releasing “this town” on SOUNDCLOUD. MILLIONAIRE NIALL HORAN, A BOY WHO WON THOUSANDS OF AWARDS AND SOLD OUT THOUSANDS OF ARENAS WORLDWIDE WAS GONNA RELEASE HIS MUSIC ON SOUNDCLOUD LIKE HE WAS A UNKNOWN RAPPER. that itself has to show you how much they did dirty to him and how they fucked with his confidence. his solo career is amazing and stands out from the rest of 1d because it really was built from almost ground zero, because no one thought he could do it, not even himself. the same way i say i relate a lot to louis in a family perspective, i relate a lot with niall from a personality perspective. niall has a lot of confidence in himself but it was crushed down for the longest time, and now -as an adult- he’s recovering it, he’s learning to trust himself and trust his music. outsiders might think niall is over confident when in reality people like him (people like me) are really insecure underneath all our jokes, we fake it till we make it. i just love him a lot. 

ask me my thoughts on anything

[ddaenggtan]

forever rain | knj | m

Being dead isn't anything exciting. Just a lot of walking the same halls of the same apartment day after day after day. Things change when the new tennant arrives, though. Kim Namjoon isn't anything you could have expected; not the way he's so careful and gentle with his plants because he breaks so many other things, not the way his friends joke that he's psychic because you refuse to let him get in the face one time, and certainly not the way he comes home after literal months spent moving things away from table edges for him and announces that he knows he's being haunted and he has some questions for you. You didn't know ghosts could fall in love, but he makes you feel alive again, like you're standing in the rain while thunder crashes around you. You should've known nothing good would come of falling in love with someone living, though. You should've known that heartbreak was the only way this could end...that the rain doesn't last forever. 

part of the Love Yourself Collab, please please please go check out the other fics. Everyone involved is so freaking talented and I have been vibrating out of my skin with how excited I’ve been to read all of these. 

pairing | kim namjoon x reader (unspecified gender, even!)

word count | 18.8k | cross posted to ao3

genre/warnings | ghost!reader, slight fluff, hard angst, literally the most angst ever it gets fluffy for a bit but litERALLY this is an angst fic, major character death, unprotected sex (idk what the etiquette for ghost sex is but you should still wrap it before you tap it fam), depictions of terminal illness (v mild), mentions of blood (several, but not graphic), major character death, allusions to violence, namjoon is a klutz whats new, depictions of terminal illness, major character death, i added that tag three times pls dont read this if you aren’t comf with mcd bc i literally tagged it three times so y’all would definitely see it, also probably have some tissues ready bc i cried while writing it so 

a/n | this is, to date, the saddest thing i have ever written in my entire fucking life. formal apologies to this joon bc oh my god you poor soul. i’m not kidding when i say you might cry, because i’m a big baby wuss and cried while writing the fucking outline when i first decided to write this for the collab so like......rip my own heart. i was really honored when i was approached about the LYA collab, bc like,,,,,mE? WHAT? and i was really nervous because i’ve never been part of any collabs in any fandom ever, and to have to do something like forever rain and mono as a whole justice, like,,,,,,, *screaming* y’know?? so i went on mono lockdown and just had the whole thing on repeat and was like “alright. what emotions does this make me feel.” and i eventually settled on the loneliness and isolation that he expresses, and feeling like no one understands what you’re going through, but that ultimately the album as a whole and forever rain give off this feeling of like. things get better, you’re not as alone as you feel, and you just gotta get through the bad stuff to find the good stuff. basically i just got really in my feels about it and was like ‘lets make myself cry ahahaha’ and,,,i dID i cried several times while planning and writing and editing bc im a Soft Bitch and don’t read much angst for that exact reason lmao. so buckle tf up y’all, this a helluva ride!! 

Of all the things you'd heard about death, all the different possibilities that existed in the world, the one thing you hadn't been prepared for was the boredom. You hadn't been prepared for any of it, really, too surprised by your own demise to plan at all, but even if you'd been able to, you don't think that this is what you would've counted on. An eternity - or however long ghosts existed - of being stuck in the same studio apartment you'd lived in when you died. The same walls, the same floor, the same view out the only window of the alley beside the building. It's boring and lonely and boring.

You've found more creative ways to entertain yourself as time passes. First, you started by figuring out just what being a ghost meant. You can't really communicate with anyone, haven't figured out how to make sure everything you say is heard, but you can manipulate objects pretty easily these days. The most difficult thing is becoming fully corporeal - completely visible and able to interact with things at the same time. It's hard enough to be visible, and you aren't really sure what the point of it would be when it would just scare whoever's living in your apartment; that's the last thing you want to do, run them off when they're the best source of amusement you've found.

You won't lie, you were a little offended when the first tenants moved in after you. It was difficult to watch your things get packed up and moved out by your friends, hard to lose all of the little things you loved in your apartment, like the shitty bead curtain you'd gotten as a gag gift or the photo collage of all of your loved ones. It's frustrating to not know how they're all doing these days; the one time you got brave enough to fuck with a laptop to check on them, you nearly broke the thing, and you haven't tried since. Still, it seemed cathartic for them to clear out your apartment, and it was a bittersweet sight, but you tried to focus on the positive side of it.

And then the couple moved in.

Not only did they fuck like rabbits - which is something you're going to stay pissed about, because there's no satisfaction to be had by you anymore, and it's the one thing you can think of that would be endlessly entertaining - but the couple was also grossly obnoxious. They had zero respect for your apartment , or you, and while one could argue that they didn't actually know you were there, it still made the sting of losing your entire life that much worse. You spent you don't know how many nights hovering awkwardly in the bathroom while they fucked, would constantly wander in to see them going at it on the kitchen counter at ass o'clock in the morning, and once you came in to see them tossing actual literal eggs at the ceiling like the absolute fucking weirdos they were.

So, naturally, you got a little mad. How dare they treat your apartment like that? They had no respect, but they were going to learn it real quick if they were going to live there with you, whether they wanted to or not.

They didn't last long after the first night of slamming cabinets and squealing hinges, but the thrown picture frame of their family was the conclusive end to their stay.

There have been others, since then. They haven't all been terrible, not like that first couple, but most of them have been sub-par roommates, and if you decided early on that if the rest of your immortal life is going to be locked in one shitty apartment with the absolute worst view in the city - because no one wants to see the drunken hookups and potential body dumps that take place in that alley - then you're at least going to share said apartment with someone nice to exist with.

You release a heavy sigh, staring at where your hand disappears through the shower wall. You've taken to testing the boundaries of the apartment again; you already know what the result will be, learned in the first few hours that you're stuck here, but you can't help trying when you get really bored. You just got distracted fucking around with the pipes in the meantime, because you're literally too bored to even focus. It's part of why you miss the last tenants so much, because you weren't ever really bored with them around.

A single mother and her two kids, crammed into a much-too-small apartment because it was all they could afford, and they were the light of your un-life. One a budding teenager that wrote angsty poetry who loved your trick of making things float around, and one an adorable toddler who adored playing peekaboo with you and coloring, and a mom that was too busy to notice anything out of the ordinary. It was like having a family again, made you feel useful when you could pull the meat out of the freezer for her to make dinner with or scratch a quick 'do your homework' on a steamy bathroom mirror. It was fun and it made being dead that much more bearable.

You really should've known that letting the toddler draw the two of you would be a bad idea, especially since there were several artistic liberties taken. It's not your fault the kid thought you'd look cool with fangs and bloody holes instead of eyes and claws that reached the floor. It was art, it was supposed to be a little different from reality. Still, you can't blame her for seeing the picture of her kid and 'my new best friend' and immediately calling the landlord. And a priest.

So, perhaps you gave the apartment a bit of a reputation. Maybe it's been a couple of months since the mom moved out and took your two buds with her. There might be the possibility that you've been the slightest bit salty about losing your friends and you've been extra-ghost-y whenever someone comes by to view the place in an attempt to make yourself feel a little better. Can you really be blamed for that? You just want a decent damn roommate for your life after death, and if that means putting the potentials through a little bit of a test, then so be it. You only feel a little bit bad for the landlord.

The creak of the front door pulls you from your thoughts, and the echo of a voice makes you narrow your eyes. Your first instinct is to slam some windows to scare off whoever's in your apartment, but you repress the urge. You'd die of boredom if you could die again, and whoever this is could provide a few hours' entertainment at the least.

You pop your head through the bathroom wall to see what's going on, and wow , who let an actual giant into your apartment? Fucking with the pipes could definitely wait for this guy.

"I know it's last minute, yeah," He says into the phone that's held carefully between his cheek and shoulder. His arms are loaded down with boxes and he's angled away from you just enough that you can't see his face, but he's tall and broad and wearing what looks like the world's comfiest sweater, and you want to badly to wrap yourself up in him. "But you know Joon needs the help. Don't pretend you aren't constantly willing to put off your thesis, I know for a fact that you went out to look at stationery with Tae last week, and everyone knows that's the most boring thing on the planet."

He's quiet, listening to the soft crackle of a voice from the other end. You slide through the wall completely, hovering as close as you dare to try and hear what the other person is saying. Tall, Broad, and Comfy scoffs.

"He can stare at one sheet of paper for at least ten minutes, Yoongi. Do I need to remind you of the time he spent an entire fucking hour debating which set of holiday scrapbook to buy because, and I quote, 'this one has the really nice rose pattern on it that would look great with the invitations, but, oh, look at the pinstripes in this one!'" His voice morphs into what you guess is an approximation of whoever Tae is, and you laugh at the high-pitched, nasally tone.

Tall and Broad spins, eyes narrowing as he looks around the room, and fuck , he's literally gorgeous. You've never seen someone more attractive in your life or your death and it would probably knock the wind out of you if you actually had breath. Comfy McGorgeous turns back around and sets the stack of boxes in the corner, continuing his tirade about Tae and stationery while simultaneously trying to talk Yoongi into coming, you assume, to help Joon move. You don't know who any of these people are, but they're already proving to be the most entertaining bunch that's ever graced these walls.

The door to your apartment flies open, making both you and Boyfriend Material whip your head around.

"Christ, Jin, you couldn't hold the fucking door open for us?" Someone grunts. Beauty Von Softness - or, Jin, as you should probably refer to him - winces and strides over to do just that as two more guys stagger in with a couch suspended between them. The second they're in the door they drop it to the ground and flop onto it, panting and sweaty.

"Listen, I was busy trying to get our resident hermit out of his cave to help us carry some of this shit," Jin spits back. "And you all know what it's like getting him out and about."

"Did you tell him that there's pizza after we're done? Because I've found that food is the best motivator for him," the guy closest to the door says. His hair is soft-looking and long and you wish you could pet it.

The other guy, the one who cursed Jin out and has the softest pink hair you've ever seen, laughs. "Jeongguk, you always think the best motivator is food."

"Well, yeah, because it is."

"For you, maybe. Other people require actual rewards."

"But food is a reward," Jeongguk mutters into the fabric of the couch. Jin tsks and smacks As Yet Unnamed on the back of the head.

"You're lucky I hung up on him when you bombarded your way into this place, or he'd definitely not come help us," Jin says as he leans against the back of the couch.

Unnamed starts to say something else but is cut off by someone running straight into the end of the couch. They all shoot to their feet, spouting apologies as the three of them maneuver the couch into the apartment properly.

"Sorry, sorry, Jimin distracted us from properly finishing our job," Jeongguk says quickly. He looks to the stranger with a small apologetic smile, and you're pretty sure if it were humanly possible, there would be actual literal stars in his eyes.

"Oh, it's okay, Jeonggukkie. I should've been looking where I was going." New Challenger walks straight towards where you stand, and you realize seconds before it's too late that he is not aware there is a massive stack of boxes in his path. Instinctively, you shove them to the side with your foot. Tall And Oblivious sets his boxes down without any trouble, none the wiser about any of it, and the three near the couch are too busy bickering in hushed whispers to have noticed you doing anything.

The newcomer straightens and turns to look at them all with a bright smile, and you think you might actually see The Light in the way his cheeks dimple. If you thought the other three were beautiful - which they are, no doubt about that, you're seriously wondering why the hell a bunch of supermodels are moving stuff into your apartment - then this guy is easily an Actual Fucking God or something. His brown hair is soft and shiny, his smile is warmer than the sun, and you're fairly positive that for the first time since you died, you feel goosebumps along your arms.

"Seriously, Namjoon, we should've realized you'd be up soon. You stay, start unpacking while we go get the rest of the furniture." Jimin shoves Jeongguk out the door while he's speaking, ignoring the taller's complaints, and Jin just shakes his head at the sight.

"Yoongi'll be here soon, he's finishing up another draft of his thesis. Hobi and Tae are stopping to get the pizzas and then they'll be here, too." Jin's voice is calmer than it was Jimin and Jeongguk, more soothing, and it makes you curious. Not only because of the tone change, but because you know Hobi, he owns the building and is the one who rented you the apartment when you first moved in. One of your favorite things to do is scare him when he comes by to make sure everything’s ready for a viewing.

"What? No, I said I was gonna pay for pizzas!" Namjoon looks distinctly more upset about this than someone should over not having to pay for pizza, at least in your mind, and it only makes you more curious.

"Yeah, but you also just moved out of your old apartment because it was too expensive, and had like an hour to load everything into a truck, so you're gonna let their trust fund asses pay for pizzas. We're seven adult men, and Guk could eat an entire horse and still be hungry. I'm not letting you pay for that."

Silence hangs in the apartment for a while before Namjoon gives a soft thanks to Jin. They share a smile before Jin makes his way back out. You follow each step, shadowing him all the way to the door before you're stopped. You lean your entire body forward, struggling against the invisible barrier keeping you inside, and the force of it nearly slams you back into the wall when you sag in defeat.

You aren't sure why you try anymore, but you know yourself well enough to admit that you're not going to stop until you can at least make it to the hallway.

Whatever you expected Namjoon to be like as a roommate, however unknowing he is about the situation, you don't think you could've guessed what he's actually like.

Out of the seven boys you saw the day he moved in, he's the only one living there. Not a complete surprise, considering it's a studio apartment, but you remember when there were nine people living there at one point, and there was barely room for anyone to breathe even if it had been pretty consistently amusing. Still, for one person, he's got a ton of stuff, and it's a shock it all fits. His bed is massive and comfortable and the best place to lay during the day because it's shoved between the brick half-wall and the large windows that take up one wall. The area's supposed to be for a dining table, you think, but you'd had your bed there, too, and the familiarity is nice.

His couch is small and old but manages to fit five of them, and it's a pleasantly jarring difference from the coffee table that looks like - and might actually be - an old steamer trunk. The exposed brick wall you love holds his mounted TV, a feat that took Jeongguk and Yoongi a solid hour and a half because they kept stripping the screws, and it's got one of those 8-cubicle bookshelf things under it that stores a frankly obnoxious amount of books.

He's got mugs for days, an adorable if odd collection of figurines and mini-statues scattered around the apartment, a strange obsession with some reclaimed wood shelf he's got hanging above his bed, but the absolute highlight of it all is The Wall.

It took them three hours to get it installed and set up the way he wanted, between the placements and the thick wooden shelf they’re perched on with supports and a small safety bar along the edge to keep them from falling off, but along the entire windowed wall and partway after it turns the corner runs a long shelf absolutely covered in plants. There are some elsewhere, like the one he keeps hanging from the bathroom ceiling and the couple in the kitchen, but most are on The Wall. Each one is in its own special pot, each a unique color with a name painted carefully along it, and most of them look half-dead. They're all distinct and unique from each other and they all surely have different needs and ideal conditions, but you'd never guess because Namjoon is so wholly committed to them all. He takes time every day to water them and prune them if he needs to, he checks on them constantly. He even reinforced the safety bar for the ones that sit beside his bed, so there was less chance he'd accidentally knock them around while sleeping.

It's fascinating, watching him tend to them. He's so careful and gentle, with absolute precision in every moment. He cares for his plants the way some people would care for a pet or a child. He doesn’t believe any of them are past caring for, slowly nurses all of them back to health and frequently turns up with more he’s saved from some department store. The most endearing thing, though, you decide as you sit curled among the haphazard blankets of his bed and watch, is the talking. It's every day, for as long as it takes him to care for the plants, and it's the cutest thing in the world. He's talking to some succulent as you just stare at him, filling the comfortable silence of the apartment with his soft, soothing voice, and you wish he could hear you when you talk back to him.

"I know they mean well, but at some point, I've just gotta live my own life, y'know? I can't study something just because everyone expects me to, and I can't pursue some dream just because people think I'd be good at it. I've gotta do what's right for me, don't I?" His tone is positive and bright, a contrast to the gloomy sky that casts shadows across the apartment.

You float over, hovering beside him to look at the plant he's lovingly stroking with his thumb. It's in a pretty periwinkle pot, with the name 'Mang' painted in careful but shaky black handwriting. It's not your favorite - that's the one in the bathroom that hangs over its light blue bowl, a quickly scrawled 'Koya' on the bottom - but it seems to be one of Namjoon's personal favorites based on how often he talks to it specifically.

"I think it's nice you do things for yourself," You tell him. He doesn't react, unable to hear you, but it's nice to hear your own voice after so long. You slide one of the plants - Chim, in a small yellow bowl - to the side and away from his elbow, and he doesn't notice. "You know yourself better than they do. You should trust yourself."

He keeps mumbling to Mang, something about everyone following their own dreams and doing what they need over what people want or expect, when you lay your hand over his.

Thunder cracks through the sky and the first raindrops hits the window as your non-existent skin hits his, and it's the most real thing you've felt in a long time. It's as if the scent of ozone and electricity is in the apartment itself, crackling in your hair and filling your nose with the overpowering scent of the sweet summer rain. You can almost feel the water hit your skin, the way the wind whips at your hair, and it's so intoxicating that you almost miss the sharp inhale from the man beside you.

He's not looking at his plant when you look up, but instead at the window in front of the two of you. You glance at it, and for a fraction of a second, you can see yourself in the reflection. The glimpse has you jerking towards it before you can stop yourself, desperate to know if something has changed. You haven't seen your reflection since you died, not in the mirror or the window or the toaster, and maybe, just maybe, it means something's changed.

Your hand stops against the glass of the window as you reach forward. You can't feel the cool of it under your palm, but it's no less a barrier for you as it would be for Namjoon. Something in you breaks as you watch the raindrops race each other to the ground.

"Ah, I forgot the forecast called for rain today," he mutters, eyes focused on the lightning that streaks by. He doesn't react when your fist slams against the glass, nor when you let out the scream that's been building in you for however long it's been since you died. You're so close, not even a hair's breadth from feeling something new yet familiar for the first time in so long, and you can't. You're still stuck in these four walls, unable to even reach the air outside.

You just want to feel the rain again.

You move dejectedly away from the window, ignoring the way Namjoon shivers as you pass. The temperature in the apartment has dropped considerably, you think, between the storm and your own mood. You can't tell, really. You haven't felt warm or cold or hungry or anything since you died that isn't the oppressive loneliness of life after death.

A dry sob tears itself from your throat and you hurry to hide in the bathroom as Namjoon turns to look around him. He mumbles something you can't hear and after a few minutes, he returns to tending to his plants, leaving you to your tear-less cries in peace.

It becomes quickly apparent to you that Namjoon should really have a roommate, if only to save him from himself. It takes a few weeks for you to realize this, but luckily he seems to narrate his life as he goes through it - which is overwhelmingly adorable to you, and you refuse to acknowledge that - and that means that you hear it every time he goes, "Ah, Namjoon, be more careful next time," or "Oh, shoot, that's not, fuck, I gotta buy more eggs now." It's painful to watch, even for you, and at some point, you just couldn't take it anymore. No one else is around to help, but someone needs to you, and clearly the universe means for you to be that someone.

It's a full-time job, protecting him from himself. You've saved countless mugs, pushing them farther away from the edges of counters and tables, and been just in time to shove bowls or vases an inch over so that his elbows glide harmlessly past them. It's almost exhausting, if you could get tired you would, but it's worth it, you think, as you catch the bookshelf under the TV as it tilts. You slide it gently to the floor, glad that Namjoon is distracted by how close he came to losing a toe to notice.

Because that's the other thing about this tree of a man: he's the most oblivious person you've ever fucking seen. It doesn't matter what it is you do, whether it's bouncing his spray bottle of water so it doesn't break on the hard floor or shake the counters so that the knife he's about to drop on his fucking hand falls the other way, he doesn't see a single fucking thing. You'd think he was blind if he wasn't so attentive to the way his plants grow. He notices nothing and you're glad for it because you really aren't sure what he would do if he knew you were going around haunting him just to keep him alive. You just want to help, want to keep the soft smile he wears more often around for as long as possible.

You don't dare to look into why you want that, too afraid of what you might find there.

It's also just fun to watch him and his friends, relaxed and unreserved. You never had many friends when you were alive, just a small handful that you really truly loved and whom you miss every day. Watching these seven boys fills you with nostalgia and a strange sense of joy because they really are some of the funniest people you've ever been around.

Like now, with four of them sprawled on the couch while Jeongguk and Hoseok make themselves comfortable leaning against the bookshelf under the TV - which has been bolted to the wall since it almost broke Namjoon's foot - and Namjoon watches them all from his bed since it's the only other place to sit. There are beer bottles scattered around and decorating the half-wall that separates the bed from the room proper, everyone is varying levels of drunk, and you're curled up close to Namjoon, leaning against the wall so you can stop him from knocking over any of the bottles nearby because you know him too well at this point.

"I'm just saying, I don't understand why they made him so over-powered in the new movies, because he's supposed to be some kid from Brooklyn! Giving him the high-tech suit essentially strips him of the friendly neighborhood persona that he's always relied on!" Jeongguk has been ranting for a while about the newest release in the Spiderman franchise - apparently, he's part of the actual Avengers now, which is a shock to you since the last thing you heard before you died was that the franchise was canceled until further notice or something.

"And I'm saying that if they didn't give him the suit then it would've made no sense how he was able to do those things," Yoongi responds. You're pretty sure he's just arguing to be contrary at this point, because you remember him telling Namjoon the other day that he prefers DC over Marvel.

"Garfield's Spiderman could do those things," you mutter, "And he didn't have a fancy suit."

"Okay, then how do you explain Andrew Garfield's version being able to do that stuff? He doesn't need the suit, he never has!" You preen at the way Jeongguk echoes your thoughts. "I'm telling you, I don't care how good the relationship with Holland's Spidey and Iron Man is, by giving him the tech and the advancements they did, they've undermined everything that Spiderman is supposed to be about."

"Jeongguk come off it, everyone knows Garfield's Spidey was just all bad writing. I mean, what kind of person can do all that stuff, realistically? He's the one that really needed the Stark suit." Taehyung's voice is slurred and quiet, definitely as drunk as the rest of them. 

"What-! No! I could do half of that without being bitten by a weird science spider!" Jin scoffs at Jeongguk's words. 

"Yeah, sure, Guk. The same way you can do that bottlecap challenge."

"Bottle cap challenge, and yeah, I could!" The youngest stands and you don't bother to hide your grimace. 

"This isn't going to end well, is it?" You ask. No one acknowledges you, too busy finding something Jeongguk can kick the cap off of as the boy readies himself. He's steady on his feet but his face is red and he can't seem to stop giggling. 

"If I do this, you gotta call me SpiderGuk from now on, okay?" He says. No one agrees, but it doesn't stop him from laughing again and doing a couple of roundhouse kicks to warm up. 

"Okay, okay, Joonie doesn't have any regular water bottles, but we found a screw-top beer in the fridge so ya gotta use that," Jimin says as he stumbles over with said bottle. Jeongguk just nods, an adorable focused expression on his face. Jimin holds the bottle in the air, and you can already tell his grip isn't tight enough to keep the bottle still when Jeongguk kicks it. 

The next ten seconds happen in slow-motion. Jeongguk's leg flies out to kick but his drunken body isn't able to handle the sudden shift in balance, and he slips. His foot hits the bottle slightly too low, and it goes flying out of Jimin's weak grip into the air. Everyone in the room watches as it hurtles straight towards Namjoon's face, and you react out of habit and instinct, catching it in one hand before you even realize you've moved. 

Everyone freezes, staring at where the bottle hovers in front of Namjoon's face. You're the only one able to see your fingers wrapped around it. A shock jolts through you at the realization of what you've done and you drop the bottle as if it burned you. Fuck, they were all going to freak, then Namjoon would move out and you'd be stuck alone once more. You should've just shoved him out of the way, what were you thinking, you're so fucking stupid-

"Dude," Hoseok mutters from where he's perched on the arm of the couch. "Holy shit, Joon, you're fucking telepathic." 

Yoongi rolls his eyes and smacks his chest. "Telekinetic, you fucking-"

"Holy shit, you've got fucking superpowers!" Jeongguk squeaks. "Do it again!"

Namjoon isn't even able to get a word out before there's a book flying at his face, and you panic. You can't catch it, too rushed, but you manage to deflect it so it hits the bed with a soft thump instead of braining Namjoon straight in the nose. 

"Woah, you really do have superpowers," Jimin whispers. He lobs a bottlecap at Namjoon, and you catch it in your palm before letting it drop onto the half-wall. 

"I don't have...what the fuck you guys," Namjoon insists. His eyes are as wide as saucers behind the thick glasses he has on. He looks freaked out and you want nothing more than to hug him. Your hand reaches out of its own accord, halfway closing the distance to stroke his hair before you catch yourself. 

"Hey, levitate your plants," Jin demands. Namjoon looks panicked as he glances at the wall of plants, and you heave a sigh. With any luck, they're so drunk that they'll remember this as a strange fever dream, but you can't just let them keep throwing things at him. You crawl over to the wall, avoiding Namjoon as you do, and grasp one of the plants tight. It's a white pot with red polka dots, a simple RJ on the side, and it's fucking heavy. You only get it a few inches off the shelf before you're forced to put it down.

"Oh my god, catch this!" Taehyung throws a coffee mug straight at Namjoon's head and you panic again. You catch it, and you've decided you're fucking sick of them throwing things at him, so you lob it back and dart across the room to bounce it safely to the counter before it can break. 

Everyone in the room stares at the mug and then looks back at Namjoon, who hasn't moved from his spot on the bed. 

"Oh my god, you're a superhero," Jeongguk whispers, awe in his eyes. 

"That's fucked up," Yoongi mutters, wincing when Hoseok elbows him. 

"Maybe we should get some sleep," Namjoon says quietly. The others look like they want to disagree with him, and you have no doubt they want to explore the newfound 'abilities' of their friend, but they still start gathering trash together before they head out. 

Namjoon lays awake for a long time that night, glasses folded and sitting atop the half-wall beside you. He's oblivious to the way you watch him, too lost in thought to feel the weight of your stare or the chill in the air. 

"I don't understand," He says after a while. "I really don't, but there's got to be a reason for it." He doesn't elaborate, merely turns over and evens his breathing out until he starts snoring, but you watch him for most of the night. He's fascinating, this human, and you wonder what makes him so different from the others you've met. 

He apparently decides to experiment. You've known Namjoon is intelligent since he first moved in and you saw his collectible encyclopedias, but you hadn't realized just what it would be like in actuality. 

It starts simple. He'll toss something in the air and let it clatter to the ground. Nothing big, just little things like pencils or bottlecaps, and not far, just enough that his eyes narrow as he apparently tries to use his telekinetic abilities to manipulate them. 

It slowly graduates from there. Next comes the way he stares at something across the room, hyper-focused on whatever it is until you notice and move it around for him. It's a guessing game, sometimes, trying to figure out just what he wants to move or how he wants to move it, but each time you're successful, he smiles so brightly, dimples on full display. Who wouldn't want to make him smile like that?

It's hit or miss, sometimes. You're only so strong, and while you've had a lot of practice, you still get tired. You lifted his bookshelf almost a full inch before blacking out. Next thing you knew, a couple of days had passed and Namjoon was staring at a coffee mug. That was a significantly less fun day; between losing time and having to catch coffee mug after coffee mug, you were exhausted and a little shaken. 

So when he stops staring at things for extended periods of time, when he starts to go back to reading and scrolling the internet and bingeing all the completed shows that Netflix and Amazon had to offer, you're grateful for it. He still occasionally tests it out; he's always subtle about it, choosing to stare quietly until you notice and make whatever it is float around for a minute. Once you wandered around looking for him - a feat in a studio apartment - and found him just sitting on the bathroom floor, staring at a shampoo bottle.

You'd like to say that you don't move things entirely because he wants you to. It's a good test of your abilities and how far you can push yourself until it becomes too much, and it's always nice to have actual evidence that you still exist - in some form, at least - in the world. The validation that comes from seeing him smile every time you lift a pencil or slide a coffee mug to the side, it's not for any reason but the satisfaction of knowing that you have some kind of existence. Some kind of impact on the world, even if you can't be seen and can't leave the apartment.

It's part of why you start moving things around yourself more often; you're hoping he just blames it on his overactive 'abilities' if he notices because you really aren't sure what he would think otherwise. But you also know for a fact that just seeing that you have some kind of sway over the world still - over the things inside this tiny apartment - makes you feel just that bit better about being dead.

Which is why it's such a fucking shock when the door to the apartment slams open one evening just for Namjoon to slam it closed again and announce into the air, "So I know you're haunting me, please don't try to deny it, I only want to talk to you."

You freeze where you are, halfway through the closet door from where you were reorganizing his clothes because they made no sense and you were bored. He's looking around the apartment, almost desperate in the way he's searching, and you can't bring yourself to move. It's obvious he can't see you, and you aren't even sure if he's being serious, but the way he huffs and clenches his jaw before moving into the kitchen tells you that he probably is.

You follow him, curious, and watch as he pulls a small package out of his bag and starts ripping it open. You float the remains of what looks like gift wrap over to the trashcan, because you know Namjoon will forget, before going back to watching him. He's only a little careful as he cracks something in his hands and then slaps it onto the fridge, and you peek around him to see that it's some kind of words or something. There’s a wide variety, with no clear theme to them, as well as at least one of each letter of the alphabet. It's then you remember the throwaway comment Yoongi made during that night - "You need, like, poetry stuff, like those magnets that go on the fridge that people write that deep shit with, y'know? I'm gonna buy you one," - and realize that he'd followed through on his vow. 

"Alright," Namjoon says, leaning against his kitchen counter and staring at the magnets. "First and foremost, am I really being haunted or is this some kind of hallucination?" His gaze never falters, doesn’t ever drift from the magnetic words now spread across his fridge doors. It takes several minutes to build up the energy and the courage to move closer to the fridge.

You don't look at him as you move the words around, but you can hear the sharp intake of breath. That's likely all the confirmation that he needs, but still you clear a spot and let the words ' I am here ' sit where he can see them clearly. You wrinkle your nose, disliking how formal it sounds, but you have to make do, you suppose.

"Okay," Namjoon breathes. "Okay, prove it. My brain could work this into a hallucination. How do I know you're really a ghost?"

"Seriously?" You huff. "What the fuck am I supposed to do that wouldn't work into a hallucination, dude?"

He gets fidgety in the few minutes that you spend wondering how the fuck you're going to prove that you're a real actual ghost to someone who clearly doesn't believe in them. His foot taps at the floor and he scratches at his hand, which only makes you want to wrap your own hands around his until he stops, much like your best friend used to lay her legs across your lap to get you to stop shaking your knee.

The realization comes in a flash, and you're moving letters around before you can stop yourself.

Face book, Park Jihyo, best friend.

Namjoon stares at it for a long while before he brings his phone out of his pocket and begins to tap at the screen. You don't get too close; you've got a history with shorting out electronics, and you aren't sure you want to know what your best friend is up to without you there with her.

"Okay," Namjoon says. "Okay, I've never seen her before, so I don't think my brain could work her into a hallucination. Okay. Alright. I'm being haunted. This is fine."

"Calm down, I'm haunting the apartment, not you." He doesn't react to your words, as usual, but it still makes you feel the slightest bit better. He stares at his phone for a little longer, and the curiosity burns under your skin, but you resist. You know from experience that if you try to get too close, his phone will stop working. Just like TV, the stereo, the laptops, everything. You've had enough experience with that kind of thing to know what will happen.

"Okay, Casper," Namjoon huffs out after several minutes of waiting. He looks up and his eyes dart around the apartment, and you wonder if he's just nervous or if he's trying to spot you. "Where are you right now? Can you make yourself visible? I mean, I know you're a ghost, but it feels rude not talking to you to your face."

You huff a laugh but reach for a coffee cup. You know you can't just make yourself visible at will; you've only done it a couple of times, to your knowledge, and none of them have been on purpose. It's even more difficult to make yourself corporeal and physical, harder than just manipulating objects, but you did it once. Back when the single mom still lived here, when her toddler was falling and you had no way to cushion the fall except with your own body; you still aren't sure how it happened, but you remember being able to feel the floor against your back and the warmth of the baby on top of you for a split second before you were gone again. You won't forget that any time soon.

You float the mug towards where you stand, holding it in front of your face long enough that when you pull it away, Namjoon's eyes don't follow it. It's a strange feeling; you know he can't see you, can tell by the way his brow furrows and his eyes slide around the space, but it feels like he's looking straight at you. It feels like you're being seen for the first time since you died.

"So, where are you from, Casper?" His tone is forcibly conversational, as if he's trying his best to keep himself calm. You roll your eyes and move the magnets to show ' here ' and he nods. "You're not gonna try to possess me, or kill me, or run me off, are you? No offense or anything. I figure you would've already at this point, but...cover my bases."

No. Am nice. I think.

"You think? You don't know if you're a nice ghost?"

Does anyone truly know if they are nice? You frown, trying to figure out how to say what you want to say with the limited words available. I can only try. It's still not perfect; there's more that you want to say, more that you want to be heard, but this has to do for now.

"I can accept that. Alright. Just talking to a ghost in my kitchen. Okay. This is totally normal." He rubs a hand over his face, and you're a little impressed. Everyone else that's lived here has freaked when presented with the knowledge that you're a ghost. Namjoon looks very much like his world is exploding, but he doesn't have the same fear and apprehension in his eyes. He's certainly coping better than the single mom.

"Are you the only ghost? Here, I mean, are you the only ghost here?" He breathes a sigh of relief at your 'yes.’ "Can you see other ghosts? Do you know any other ghosts?" The 'don't know, no' that you move around on your fridge seems to unsettle him a little, but there's a curiosity burning behind it that makes your skin tingle.

Can't leave, is what you say next, cutting off whatever question he was about to ask.

"You can't leave at all? The building, or the apartment?"

The second.

"Wow. You're really stuck here?" He looks around the apartment as if seeing it for the first time and sucks in a breath. "What do you do all day?"

Watch. He cocks a brow. You are... You hesitate. The word you need isn't there, everything that comes to you is too poetic or corny for you to actually say, but the weight of his eyes is heavy on your hands. Fun is what you settle on, but it's not right either. 'Interesting' isn't there, nor is 'fascinating' or 'lovely,' and you don't want to scare him off by telling him that part of the reason you watch him so much is that he's so full of life that you feel less dead when he's around.

He laughs at your words though and shakes his head ever so slightly. "Alright, well, I'm gonna shower, so just, don't...watch that?" You squawk at the insinuation that you would, quickly rearranging the letters to spell ' privacy' and making a large angry face out of the rest of the words. He's already turned away, though, and it makes you angrier.

You don't want him thinking that you would peep at him. You already make sure that you're facing the windows when he finishes showering, you've been determined to not be creepy since the day he moved in, and to have him think otherwise is like a slap in the face. You slam the mug against the counter and he startles, turning to gape at it. You carry it to where your words and make-do emoji sit waiting for him to notice them.

"Okay," He says quickly. "Okay, privacy, yeah, got it. You respect my privacy. Appreciated."

"How fucking rude," You mutter as you set the mug back down. You don't adjust the magnets as he disappears into the bathroom. You want him to see them, want him to be reminded of the fact that being dead doesn't mean you don't have basic decency.

You can't get him to shut up now that he knows you're there. He still forgets sometimes, mostly when he's talking to his plants or narrating the way he carefully constructs some origami creation, but more often than not, he's talking to thin air. He spends a lot of time perched on his counter, watching you move magnets around his fridge through the thick lenses of his glasses before he spouts off some other question for you to answer. 

He covers the basics first: how old you were when you died, when your birthday is, your favorite color, what you were studying in school, and of course your name, though he insists on calling you Casper. You aren't sure why but you also don't get a chance to question it, because he hits you with more and more questions every day. Sometimes you don't answer because you can't, too limited by the poetry magnets to be able to really converse; sometimes you just don't have the energy to move the magnets around, but those are days are rare. The only times you use the tired magnet are when you find your limbs too heavy to move, weighed down with the memories of what it meant to be alive. 

Those are the bad days, but his questions make them just a little easier.

"How do you move around? Do you just float everywhere?" Walking, but different. No weight. Soft.

"How are you able to manipulate things in my world? Are they different from things in your world?" Focus. Takes time. Same.

"Do you sleep at all? Do ghosts dream?" No sleep. Just existing.

"You don't eat, do you? Should I be stocking up on snacks for you?" No. Save your sustenance. "What was the last thing you ate?" Don't remember. "Huh. I hope it was something good." Same.

"Were you ever in a relationship?" Once. A long time before. "Do you miss them?" Not anymore.

"What did you do while you were alive?" School. "Oh, really? Do you remember what you studied?" Boring. Important then, but it made me forget to live. Not important now. Namjoon goes quiet for a long moment after this one, staring out the window at something you can't see. He nods but doesn't ask any more questions, and he reads for the rest of the night.

It only takes a couple of weeks for both you and Namjoon to get tired of standing in his kitchen fucking around on the fridge. His legs get tired and he gets distracted by his thoughts, and you can barely keep up with the rapid-fire questions you get.

So Namjoon buys one of those cheap cookie sheets with the slightest lip at the edge and dumps the magnets on that. He leaves it on the coffee table, usually, there for you to pick up if he asks something but out of the way for when he stretches out to nap lazily in the afternoon sun.

You like the cookie sheet more than the fridge. He watches you as you work out your responses, can see the way you start to move one word before moving another instead; it makes it feel more like a conversation.

It becomes a favorite pass-time of Namjoon's, curling on the couch and putting some sort of music on in the background and just talking to you. A lot of nights his questions stop with a lingering silence from one or both of you; yours because you don't have the ability to share the words running rampant through your mind, and his for reasons still unknown to you. Still, you've missed it. You've missed talking to someone, being heard when you speak, having someone ask how you are at the end of the day.

It's the little things.

"You said you can't leave, right, Casper?" Namjoon's curled up on his couch, tucked into the arm with a blanket thrown over his lap, a mug of something warm in his hands to combat the chill of the season, and some R&B track playing lightly from his phone. You knock your fist against the cookie once - a sign for yes that you'd both agreed on. "So, are you just always here then? You don't go anywhere else?"

"Fuck, how do I explain this?" You mutter. You stare at the magnets in front of you for a long time before rearranging them. Not always. Tired sometimes, disappear.

"Disappear?" He reads. "What do you mean? You just, what, stop existing?"

Don't know, you respond. Only happens when tired. When used too much of me. He hums an acknowledgment, eyes focused on where the cookie sheet sits on the couch between you. You? What entertains you?

"Everything," he answers without hesitation. "I'm trying to work through my stack of books I want to read and finish all the shows I'm interested in, but the guys would have my head if I didn't get out and do things like a normal person."

That's where you leave to?

"Yeah." He sets his mug - now empty - on the coffee table and settles into the blankets. He looks cozy and soft and you would wrap yourself up with him if you could. "I take a lot of walks, and bike rides. I like to see the river, the trees, all the animals that live there. The beach is always fun, I get to see all the crabs and whatnot that wander in and out of the ocean."

"I wish I could go with you," you whisper.

Fun is what you spell on your sheet.

"I guess," he mutters. "It's enjoyable, at least. I'll bring you some souvenirs, or pictures next time."

You let the sheet settle on the couch as he turns the TV on, setting up a drama that he's on recently. He doesn't say anything else for a few hours, waits until the sound of rain hits the windows and stifles the apartment in an otherworldly haze.

"How long have you been dead?" His voice lingers in the air. You've been expecting these questions, and you're honestly impressed he's held them back for as long as he has. That angsty teen hadn't hesitated a single second to start asking you questions.

A while. Years. I think .

"Do you ever get tired of being a ghost?" There's something in his voice that you can't place, something that tells you this is more than just his usual morbid curiosity. Every part of your soul - whatever's left of it, anyway - is screaming at you to lie to him, to tell him that no, being a ghost is great. You've never wished he could hear you more than this moment, when all you want to is wrap your arms around him and ask him why he looks so much older than he is.

Sometimes, you tell him. It is lonely here, and boring. Fun to be unseen, but unable to do much more.

He nods like that makes all the sense in the world to him, and he brings the blanket up around his shoulders. "Do you ever miss your friends, or your family?"

Would you not? He huffs out an unamused chuckle, nodding again.

"Yeah," He says softly. "Yeah, I would. Do you want me to help you check on them? See what they're up to?" The single knock that echoes in the room is deafening to you, filled with a hope that you haven't felt in years. You've never let yourself think about them for long; if you did, you don't think you'd be able to come back from whatever that place is that you disappear to when things become Too Much.

Namjoon pulls his phone closer and starts fiddling with it. He doesn't hesitate when he types in your name, and you feel an emotional blush fill you when you see that he doesn't even have to finish typing for your profile to pop up. You glance at him, the way his brows are furrowed behind his glasses and his tongue pokes into his cheek just a little while he concentrates, and you wonder how many times he's looked at the pictures of you when you were alive. How many times has he scrolled through, reading the words people shared after you were gone, scrolling through the grief and loss to get to the words you posted yourself, the little snippets of your daily life that you would give anything to be able to relive?

"Do I still look like that?" You wonder aloud. As expected, he doesn't react, just continues tapping at his phone.

You two spend the rest of the night like that, each curled at opposite ends of the couch while Namjoon slowly looks up your friends and family and updates you on each of them. Jihyo got married, to someone she'd gone on a date with a few weeks before you passed, and she's apparently trying to start having kids; Your mother and father aren't very active, but they never were. They both share pictures of you when you were a baby each year on your birthday, and more recent photos of you on the anniversary. They have a dog now. It's cute. You wonder if it helps them cope with the loss.

Your other friends are doing well, too; most of them are still figuring out their lives, but it seems like all of them are settling in their skin and finding comfort in who they are. They're out there, navigating the world and doing things they enjoy, meeting new friends and making new memories.

You stand by the window for a long time, cookie sheet of magnetized words pressed against your chest as if you can feel the cool of the metal against your skin, and watch rain drip down the panes as you imagine what your life could have been.

You can always hear Namjoon before you see him. He whistles as he walks down the sidewalk, his small way of letting you know he's on his way back from wherever he's gone that day, and today isn't an exception. Relief sags through you and you move away from the windows, let your fingers trail against the ceramic of the newest succulent he'd bought, and head towards the kitchen. The kettle is turned on and heating a few moments later while you pull a mug down from your cabinet and set it carefully on the counter where Namjoon will see it.

It's a regular routine, for the two of you. He heads out, usually in the early morning after turning on some music or a show for you, and when he comes back, you make sure there's hot water for his tea or cocoa or whatever he feels like drinking that day. The sound of his whistling gets louder the closer he gets, a simple way to let you know he's safe and he's home. You glance through the cabinets and quickly make a note on the fridge that he needs to buy more of his special tea blend soon.

The lock turns and you smile, waiting patiently as Namjoon saunters into the apartment. He sets something down on the kitchen counter just as the kettle starts to scream, and you wait while he pours the water and gets it ready.

"The cherry blossoms bloomed," He says. You grin. "They look great. I got some really nice pictures while I was there, I'll show you tonight. I was thinking we could try to finish Voltron tonight if you want. We'll have to go back an episode though, I think I fell asleep during the last one." You knock once against the counter beside you, and he turns with a wide grin to glance at the spot where you stand.

It's ridiculous for your heart to speed up in your chest, for the hair on the back of your neck to rise, for breath to catch in your throat; you don't have a heartbeat, you don't have breath, you're a shadow of the person you used to be, and yet...

And yet, seeing his dimpled smile focused so naturally on where you are, as if it's just second-nature, is like a breath of fresh air after years underwater. It smells like flowers, like dirt and earth and a new beginning. It feels like you're alive again, and you don't want it to end, but too soon he's turning away to finish steeping the tea. Something lingers in the air for a moment after but it's gone too soon for you to place it.

You both settle on the couch, Namjoon tucking whatever he brought home with him under his arm, between his body and the arm of his ratty old couch. Your cookie sheet is in its place on the coffee table, unneeded at the moment. You can't help the glare that you give it; the things you would give to be able to just speak and be heard are endless.

It rattles a little and you look away.

Namjoon is quiet as the show plays. He doesn't react when you move to turn the oven on, but he does laugh quietly and thank you for it when he goes to put his dinner in. He eats and you don't bother him, though the way he keeps his little package hidden away makes curiosity burn through you. Eventually, once he's eaten and washed his dishes and laughed at the way you rubbed them dry before setting them carefully in their places, he settles back into his blankets and turns on the music he loves so much.

He's got a book balanced in his hands and your cookie sheet rests on the coffee table, and you both just sit like that for a long while, enjoying existing.

"You remember your life, right Casper?" You thump lazily against the wall in response, eyes drawn from where you watch the gloomy sky slowly get lighter with the dawn. He isn't looking at his book anymore; he probably hasn't been for a while, based on the way the pages have migrated around his thumb, too busy staring at the wall across from him. "Do you remember your death?"

You hesitate. You've tiptoed around the subject before. He's always been too afraid to ask directly, and it's too painful for you to offer it freely. You thump against the wall once more, and he nods like he already knew the answer.

"Are they very different?" His glasses are falling down his nose and your fingers itch to push them up. Instead, you reach for your cookie sheet. He makes a sound in the back of his throat when he sees it moving, reaching under him for his package. "I forgot, I got you this. Thought it might be easier."

He sets it down and you slide the contents out of the wrapping easily. Inside is a small dry-erase board, complete with markers and eraser, small things that should be easy for you to manipulate. You beam at him; he can't see it, but you think he might be able to feel it because he perks up and smiles a little.

"You don't have to answer," He adds. "I was just curious to know if being dead is really as different as everyone makes it out to be." You nod and thump once against the board before you uncap a marker and start writing.

It's a bizarre feeling, after so long. The muscles in your hand don't ache, no matter how much you write, and you can't feel the smooth surface of the board under your fingers or the weight of the marker in your palm, but it glides against it cleanly and leaves a thick black streak behind.

It takes you a minute to write everything out, get it worded how you want. Namjoon doesn't interrupt you, just watches the marker move against the board and smiles every time you go to erase something that isn't right. Eventually you show it to him.

There are similarities. I'm still me, I still enjoy TV and music and books. Things are duller now, like there's a filter over them, and it's harder to do things. Like when you're in water, or mud, like that. Resistance.

"Oh," Namjoon replies, "That's not what I expected. It makes sense though I guess." His hand moves against his chest, rubbing lightly as he looks over your words again. "Is there anything you actually like about being a ghost?"

"Well, being invisible is pretty cool," You say, writing the words as you do. "And it's actually really fun being able to walk through walls and stuff, even if I can't go anywhere outside of the apartment."

"I'm sorry you're stuck here," Namjoon says. You startle a little, looking up at him. You think he actually heard you for a split second, but his eyes are locked on where you're writing your words out on the dry erase board.

"Yeah, me too," You tell him. He stares at the board for a long moment, chewing nervously on his bottom lip as he does. "Ask what you want to ask, Joon," You write as you say it.

"How did you die?" He blurts. You sigh and he jumps a little, looking fully at where you sit. You're shocked; you know that sometimes little noises cross over, like when Jin heard you laughing, but it's still rare. You can't figure out how it works, but you want to.

You write for a long time, letters small so they fit on the board. The whole thing is crowded together, looks like one long string of letters instead of the story it is.

There's a lot of violence in this neighborhood. You probably know that by now. People are always getting robbed or mugged or something around here. Someone tried to break into my apartment by banging the door down. It didn't work, luckily, but I got really paranoid afterwards. One night I was cooking, and someone's door slammed really hard. I spilled the water I was boiling, slipped. Blacked out after a while, and when I came to, there were police everywhere. I guess I hit my head harder than I thought, because they carted me away, and I couldn’t follow.

"I'm sorry," Namjoon says softly. "You deserved more time."

Yeah. The universe had a different plan, I guess. He smiles at that, and it settles the anxiety thrumming under your skin. Wouldn't have met you, so I guess that's a bonus. He rolls his eyes at you but he laughs softly, so you consider it a win. You doodle on the board then, simple little designs that don't mean anything beyond being able to see your effect on the world.

Namjoon sucks in a breath beside you and you look up at him. He's always been good about looking towards where you are, doing his best to make eye contact with someone he can't see, but he still always tends to look through you.

Not this time.

This time, electricity sings through the air as your eyes meet his. You don't know how, but you know he can see you. His eyes roam over you, taking in the crumpled sweater you were wearing with the stain you like to think is pasta sauce on the arm, the hair you can't ever really tame, the way you sit cross-legged on his old thread-bare couch with a dry erase board in your hands.

Neither of you moves. He looks torn between fear and amazement, every emotion in between flitting quickly over his features, and you're terrified that if you move, whatever spell that's been cast will fade. It had been so long since you talked to anyone when Namjoon slammed those magnets on the fridge, and the conversation has been a reprieve, but to be seen for the first time in years...

It's invigorating.

Watching Namjoon just look at you is something you won't ever forget, not for as long as you exist in the world. He looks at you like he's memorizing every detail, every hair and wrinkle and pore, and just knowing that he can see you fills you with something new.

"Namjoon...?" You call hesitantly. His eyes fall on your lips.

"Again," He says. Your brows must furrow, maybe you frown, you don't know because it's been so long since you've needed to pay attention to your facial expressions, but he notices your confusion. "Will you say something again?"

Breath you don't have catches in your throat, wraps itself around a heart that doesn't beat, but you smile a little. "I'm glad I met you."

Namjoon smiles. It's big and blinding and knocks everything out of you except for that emotion that's been sitting in your chest since the first time you watched him talk to his plants. You lean forward, and you can tell the exact moment you disappear, because his smile falls and his eyes unfocus. A whimper leaves your throat, but he doesn't react, and that may be the most painful thing that's ever happened to you.

"Can I feel you?" His voice is hushed but the words reverberate in your head. His eyes dart around, looking for any glimpse of you, and your hand trembles as you reach out.

Goosebumps raise on his cheek where your hand touches him and his breath stops for a moment, but he smiles again and leans into the chill. You bring your other hand up to cup his other cheek, your dry erase board lying forgotten on the ground, and Namjoon's eyes flutter closed.

"I think I might love you," You say quietly just before you press your lips to his. He doesn't react to your words, but he lets out a soft sigh at your kiss. Thunder cracks through the apartment, a torrent of rain unleashed on the windows, but you don't move.

The two of you sit like that for hours, until he starts shivering and his nose turns red, like it does when he forgets his scarf on the cold days, and his breath puffs in the air. When you finally pull away from him, he smiles, and the blush on his cheeks has nothing to do with the cold air that makes up your form.

"Yeah," He says softly, voice nearly drowned out by the storm raging outside. "Yeah, I can feel you."

If you expected things to change much after that, you were wrong. At least a little. Namjoon still disappears to go on his walks, you still start the kettle the second his whistles drift up to the apartment. He still asks you a million questions, but they're more normal now. Your favorite music, color, what you wished you'd done with your life, if you've been able to corporealize again recently, what you wanted to watch that night.

"Come on, Casper," Namjoon groans. "I promise you can do it." You huff and he smiles, clearly having heard it. You're tempted to just disappear somewhere, rattle some pipes in the bathroom or the kitchen so he thinks you're in there and leaves you alone, but he smiles at you again and you're weak for that dimple.

You grip the watering can again, doing your best to lift it and manipulate it the way you need to. It's heavy, and something about the metal makes your skin itch, but the more you struggle the more you're able to pour the slightest bit of water where RJ - a giant plant that you don't even know the name of - sits in the corner of the room across from Namjoon's bed. It's the twentieth-something time you've tried this today, and you're ten seconds from just giving up completely, but you can tell this is important to Namjoon.

He's been talking all week, between the late nights where you lay over his blanket-wrapped form and the mornings where he ducks out with a soft goodbye. He's told you everything about his plants that you think he possibly could, teaching you about them and showing you how to care for them. It's interesting, you won't lie, and it's always fun to see him light up when you recall something he's told you, but you're exhausted and every part of you is shaky, and you're more than a little worried of what might happen if you push too far again.

Still, Joon hasn't looked great lately, like he might be getting the flu, and you want to be able to help him with all the things he does in the house. You've already started doing the dishes and folding laundry, since those were the two things he was the absolute worst at, but you feel like you should be doing more.

"Good job, baby, I'm proud of you!" You grunt and let the watering can fall back to the ground with a loud thump that almost definitely has the downstairs neighbors cursing Namjoon's name. "See, and now we're done for the day! C'mon, we can put on Sens8 and cuddle."

He's on the couch before you can stop him, wrapping himself in blankets except for one lone hand that sticks out, expectant. You roll your eyes and sit beside him, close enough that if you had a body you would be cuddling instead of just sitting awkwardly beside him.

You know that this is just going to make your hand all pink and gross, right?

He just smiles when the board flips around to reveal itself and wiggles his fingers. "It's worth it," He says. "I'd rather be pink and gross than never get to hold your hand at all."

You can't even feel my hand, Joon, there's literally no point to this. He huffs and wraps his hand around the marker in your hand, shivering at the chill that runs through him when he does. He grins and gestures down to where the tips of his fingers are already turning red.

"Clearly I can feel it, Casper."

You're glad he can't see you, that you don't have a heart that beats or blood that runs, because if you did, your face would no doubt be red. You have no doubts that Namjoon would tease you about it.

He's quiet as you both watch the show; he makes the odd comment here or there, but his mood seems to have calmed some. When he first got back from whatever place he visited that day, he'd been anxious and jumpy and entirely too on edge.

"Hey, Casper?" He asks quietly. You slide a hand against his cheek to let him know you're there, and he leans into the chill again. "What do you think about me?"

You don't move for several seconds, hand still poised around his cheek.

"Like, your feelings. What are they? Will you tell me?" You knock once on the wall behind the couch. Your hand stays poised over your board for long enough that Namjoon starts to get a little restless. Words refuse to come to you. Every time you start to think you have a way to describe to him what he means to you, they disappear as quick as fog on a summer's afternoon. Frustrated, you let the board fall to the couch and scrawl a quick 'hold on' so he knows you aren't just ignoring him.

It's been weeks since you've seen what you're looking for, your cookie sheet with the word magnets having been basically forgotten in lieu of the more personal and convenient dry-erase board, but right now you know that if words won't come to you, you'll have to go to them.

You finally find it, shoved under several encyclopedias and magazines, and the noise you make is so triumphant that even Namjoon hears it. You curl back up beside him, careful to make sure the blanket is wrapped tight around him, and make sure he can see the words as you move them. It still takes a long time, constantly changing and rearranging and stacking to make sure it conveys the things you need it to convey.

You are like music. A symphony of summer days and peach skies with soft rain. You are a storm in the moonlight. I'm not lonely when I have you pouring around me. You make me feel alive again.

Namjoon is silent for a long time, and you wonder if you've gone too far. It's more poetic than you'd like, too frilly and fancy and emotional than you usually are, but they're the only words you have.

After too long, he exhales. It's heavy and deep and it feels like he's trying to expel more than just air from his body.

"You make me feel alive, too," is all he says, whispered into the softness of his blanket in a voice too small for his long limbs. He shivers, and you hear him choke down a cough, and then he disappears into the bathroom for a long time. When he comes back out, he doesn't say anything, just slides into the mass of blankets on his bed and lays his arm out across the mattress. You spread out across from him, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he looks through you and out the window where the rain is letting up.

"Looks like the rainy season is gonna last longer than everyone thought." You slide your hands around one of his large ones and just hold them like that. His eyes sink closed and something like relief stands on his face for a moment before it's gone, swept away by the peace of sleep.

You wonder what it is that he sees when he looks out the window. If it's the plain brick wall and windows of the building next door, or something more.

You aren't sure you want to know.

Namjoon's flu only seems to get worse. He leaves early in the mornings, as if he thinks you might not notice the way he coughs into his scarf just because the sun hasn't risen fully yet. He stays gone most of the days, and even when he apologizes quietly during the twilight when he slinks back in to the sound of the kettle screeching on the stove and his tea already waiting to be steeped, he still doesn't stop.

You've taken to playing blues while he's gone, mostly the old school stuff, digging out the vintage record player he has buried in the closet and setting it up on the coffee table. It’s the only technology you can use without shorting it out. You don’t know why, but it makes you grateful the record collection Namjoon keeps tucked away inside the coffee table that you’ve learned is in fact an actual steamer trunk that he salvaged and restored himself.

The music fills the apartment, distracts you from the oppressive weight of his absence. He knows you wait at the window for him, you told him that back when the two of you were first getting to know each other.

You're so fragile, you had told him. He had laughed at you, quiet and fond, and waited for you to explain further. You're so full of life and breath and possibility, and the world is so big and so dangerous. I'm scared you won't come back.

"Of course I'm going to come back," he told you. You didn't even need to tell him that you're afraid of what being alone might do to you, now that you're so used to his presence. You're being heard again, sometimes even seen, and you don't know if you can go back to the stagnant depression of solitude. "I'll always come back to you."

That was the first time you thought you might love Namjoon. The feeling has only gotten stronger, and now that you wait at the window with your eyes focused on that tiny section of sidewalk you can see at the end of the alley, it threatens to consume you whole.

You wait at the window for hours. You know because you glance at the clock every minute and a half, mocking you with every tick as it hangs limply on the bathroom door. The sun sinks below the horizon, the moon rises to take its place, and they switch again while you wait. The dawn paints the sky in beautiful shades of pink and red and orange and the faintest purple, but you can't appreciate any of it, because you're too anxious.

He could be hurt. He could be gone, and you wouldn't ever know until his friends came to pack his things. He could have left, too; maybe he finally decided that living with a ghost was just too much for him and just ran. Maybe he figured out that you love him, that you would move heaven and earth if it meant he was safe forever if only you could leave this apartment, and it was too much for him.

What if he knows about how you lay beside him every night? How you tuck the blankets tighter around him, cover him in warmth and comfort before settling on top of them and closing your eyes and pretending that you can feel his arm draped over your waist and his breath on the back of your neck. What if he felt you, that night you wandered into the bathroom while he was showering to write on the steam-covered mirror that he needs to buy more eggs soon and got distracted by the way he looked stepping out of the shower? What if he knows your stomach flipped at the long limbs and the hidden muscles and the sheer size of him? What if he knows the real reason you were quiet that night, the way you kept replaying the moment in your mind and wishing you had a body so you could have just touched him, at least.

It's closer to noon than midnight when his whistle echoes up through the window.

"Hey, I'm home," He calls as he enters the empty apartment. You're upset, but you're more filled with relief than anything because at least he's safe and he's here now. He makes a beeline for where the kettle is just starting to whistle, already reaching for the honey and the tea you set out on the counter for him, and you do your best to calm the storm of emotions inside you.

Did you have fun, wherever you were? You ask him, floating the whiteboard in front of his face so he has to acknowledge it.

"Yeah, I did," he responds as he stirs his tea. "Jin invited everyone over for some end of summer thing. I didn't feel too great at the end of it, so I just spent the night there."

Don't party too hard, you might remember how to have fun, you joke. It falls a little flat based on the grim smile Namjoon gives you. Are they gonna come over here again anytime soon? I've missed scaring Hoseok.

He lets out a real laugh at that. "I don't know, maybe. My birthday's coming up, after Jeongguk's, so they could definitely be planning something. I'm heading over to Yoongi's later to help plan for Guk's party. I might stay there tonight, so try not to worry, Casper."

I'll try, you tell him. You both know you'll stand at the window every second he's gone, but you don't want to tell him why. You don't want to tell him that you love him through a dry erase board, or some fancy poetry magnets. It doesn't matter that you may as well have already said so by telling him that he makes you feel alive again; you haven't said the words to him, he hasn't seen 'I love you' in the messy scrawl that is your handwriting on some stupid board, and therefore he doesn't know.

You don't know if you want him to.

He stays gone that night, as he said he might, and reappears the next day to shower and change before he vanishes again. The next time he shows up, he takes a bag with him when he leaves, which only worsens your fears. He stays gone for three days this time, doesn't apologize when he turns up again and just mumbles a soft hello into the air before he makes tea and sags into his couch. He's asleep in seconds, and as much as you want to scream at him, you can't bring yourself to disrupt how peaceful he looks.

When he wakes, he takes a shower and ignores the ' can we talk ' you scrawled in the steam. He packs a bag of fresh clothes and doesn't say goodbye when he leaves, just disappears and leaves you standing at the window with the pail in your hand, caring for the plants he isn't. The slam of the door sounds like nails in a coffin and breaks what little was left of your soul.

He shows back up nearly a week later, and the relief at seeing him again is overridden by the sheer anger at being left in the first place. You don't start the kettle when you hear his whistle, the quiet and hoarse tune of a familiar song barely reaching the window, but there's plenty of noise when he enters.

The cabinet doors are quaking with your fury, the lights flicker and threaten to burst, and Namjoon just leans back against the door. He’s soaked from the storm thundering outside, even his jacket plastered to his skin, and he’s shivering slightly, but you can’t see anything past the rage.

"Where the fuck were you?" You demand; there's no point, it's not like he can hear you, but the way he sighs makes you feel like he can, so you continue anyway. "It's been almost a week, you didn't even think to stop by for ten seconds so I know you're okay? I thought you were dead somewhere, you could've been, like, shot, or something, I don't know, just bleeding out in some ditch, and I wouldn't know! And what about all the plants? I know how to take care of them, sure, but do you know how hard it is for me to do it?"

Namjoon sighs again, the breath catching in his throat and coming out in a cough, but you don't pay much attention to it.

"Why would you act like this, Namjoon? What did I do, is it because of the things I said? Do you not want me to feel like this about you? Because this a damn good way of making sure I don't, I assure you, so by all means, just keep disappearing and leave me alone with the plants you decided to rescue and save!"

His cough gets worse and he just shakes his head, covering his mouth and making his way towards the bathroom.

"If you want me to hate you, it's too fucking late, Joon!" The slam of the bathroom door punctuates your sentence, and you quiet at the sound of continued coughing. You knew his flu was getting worse, but it's never sounded like that. Even when you were alive, you knew that the wet sound that's muffled by the bathroom door isn't what a cough should sound like. The lock of the door clicks, and it shocks you into movement because he's never - never - locked you out of anywhere. He knows it wouldn't stop you, knows it as well as you know that you'd respect that boundary if he set it, and yet here he is, locking you out even as he coughs up what sounds like a lung in the other room.

You hesitate at the door, torn between respecting his boundaries and knowing what’s happening. You want him to trust you, always, and yet you find your hand disappearing through the door before you can stop it. You stand like that for a long moment, just listening to the sounds of his wracking coughs; the sound of a crash echoes through the apartment, though, and you’re through the door completely in the span of a heartbeat. 

Nearly everything that had been on the counter is scattered on the ground, Namjoon himself gripping the sides of the toilet as if he would fall apart otherwise. A single glance tells you that the crash happened as he turned from the sink to the toilet, and if his jolting shoulders didn’t tell you why, the sounds of his retching would. That isn’t what fills you with dread though; the disorientation, the vomiting, all of it comes with being sick sometimes, but the red staining the bathroom sink? 

That’s not normal, and you know with every part of you that it’s the reason he’s been gone so much. 

The temperature in the apartment drops with the sun, but your arms surround Namjoon as best they can. Goosebumps break out on his arms, shivers run down his back, but you don’t move away from him; he doesn’t say anything, just sits there with his forehead pressed against the cool of the porcelain. He stands eventually, ignores the way he passes completely through your body to rinse the sink and brush his teeth. 

You let him stay quiet until you’re both on his bed; you’re pressed up against his side and running your hands along his forearms, idly wondering if you would be able to feel his heartbeat if you were alive. 

“It’s not...it’s not gonna get better,” He says eventually. “There’s not a cure, just some things to draw it out and give me a little bit longer even if they come with more pain. I go once a week to see if it’s gotten worse, check how much longer I have. It’s why Hobi let me move in here rent-free. He pays the bills, says it’s the least he can do. I wanted to be closer to him anyway, so that’s a bonus, I guess.”

“I’m so sorry, Joon,” you whisper. Your board lies forgotten, somewhere on the couch maybe, you aren’t sure and can’t be bothered to pull yourself away from him long enough to find it. You don’t need it right now, though; he knows what you mean by the way the cold presses against his bicep with your palm. 

“I didn’t want you to know.” You’re not exactly surprised at that; you’d figured as much. You just don’t understand his reasoning. “I didn’t want you worrying about me, or anything like that, like the guys do. They always look at me and it’s all they can see. Like they’re already mourning me, even though I’m still here. I didn’t want to feel like that with you.” 

“I know,” you say. You don’t, not really. Your own death was sudden, a shock to everyone you knew; you didn’t get the luxury of saying goodbye, didn’t have the burden of knowing you would be gone soon. 

The two of you sit in silence for a while, until you can feel Namjoon’s chest quivering under your palm. When you look up, he looks at you, really and truly at you , and he has tears in his eyes. 

“I don’t want to die, Casper,” He whispers. You suck in a breath because he can see you, and you don’t even know why, but you don’t want to lose this moment. “I don’t want to leave all of this behind. I don’t want to leave you.” 

“It’ll be okay,” you say softly. His brow furrows and a tear slides down his cheek. “I promise you it will be okay, Namjoon. It gets easier, and people remember but they aren’t stuck forever. And I…” You falter, and it takes his eyes meeting yours to make you realize he can hear you. And there’s only one thing you’ve ever needed him to hear. 

“I love you,” You tell him. “I love you, and I will never forget you.” 

He surges forward, lips meeting yours in a rush of air. You moan at the feeling of him against you, realizing that for the first time since you died, you can feel something under your fingers. His skin is warm against your fingers, his lips soft against your own, and when he reaches up to cup your jaw with his hand, he doesn’t pass through your form. Instead his hand settles heavy against you, and he moves your head to lick into your mouth. 

Tears that won’t fall prickle at the back of your eyes and you climb into his lap before he can stop you. He’s still crying so you wipe away the tears before they can fall, pressing soft kisses to his cheeks, his dimples, his nose, every bit you can reach. A question sits at the back of your mind, and you can see it lingering in his eyes, but neither of you asks it.

“You’re so cold.” His whisper is nearly lost amidst the thunder that shakes the apartment, but it makes you smile a little. 

“Warm me up?” 

His chest is still quivering with unspoken sobs, but he nods. “Always,” he tells you. “I’m always going to be here.” It doesn’t take long to pry him out of his clothes, takes even less time for him to sink into you. It feels just like it did when you were alive, only magnified; you can feel him hot and warm inside you, can feel the beat of his heart in the firm muscle under your hands. His moans are quiet and hoarse but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

He keeps one hand on your waist and the other on your neck, holding you close enough that he can kiss whenever he wants. “You’re beautiful,” He whispers. “The most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” You just press another kiss to his chapped lips and let him dig his fingers in hard enough that it would bruise if it could. When he’s close to his peak, he stops thrusting, just sits inside you as he grinds your hips down to his, and presses his forehead against yours. 

“I love you,” He tells you, lightning casting his shadow across the wall for a brief moment. “I love you, I do, I wish-”

“I know,” you tell him before he can continue. “I know, Namjoon, I know, and I do, too. I love you, too.” He comes a few seconds later, the warm seed soaking into his sheets because it has nowhere to go. His warmth disappears from under your hands and his arms fall to his lap when the only thing holding them up is gone. All you can hear is your quiet sobs mixed with his and the rain against the window, and for the first time since you came back, you really, truly, wish you had died. There’s no point in being a ghost when you can still feel your heart breaking in your chest. 

“Casper, are you ever scared?” 

It’s the middle of the afternoon. Namjoon is sprawled across the couch wrapped in blankets while Lucifer plays in the background and you doodle aimlessly on your board. You don’t need it as often now; you’ve gotten better at focusing your energy into being heard, though being corporeal still eludes you. You don’t know how you did it that night, but you’re grateful for it. 

“Of what?” You ask, looking towards him. He’s not looking at you or watching the show, just staring at the ceiling. He focuses at your words, lifts himself up into a sitting position. A shiver runs through him when his legs move through you, and you settle a weightless hand against his knee out of habit. 

“I don’t know,” He replies. “Just...whatever comes next. If there’s something that comes next. Being forgotten. Being stuck here forever.” 

You aren’t stupid; you know why he’s asking. The question lingers in the air, colors all of your conversations now, but the truth is that neither of you has the strength to ask it and neither of you knows the answer. 

“Sometimes,” You tell him. “Sometimes I wonder what Jihyo is doing, if she ever had a baby like she wanted to. I wonder if my parents are still alive, and what they say if they visit my grave, what they tell me now that I can’t respond to them.” 

Namjoon nods like he’s already thought of that, and he probably has. 

“Most of the time I try not to focus on it, though. It’s not helpful, it only upsets me, and I don’t…” You trail off, unsure of how to word your thoughts. “I don’t know what might happen if I only focus on the negative. I don’t know anything about what’s true about ghosts and what isn’t beyond that I exist now, and I can’t risk becoming something bad. So I try not to focus on it. It’s easier when you’re here.”

He grins and blows a kiss in your general direction, and you pretend not to notice the blood on his cracked lips. He’s quiet for the rest of the episode of half of another. 

“Have you ever seen a light?” 

“What?” He doesn’t seem to hear you, and you repeat your question on your board for him. 

“A light,” He echoes. “Like, the light.Y’know, the light at the end of the tunnel, ‘don’t go into the light,’ that thing.” 

You hesitate at that. You knew what he meant, what he actually wants to know here. He’s easier to read now than he was in the beginning. 

You watch him as he watches the space where you sit, curled up beside him on his couch. He can’t see you, of course, but he can see where the board rests in your hands. His gaze is heavier than it was when he first moved in; his cheeks are hollower, skin more gaunt with a grey tint that’s only made worse by the constant rain. The sun is just starting to break through the clouds, a brief reprieve after weeks of the dreary stone-colored clouds. It casts shadows along the walls, reflects off something in the window across the alley, and backlights Namjoon beautifully, casts a halo of light around the brittle brown hair you love. 

Once, you tell him. Just once.

“Why didn’t you go to it?” 

There are so many things you could tell him, so many different ways to answer such a simple question, but you find yourself lingering on the one thing you know is the ultimate truth. 

Because I love you.

September comes with even more rain and a bittersweet atmosphere. Jeongguk spends his birthday at Namjoon’s apartment and then comes back a little over a week later, surrounded by the other guys and carrying enough food to last a few months. You stay curled on the bed, one of the only safe places for you to not mess with anyone or anything. Your board is tucked into the blankets, ready to be used but hidden from view just in case. You watch as Namjoon sits on the couch, tucked between Taehyung and Yoongi with both of them leaning into him as much as possible, Yoongi’s hands wrapped in one of his and Tae’s head on his shoulder. 

The other’s aren’t far, leaning against the back of the couch and on beanbags they’d brought with them, all laughing as Hoseok does his best to act out whatever he’d been given in charades. He’s not bad at it - you’ve guessed the last few he’s done - but he is utterly ridiculous in his mannerisms. You know why; it’s the same reason everyone kept smiling when Namjoon refused all of the food he was offered, why Seokjin would crack a terrible joke whenever it got too quiet for too long, why everyone is resolutely ignoring the growing pile of tissues on the table. 

It keeps a smile on Namjoon’s face, though, and a laugh in his eyes, and you can’t ever be anything but grateful for that. 

Hoseok stumbles, nearly falling and whirling his arms to catch himself before eventually falling anyway. You laugh along with the others, grinning at the way Hobi pouts and rubs at his hip. You’re focused on the way Joon laughs, the way it lights up his face and brightens the entire room, which is why you see it first. 

The tickle at the back of his throat quickly becomes a cough, wet and wheezing and enough to make him throw the blankets from his lap and stumble to the bathroom. 

You’re there before he is, helping him slide the door closed and locking it behind him as he bends over the toilet again. The six of them are quiet in the main room, speaking in hushed whispers that neither you nor Namjoon wants to hear. You turn the knob on the sink, wetting a towel while you drown out the sound of voices, and letting a hand run over Namjoon’s back. 

“I’m okay,” he mutters. You ignore the way his voice shakes, the way his lips are redder than before, the way this happens more often than before. Instead, you just press the damp rag to his neck and watch his eyes close in relief. When he stands and flushes the evidence away, you already have his toothbrush ready and waiting, and you stay as close to him as you can until he takes a deep breath. 

“I’m okay,” He repeats. “I’m okay. It’s my birthday, and I’m okay.” 

He goes back out with a smile on his face and a laugh in his voice, teasing Hoseok about the way he fell and reenacting it, even. When he settles on the couch, he urges the others to continue the game. There’s a brief moment of hesitation before Jimin declares that he’s next and pulls something from the bowl on the table. 

You know you aren’t the only one that notices the way Namjoon’s eyes linger on the six men around him, but you are the only one that notices the way they also linger on his steamer trunk, the shelf with his books, the TV, the record player, the scrapbook of his life that they all worked on and Taehyung pieced together over the months, the plants on the wall that he had cared for. He looks around his apartment as if he’s looking at it for the last time. 

As if he’s already planning who’s going to get what. 

He finally asks the question you both have been thinking about, nearly two months later. His breathing comes in ragged pants, his lips stay chapped, and he keeps several blankets around him at all times to try to hide the shaking of his body. Your soft sobs echo through the apartment constantly; while you reheat the tea he doesn’t drink for the millionth time, while you quietly water and prune the plants he���s saved from death the way you wish you could save him, while you sit curled around him as he sleeps, soothing his coughs with quiet whispers. 

Night has just begun to fall, the rain of the day turning into a soft drizzle, and you stare at him blankly, unsure how to process what you’ve just heard. 

“Do you think I’ll come back?” He asks again, slightly louder. As if you hadn’t heard his shaky voice the first time. It’s not the question that floors you. You’ve been expecting this for weeks, months even. You’ve wondered it yourself as you prepare tea and ignore the sounds of him vomiting blood in the bathroom, as he disappears to the hospital and returns with a worse prognosis than before, as you’ve adjusted to the idea that you are dead and he is dying and you cannot do anything to help him. 

You never would have expected the hope that his words carry though. 

“Why does it sound like you want to?” You ask. Your voice is clear in the air and you’re glad for it, because this isn’t something you want to talk about through your board. 

“Because I do?” His response is delayed and sounds more like a question than a real answer. 

“Why?!” You demand. 

“Are you serious, Casper?” His brow is furrowed as he sits up and lets the blankets fall away to sit haphazardly off the couch. 

“Are you? Joon, why would you want to come back?”

“You’re seriously asking me that question? Why would I not? I’ve got so much I still want to do, I never thought I’d get the chance to after I got the diagnosis and now I might be able to. Why wouldn’t I want that?”

“Because it doesn’t work like that! You don’t get to just wander the world and fuck around, Joon, you’re dead.”

“Yeah, but you can still read and write and everything. I’d have all the time in the world to read the books I want to read, watch the shows I want to watch, write the music and stories and lyrics that I want to write.”

“Yeah, so long as it all stays in this apartment!” The light in the room flickers slightly with the force of your irritation. “You can’t do anything that isn’t in this room, Namjoon, you can’t use any of the electronics, you can’t read a book unless it’s here, you can’t write music unless it’s on actual paper, you can’t do anything.” 

“Yeah, and I could make that work. Why are you so upset about this? I thought you’d be happy.”

“Happy? You think I’d be happy that you’d be stuck in these four walls forever, too? Why would that make me happy?” Namjoon stands, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. 

“Because I’d be with you! We’d be together, forever! Do you not want to be with me?”

“Of course I want to be with you, Joon, but not at the cost of you being stuck here. I don’t want that for anyone, certainly not the man I love.”

“And what if that’s what I want? What if I want to spend the rest of time with you? I’m already spending the rest of my life with you, I’m in love with you, I don’t want to leave you.”

“And I don’t want you to go, but Joon, why would I want you stuck here, too? This isn’t something fun. This isn’t anything that I enjoy.”

“Oh, so you regret it all then?”

“I didn’t say that, I just don’t want you to be stuck in a shitty studio apartment for who knows how long when you can’t fucking do half of the things you love! You wouldn’t go on walks, Namjoon, you wouldn’t go with Guk and Jimin to the movies, you wouldn’t get visits from Hobi, you wouldn’t get to shop with Taehyung or Jin, you wouldn’t get to drag Yoongi away from his thesis or celebrate with them when he finishes it! It’s not like being alive, Namjoon, you’d be dead and alone and in hell!”

“Whatever,” He mutters, shoving his arms into his coat. “Why can’t you understand for one fucking second that it wouldn’t be like that with you? I’d rather be stuck here forever than have to die in some shitty apartment and not even be able to touch the person I love.”

“Why can’t you understand that it’s still death? You’d be dead, Joon, your friends would go to your funeral and disappear from your life, and you’d be stuck staring out that window at that shitty alley for the rest of time. You don’t get it, you don’t how terrible it is to be stuck here and watch life pass you by.”

“Then why the fuck are you still here?” He asks. The door slams behind him before you can answer him, and your scream shakes everything in the room. You just barely catch one of the plants in the kitchen, a brown-potted one with ‘Shooky’ scrawled in Yoongi’s familiar handwriting, before it crashes to the ground. You return it to its place gently and huff another frustrated groan. 

You wish you could explain it better, but you know he wouldn’t get it even if you could. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to be trapped between four walls and unable to do anything without massive amounts of effort. And he won’t, not unless he experiences it himself. 

You’ve already watched him wither away. You’ve watched him become thin and sallow and a shadow of the Namjoon who first moved in, and you don’t know what you would do if he came back. You wouldn’t be alone anymore, of course, and you’d have him here with you, but at what cost? Namjoon was built for cherry blossoms and sunshine and the riverside. He would hate being trapped here even more than you do.

Still, you could have been more understanding of his view. You can admit that even being stuck in a shitty apartment wasn’t so terrible when you had Namjoon there to make you laugh or watch TV or read to you. It may even get better if he turned into a ghost; maybe you could hold his hands in yours, could feel him wrap his arms around you, could press kisses to his skin again. 

You move to the window and stand there waiting. It’s not good for him to be out, even if the rain had stopped a few days ago and the forecasters promised it was the end of the downpours. He was still weak, you’d be surprised he even went anywhere to begin with but you know he likes to walk to calm himself down. 

You worry for what feels like hours. You can’t focus on anything, not the way the sun starts to set, not the sound of cars passing or the neighbor leaving. You’ve worked yourself into knots by the time you hear his whistle echo up through the streets, nearly lost in the sound of some argument in the alley below you. You catch a brief view of his coat and smile when you see that he’s got some half-dead plant tucked under an arm. There’s the briefest glimpse of what looks like a Ca scrawled onto it, and your heart jumps in your throat.

You make your way to the stove, turning the heat up slightly too high so that it’ll be ready when he comes in. The arguing outside gets louder but you pay it no mind, pulling the honey out and setting it next to his favorite mug. You’re reaching for the tea when you hear something else. It definitely sounds like Namjoon’s voice, but it’s not in the hall or at the door like usual. It’s raised, like he’s yelling at someone, like it was just a while ago when he was fighting with you. A crash startles you and before you can even reach the window to see what’s going on, there’s a deafening bang. 

You slam your fist against the window, watch the red mix with dirt, and the kettle isn't that only thing that screams. 

“I think that’s the last of it,” Jeongguk says. His voice is scratchy and quiet, but it’s deafening in the silence of the apartment. 

“Yeah,” Hoseok replies. His eyes are rimmed with red and his hands shake as he slides the last mug into a box. “Thanks for the help, Guk. I don’t, um.” He sniffles. “I don’t think I could’ve done it myself, y’know?” 

“I know,” Jeongguk agrees. They’re quiet again, adjusting the things they’ve boxed and avoiding finishing what they’re doing. 

“Oh, can you get that?” You don’t have to look to know what Hoseok is talking about. Jeongguk grunts an affirmation and makes his way over. It’s a strange feeling, having someone pass through you again for the first time since. His hands fly into the air as he tries to lift, clearly not having expected it to weigh anything. 

His reflection in the window frowns, and he tries again, tugging on the pot. 

“I can’t get it,” He says. “Do you think he glued these things down or something?” 

“No,” Hoseok replies as he wanders over as well. “He used to pick them up to re-pot them, remember? And the others came up with no problem.” 

“Well it’s stuck or something, you try.”

Hobi takes Jeongguk’s place and pulls hard at the plot, but your grip doesn’t waver. He huffs and disappears. When he returns, he’s got a butter knife in one hand that he does his best to slip under the pot. He tries hard to pry it up, so hard that you almost want to give in. You don’t though. 

The knife clatters to the floor with as much force as Hoseok can put behind it, a curse following quickly behind it. 

“Fuck it,” Hoseok says. His voice is shaky and you know he’s near tears again. “Just fuck it.” 

“But that was-”

“You can try if you want, Guk, but I just-” He chokes back a sob, shaking his head and moving to pick up the boxes he’d set down. “I just can’t, okay?” He disappears out the door in a hurry, and you wish you could follow after him. 

Jeongguk looks down at the small plant, with its painted periwinkle pot and soft leaves. He runs a quivering finger over the leaf and sniffles. He doesn’t try to lift it again, just stands and lets his tear soak into the soil.

“I wish you could come back to us,” He whispers. “We thought...we expected more time. It’s not...it’s not really fair, y’know? So if you can hear me, if you can come back to us, please do. Please.” 

He turns and leaves, the apartment door slamming behind him like the lid of a casket. Your grip on Mang loosens now that you know no one’s going to try to take it. You’d watched them pack everything else up; you’d let them take the steamer trunk full of records, the shelf full of books and movies, the collection of mugs, the soft blankets, the ratty couch, the rest of the plants he’d cared for so tenderly. 

Piece by piece they had packed Namjoon up and walked him out of the apartment, but this was the one piece they couldn’t have. This was his favorite and none of them knew how to care for it like you did, and you had to. You owed it to him. He deserved to come back to at least one familiar thing, never mind that you woke up not even a day later and it’s now been weeks. If there was one thing you wanted him to see when he got back, it was his favorite of his plants. 

The sun glares into your eyes from where it shines down on the city. It reflects off something in the window from across the alley, would be blinding if you actually had eyes. You pay it no mind, focused instead on the remains of the broken brown pot down in the alley, the way you’ve pieced them together in your head a thousand times just to trace the word Casper with your eyes. You can almost hear his voice saying it, even now.

You whip around, eyes darting through the empty space of the apartment as your hands tighten around Mang.

All that rests there is empty space, mocking in its loneliness. You remember when he moved in, remember how it felt to test the boundaries of the apartment and wish you were free. The want is still there, to leave and never think of it again, never think of him. You know better, though. You could never escape the memory of him, the way he laughed and smiled and spoke. You could never abandon Mang. Not when he said he’d always come back to you. 

You turn back to the window, cursing the sunlight with every other breath. It fades, slowly, into the black of night, before returning again, and again, and again. Days pass, each one feeling like years. Hoseok doesn’t appear to show the apartment, no one comes to collect the small periwinkle pot between your palms, and the ghost of his laugh echoes around you. 

The sun blinds you again. You don’t even know how long it’s been, just that you’ve yet to move. Light glints off whatever hangs in the window across the alley. That's when you see it, a vague reflection in the weathered glass of a dimple and a grin, and warmth surrounds you.

“I told you I’d always come back, Casper.”

[todaviia]

ok very long rant about that covid demo in Berlin bc I can’t stop thinking about it

I think the most terrifying thing for me is that there’s such an obvious sign of... decay? I probably don’t agree with the majority of the people on that demo (tho the idea that they’re all neo Nazis and conspiracy theorists is also ridiculous), but also, the right to protest is one of the most essential democratic rights, talking about banning it is completely ridiculous, especially in light of the fact that every single public school in Berlin has gone back to having classes, including stuff like sports, without masks and social distancing. Also there have been multiple big demonstrations and the mortality in Germany still looks like this:

So banning it because of the supposed danger is not based on reality imo.

But what’s so frustrating to me is that the underlying issues aren’t adressed? Half the dead of Covid in Germany have died in retirement homes, yet those are still atrociously underfunded and nobody talks about making it better. There’s absolutely zero use in having even the best Covid measures if there are not enough people to actually apply them. Retirement homes were completely ignored in any disaster planning, it was literally up to the individual homes to organize stuff like disinfectants and PPE when the shortages appeared, something that they were not equipped to deal with. Instead of helping the homes, quality management and supervision was suspended by the state - things that were in place to make sure the rights of the inhabitants were respected.

Rural areas, especially in East Germany, which is hit particularly hard by demographic change and an aging population, already have a big lack of doctors as there have been very little new doctors coming in since reunification, a lot of the doctors still practising got their licenses under communism - which ended thirty years ago, so you can do the maths on what that means age-wise. Specialists have months-long wait times for routine procedures.

The school system in quite a few German states was really close to collapse before this - we have multiple schools in Berlin where over a third of the teachers have no teaching qualification (Quereinsteiger) - and this is going to get worse as more of the actual teachers retire - of the newly hired teachers, only about 40 % have a teaching qualification - the majority don’t. Btw, the schools with the biggest amounts of unqualified teachers are situated in so called “soziale Brennpunkte” - aka poor neighbourhoods with a big amount of socially vulnerable people.

In addition to that, a lot of the schools struggle with problems due to the lack of building renovation, such as mold, broken sanitation or cracks in the walls.

All these problems lead to a higher demand of private schools among people who can afford it - leaving behind those who can’t, especially poor kids and kids from immigrant families. There are 27 public schools in Berlin where 90 % or more of the students don’t speak German as their native language. This is straight up segregation. In order to give these students equal access to education, we would require smaller classes, teachers with more instead of less qualification (such as special cultural sensitivity and foreign language skills) and integration concepts. 

That’s the situation into which Covid came - first the students were left alone for months. Now everything is back to normal except they wear masks in the hallways. Instead of coming up with progressive solutions, such as digital schooling, students are encouraged to wash their hands more often. From personal experience, I know it’s not rare to have brown water come out of the taps, not that anyone cares.

A lot of old people can’t stay at home - they have to get food, go to work or even collect bottles to get by. In my opinion, having the police go round delivering food and other essential items to them would have been a lot more helpful than having them break up demonstrations (especially if we also made them wear masks, which they generally don’t.)

And this is so fucking symptomatic. Instead of adressing or even just discussing these underlyinig structural issues that have eroded public trust for years and are now coming up because a lot of people are overwhelmed with the situation, especially if they have lost jobs or are affected in other ways, it feels like everybody is talking about “conspiracy theories.” But like, conspiracy theories are a result of something, at that’s not ~~Russian misinformation or facebook or whatever, it structural lack of trust and in my opinion, that lack of trust is completely founded in reality.

I’m not a conspiracy theorist, but there’s absolutely no question the official government response in Germany has contained a lot of bogus and often focused more on looking strong and pro-active rather than doing anything that actually helps. The blanket ban on demonstrations that happened in the beginning of the measures (and has thankfully been overturned now because of how blatantly illegal it was) was terrifyingly authoritarian and should never have happened. A lot of the needs of the population are not being addressed - and a lot of those issues have existed for far longer than Corona. 

What has saved us so far is the fact that compared to other countries, our health system is still relatively good, but it’s also under direct threat. We need to strengthen it, along with all other social services. People losing their jobs, people not being able to afford their apartments, kids not receiving adequate schooling, old and/or sick people not being adequately cared for, public infrastructure eroding, police/authorities being untrustworthy, those are dangerous for a democracy. We’re not on US level yet (tho we might get there) and the situation is worse in poor areas and East Germany and has been for years.

There will be and can be no ~~rational conversation about these topics unless that’s adressed and I don’t mean that in a “no justice, no peace!” demand kind of way, I mean it’s impossible. As long as this stuff that affects so many people isn’t front and center of the discussion, the discussion will be worthless and people will turn to whoever adresses these issues - which populists will absolutely exploit.

And it’s just as dangerous to dismissing all of that as Neo Nazi right-wing bullshit that will go away as people get older, because it’s not. In fact, if there’s anything I can tell from the ~migrant communities I know, conspiracy theories there are more widespread than among Germans, because they have even less trust in established media. I’m not saying that to be mean, I’m saying that because I feel like a lot of ethnic German liberals that talk about how the conspiracy theories are just a few idiots who have been radicalized by facebook have never had a conversation about this with anyone outside of their immediate social circle. People who have been marginalised have less trust in this system, not more.

And this isn’t getting better and it’s never going to get better by itself. Banning this demo will do absolutely nothing positive except further some peoples victims complexes, but centering so much of the public discussion of Corona measures on this demo instead of the actual hurt that’s been and being caused people is actively harmful and will, in the long run, end up being exactly as dangerous to the political process as straight up sharing conspiracy theories. Because those two things rely on each other.

[gray-warden]

What is the problem with white people traveling to asia without money? Like how are you going to brand calling the cops on someone without a visa as justice, then try and spin them pretending that the native language (which they speak fluently enough to at least pretend is their only language) is reminiscent of colonialism? Also you made it seem like American propaganda is effective in china with your tags which is weird. Just seems like y'all got galaxy brain with racism so hard it got harmful.

when did i say i’d call the cops? i wouldn’t do anything about it besides getting pissed internally lmao. and when did i say anything abut languages? i have genuinely no clue what you mean about american propaganda in china, like, i mean it when i say i don’t get what you’re saying there. i didn’t even mention china in my tags at all, and i only mentioned the US specifically when i mentioned the case of that american woman who wanted to “play doctor” and caused deaths. still, white privilege and racism are not an “american propaganda” thing, it’s something that affects the whole world, white people will pretty much always have an easier time with lots of stuff, including being automatically seen as more qualified and trustworthy, and with law enforcement everywhere, since colonialism affected the entire world, very few countries were never invaded by europeans.what i’m saying is: - it’s bad when people from rich countries that often got rich through colonialism, by harming other countries, complain abt immigrants coming from the countries they harmed because those countries were harmed in that way. even if those people now weren’t responsible for it, they still benefit from how their country developed while it had colonies, and the people in ex-colonies still suffer because of their past as colonies. - an american woman going to africa to make herself feel good about helping others when she ended up killing people bc she wasn’t a doctor like she claimed to be? that’s bad. i hope it’s obvious enough to understand why that’s bad. (also, i looked it up again, i had briefly read abt it at some point, but it was a while back so i didn’t remember all the details, but here: https://www.npr.org/sections/goatsandsoda/2019/08/09/749005287/american-with-no-medical-training-ran-center-for-malnourished-ugandan-kids-105-d she clearly wanted to help, but setting up a health clinic when you have zero qualifications for that is not the way to do it at all, that’s just obvious. if she really wanted to help for the sake of helping, she could’ve donated to groups that can actually help instead. - travelling is great, but it’s not a basic human necessity like food or housing. going on a trip to a place that you /know/ has lots of inequality and then relying on the locals to keep travelling more is just stupid. would i call the cops or whatever on them? no. but i still think it’s stupid. i know that at least here in brazil, if we got begpackers, those people would get a lot more money than people who are begging for money to actually survive, because the tourists would most likely be white people from richer countries, and i know how people would be a lot more likely to give money to those people, who don’t need it to survive (bc they’re white and from “first world countries”, and just wanna travel, unlike the homeless and usually black people in poverty you see every day who get treated as lesser than human by way too many people here - i know that homelessness won’t be solved by people giving homeless people money, but it might still help them survive, get a meal, catch a bus/train so they can go somewhere they may have family or to a shelter). i’m not saying you gotta have a ton of money if you wanna travel, but travelling somewhere with the intention of relying on others when you could just, idk, not do that? it’s a stupid thing to do. what if they don’t help you? are you gonna be stuck then? then you made a bad, irresponsible decision. or do you have enough money to go back in case that happens? then you shouldn’t be begging random people on the street for money. i got nothing against people who travel with little money by hitchhiking, doing odd jobs here and there for it, who sell some stuff they might have, but deciding to travel and, since the beginning of your plans, intending on having to beg strangers for money is just a very irresponsible decision at best. people doing that shit are usually just doing it for the “enlightening experience” or whatever, which is how many western people approach asia, there’s a big stereotype of “exotic enlightenment”, especially when it comes to the southern and southeastern parts of the continent (based on what i’ve heard from both ppl who go there and people who live there - i, as mentioned in the post, am from brazil).People who do that kind of thing are usually extremely condescending and stereotyping about their trips to “exotic places” where they “seek enlightenment and truth” or whatever othre stuff they may say.No, i wouldn’t call the cops on them or anything like that, that was /one/ picture out of lots in the post, it wasn’t the point of it, and if you thought so, you really missed it. and to be honest, i was kinda tired, so i did just scroll kinda fast at some point and might not have looked that closely at a couple of pics because they were just more examples of the same phenomenon. and i didn’t really pay attention to the one with police, tbh. i’d never call the police on anyone begging for money, even if it’s a case like that. i don’t support that, but i still support the general message of the post.if you’re travelling and then get robbed or something like that, or a medical emergency happens, or anything else that might need a lot of money, and then you do end up needing more money than you had in your plans for the trip, then that kind of situation would be more understandable (but also, that’s why you should have some way to have access to money in an emergency situation, even if through a friend or family member, because those things can happen in trips). but if you don’t have an emergency plan, i’d understand actually needing the money, but that’s not the case for most begpackers. there’s a reason why many people in parts of asia, especially SE asia afaik, have been complaining about them a lot, there have been lots lately, based on what people >who actually live thereseeing certain parts of the world as “my place to explore so i can finally be enlightened” or “a place where we, the Good White People™, have to intervene so we can save the Poor Starving Kids™” or “a place where i can become one with nature in the wild, savage, mysterious jungles” or any other thing that ignores that it’s just a place with normal people who have their own lives and culture and all that (as much as where you’re from is a place with normal people who have their own lives and culture and all that) just reduces those places and their people to stereotypes that are often harmful. of course there are gonna be differences between where you’re from and where you’re going to, if there weren’t then there wouldn’t be a point in travelling, but it shouldn’t be hard to just not be stereotyping and ignorant about it all, you can enjoy travelling without being Like That.(and the post also talked about how much easier it is to get jobs or just to generally be seen as more trustworthy and qualified when you’re white and everyone else around you isn’t, and that’s def also a true and important thing to acknowledge)anyway, you sent this message to me specifically and mentioned my tags as well, so i answered, but if you wanna complain more about people who point out that begpackers are annoying and often full of entitlement and stereotypical views of certain places, then maybe ask a person who lives somewhere with lots of begpackers, someone who isn’t white. they might be able to tell you more about the whole phenomenon and the people who do it, how annoying they can be, etc, since they’ve experienced it firsthand rather than just heard a lot about it.

[nerd-bastard]

ok so over the... /checks calendar, past five days i have managed to tear through act one of DQXI and hoo boy. hooooo boy. 

i fucking love this game *_*

@flutiebear​ thank you so much for your notes, they were super helpful!! my thing with JRPGs is mostly the turn based combat-- i can get SO BORED with it, i definitely prefer ARPGs where i can button mash things to death. DQXI seems to have found some kind of sweet spot for me tho, where battles are just long enough for me to like. pick a strategy and implement it, and get satisfactory results. sometimes those satisfactory results are just Talc helichoptering an entire group of enemies to death in one swing, which scratches my ‘button mash them to death’ itch :D I definitely like the easier monsters and relaxing while i play too, i’ve literally failed exactly ONE boss battle and that was bc my initial strategy sucked, not bc i didn’t have the muscle to pull it off. and omg, THE NO’S. BEST TIP EVER, THANK YOU.

and, as per your request, thoughts! :DDD full disclosure, i watched a playthrough up through the MMA tournament before I got the game, so these aren’t exactly first impressions. tons of screenshots and rambling below the cut, RIP mobile users :(

OH and because I got it on PC, i literally modded it before I even fired up the game lol. found some nice retextures on the mod nexus and installed the orchestral music overhaul too, it’s nice. The retextures are Wild Side Erik and Chainmail Luminary, i love them and I recommend the hell out of ‘em. Just a heads up so folks know why my Erik and Hero look different :D

ALRIGHT I WAS TOO DISTRACTED TO TAKE SCREENSHOTS FOR THE FIRST PART UP THE TOR but: i love gemma and i would die for her and sandy, and so would Talc. also christ, slimes are the most adorable enemy ever, DQ did a good thing with slimes. 

/NERVOUS LAUGHTER

horsey!! her name is Whisper and Talc loves her :D

so, initial Hero headcanons: Talc does not want to be a Luminary. He wants to stay in Cobblestone, and continue spending days at a time alone in the wilderness hunting for his family and culling monsters and riding horses and whittling wood and carving soapstone to pass the time. He knows he’s not Hero material-- he has to work too hard to hold his temper, and he’s too stubborn, and and and (he’s fine-- he just really wants to be like Chalky, but he’s a 16 year old kid who thinks good people ((like Chalky)) don’t have to try so hard to be good people, not a man with 60+ years of experience and time to mellow out. he’ll get there.) So Talc’s plan is 100% ‘Go to Heliodor, explain the situation to the king’s Knights and give them the pendant so one of them can go defeat the evil instead, then go home to Cobblestone.’ and well. We know how that turns out.

the most hardened, you say ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) 

THIS FUCKER. WHAT IS THIS FUCKER. 47 HOURS INTO THIS GAME AND I DON’T KNOW WHAT THIS FUCKER IS. ARE YOU GOOD? ARE YOU EVIL?? ARE THERE A BUNCH OF YOU, OR IS IT JUST FUCKING YOU FOLLOWING ME EVERYWHERE? TELL ME

THERE HE IS!!! THERE’S MY BOY!! <3_<3 

In Talc’s defense, he was trying to open the jars, not smash them. yes i absolutely have to reconcile breaking into people’s homes and smashing their stuff with his character, he’s a country bumpkin who struggles to remember the concept of ‘private property’ and is so stupidly strong from rock climbing and swinging a greatsword around that is is a genuine struggle for him to lay hands on ceramic without shattering it. he’s a bit of a bull in a china shop, and it’s only growing up with Gemma that let him develop a reflex-bordering-on-instinct to be as gentle as possible with other human beings that, unfortunately, does not translate well to inanimate objects.

also... ngl, it took... a minute for that accent to grow on me. that accent, man. more like ‘those accents’ JUST PICK ONE AND STICK WITH IT DUDE

talc: you know those days when you’re like ‘this might as well happen, adult life is already so goddamn weird’

also, those SHOUJO SPARKLES. i will NEVER BE OVER THE SPARKLES.

holy shit i love Erik’s expressions and poses so much, he’s so fucking expressive (all the characters are, the voice acting and animation in this game has been a delight every step of the way, but i just. adore Erik’s in particular, everything he does is so endearing to me.)

ARE YOU KIDDING ME WITH THIS QUEST NAME, IT COULD NOT BE ANY LESS SUBTLE

little did he know what monster he had created

seriously tho i LOVE the crafting system in this game, it’s a good challenge and a little frustrating when one of the random events screws you up, but SO SO SATISFYING when you finally get your +3. also it works really well with my headcanon that Talc is very much a “show your love by providing the ones you care about with anything they could possibly need or want” type of person. he’s actually very good at anticipating said needs/wants and has a knack for giving his friends things before they even properly knew they needed/wanted the thing. he also has a tendency to...kind of forget that he can get things in return, and gets really flustered and happy when he does get something which also leads to a tendency to treasure and consequentially hoard small dumb things BECAUSE they were gifts.

this is where Talc’s heart starts to go doki-doki-- he's very much a people pleaser, if he can make folks happy it makes him happy. the little bit of trouble is it was pretty much the status quo in cobblestone, and a little bit taken for granted by the time he strikes out-- not by everyone, or all the time, for sure, but getting out into the world and getting a sudden influx of gratitude is like crack for him. Also Erik is Nice and Handsome and was happy to do all the talking in downtown Heliodor so Talc didn’t have to worry about it, so Talc now definitely wants to keep Erik. It’s also hilarious to Talc that Erik is clearly skilled with knives, and yet has zero clue how to dress or cook a rabbit-- he’s very determined to keep the city boy alive (watch me walk this headcanon back in a few days when i finally get his back story and it turns out he lived off the land for years)

oh man, my HEART, MY HEART. even knowing it was coming, playing through this part was rough, especially since now it’s my Talc running around the ruins of the one place he wanted to live out his days protecting. ;_; that was his job, that’s what he was good at and contributed to his home, except for the one time it really, really needed him. he’s more than a little fucked up about it, but it’s a big part of him really leaning into the Luminary role- he can’t stand the thought of it happening to anyone else.

this. this is kinda a big deal for him, after cobblestone. after learning people blame him for Dundrasil, and then feeling responsible for Cobblestone, he’s already starting to have tiny, niggling doubts about ‘oh shit what if i AM some kind of darkspawn??’ Fighting alongside Erik through the Kingsbarrow and getting to feel like he’s helping and protecting Erik helps, and then so does this. 

it also plays right into his thing for doing justice-- which, he tries to hold Chalky’s words close to his heart, he does, and his vision isn’t the first time Chalky has had to encourage him to let grudges go. it was the main motivation for the vast majority of his pranks as a kid: make Gemma cry by telling her proper ladies don’t play at catching frogs and getting dirty? enjoy the frog hidden in a jar leaping out at your face, old lady. accuse him of being a darkspawn and throw him and his family in jail? hell yes he is going to help this thief steal your greatest treasure, and love every minute of it.

and now, to wrap things up bc this post is already way too long and i’ve got. the rest of act one to yammer about later:

YES

YESSSSS

YAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSS

in conclusion: this is a good game and a good ship and i already have 300 words of fic sitting in my gdrive <_<;;;

[official-mr-saxobeat]

N e way it has been 728 days since I last saw/had any communication from my older brother (and longer for my little brother, but I don't know the exact date bc I wasn't fucking PAYING ATTENTION.)

And you know what? I remember the day. 7-14-17. He told me he'd text me the next day and see me the next week. You wanna know how many times he's contacted me? Zero. He's also blocked me. All because his fucking CUNT parents (can you say: DIS-GUS-TENG) decided for some fucking UNKNOWN reason that our mom, sister, and I needed to be cut off completely. Literal family, disowned with absolutely no explanation. He and I were closer than ANYONE and ALWAYS told each other we were more important than anyone else to each other. He has had so, so many opportunities to contact me. Literally just sending a fucking letter could've worked. Just, "Hey, it's Tyler. Simon and I are ok. We miss you a ton. Don't send anything back." But would you guess what? Nope. Nothing. One of his friends said that he misses me, and is apparently going to text me once he's 18. But a mutual friend of ours (who's closer to him than the other one) said more recently that he hates me now! Neat. Great. Good. Wonderful. Our sister lived in a much, MUCH more dangerous house than his, and yet wouldn't you know it! She has contacted me every single time she's had the opportunity, and risked a lot for it too. Even if she couldn't carry on a conversation, she'd let me know that she was at least safe or ok. And wow! Now that she has a phone again, she texts me all the time! Almost like...if you put in the effort to contact someone you care about, you absolutely can! She's planning to drive down and visit me! (If you're reading this Pauline I love you SO HECKING MUCH HOE ASS HOE!!!!)

I even believe that our little brother would have contacted me if he knew how. He was fucking six the last time I saw him. He's turning nine this August. Of COURSE he can't contact me, he doesn't have a phone or know my address to send a letter.

Anyway. I don't know if I'll ever hear from him again. Lots of people have told me to just give up.

....

Don't they get it...? I can't ever give up. He was my everything. Absolutely everything to me. He was there, always, no matter what.

He has no idea how many times I've cried, sobbed myself to sleep over losing him. He has no idea how much sleep I've lost over him, whether it be from nightmares where he finds me and tells me he hates me and hopes I kill myself, or from not being able to sleep because I had an unexplainable feeling that he might, just maybe, come see me, and I didn't want to go to sleep for fear of not hearing a knock or the doorbell. I'd already gone through that with our sister. He has no idea how many times I've come so, so close to just texting him, telling him how much I miss him, telling him I've changed, how much I wish he'd come back. How much I wish I could just hear his voice. See his face. Hear his laugh.

I don't know what I did. I have absolutely no clue. Neither does Pauline. Or our mom. Not an inkling. I found a letter the other day from them when I was going through boxes. A birthday card. There were long messages from both of them (the cunts) inside, telling me how much they loved me, how proud they were of me and the young man I was growing into, how much they loved having me as a part of their family, etc, etc. Who knew that in less than a year and a half from then, they'd be telling me I shouldn't ever ask about going on a family trip to the beach. But not for the same reason it used to be. It used to be, "Don't ever ask if you can come with us on a family trip, you're OBVIOUSLY coming! Why wouldn't you? You are family, after all!"

Then it was, "You're so selfish. Don't EVER ask something like that. Why would you think you could just invite yourself on a trip with us? How DARE you be so disrespectful!? You should be ashamed of yourself."

I hadn't even asked to go. I had been on every single beach trip EVER with them. They were family, after all. Tyler told me they were going to Santa Monica and asked if I was coming. I said no. I hadn't even known anything about it. So I texted CUNT BITCH (CB) and she didn't respond. All I said was, "Hey, Tyler told me you're going on a beach trip on Monday and Tuesday, did you forget to invite me or should I just not come?"

She didn't respond for over four hours. Which was really fucking weird. Because she always responded to me. So I texted again. "It's totally fine if I can't come, I'd just appreciate it if you could tell me instead of leaving me on read please."

Wow! Would you guess what. CUNT FUCK (CF) (her husband) texted me ALMOST IMMEDIATELY from her phone. The message read something like (I don't have the original texts anymore),

"How could you be so selfish. Inviting yourself on a trip that's for FAMILY ONLY. (Insert rant about how I'm a terrible person and caused CB to have a "panic attack") (and yes, I know putting panic attack in quotations seems really bad, but she faked panic attacks the entire time I knew her, aka my whole life. And they got SO much worse in those last couple months.) You hurt CB so much. You know how much she cares about you, and yet you accused her of ignoring you. How could you. I'm disappointed in the amount of disrespect you are showing right now." (Side note, I went over to his house back in June, CB opened the door, didn't recognize me at first, then said, "Nope, get out!" And slammed the door in my face.)

Tyler came over the next day, we hung out, he left. When he hugged me goodbye he said he'd talk to his parents about bringing me on the beach trip, he didn't know why they hadn't asked me.

And that was the last I heard from him. Friday, July fourteenth, 2017. Never again. I don't know if he hates me. But it certainly seems like he does.

I don't know, maybe one day he'll contact me again. Maybe he won't. Maybe I'll live the rest of my life wondering what I did and why he and his parents hate me. Maybe he will contact me, just to tell me what a terrible person I am and how glad he is he was separated from me.

I don't know.

I just want to talk to him again. I want to tell him how sorry I am for being a bossy prick. For beating him up when we were little (but I mean we're fucking brothers, and that's just what we fucking did back then). For not being there on his 14th birthday. For getting angry when he won games. For being angsty all the time when I was older. For lecturing him about Homestuck all the time. For being in the hospital so much when I was younger (see: being angsty all the time). For spending more time with s/o's than him sometimes. For waking him up at 0100 in the morning in 7th grade. For being so flamboyant about my sexuality for a few years (god, that was bad). For saying TRIGGERED every two seconds. For hurting myself even after I promised I wouldn't. For not being good enough at the piano to play the Animal Crossing: City Folk museum theme with him. For not waking up early when he was over. For not making enough (or good enough) homemade gifts for him. For not having enough random gift days. For not listening to him when he said things I was doing were edgy. For making him listen to annoying music.

For not being a good enough brother.

I miss him so much. I miss Simon so much. I miss Pauline so much too, obviously, but it's different because I've been able to talk with her all the time. I know she loves and misses me. I also have a feeling that Simon loves and misses me too. He always liked/loved me more than anyone else. He hated his parents. He told me so. I was the only one that respected him. I feel like no matter the amount of brainwashing his parents did to him, he'd know the truth. I just hope he knows I didn't abandon him. That I love him so much. And that it hurts so, so much, every day. And especially on Christmas and his birthday. And Halloween. We loved Halloween.

It's 0606 now. There's 41 hours and 54 minutes until it's been two whole years.

I wonder if he remembers the day...?

I don't know.

I wonder if he'll read this one day. Probably not. But if he does I hope he knows how much I love him and how much I miss him and how much I miss our driveway talks in the middle of the night and Mario kart races and pool games and water pool games and snowmen and sledding and writing stories together and drawing maps together and listening to pop songs while making fun of them and playing the undertale song game and playing minecraft and watching markiplier and fighting and cheating at board games in each other's favor and sorting candy after Halloween and collecting shit money from a camel in that Indiana Jones lego Wii game and making characters in that star wars lego Wii game and screaming badgers at the top of our lungs and spinning in circles to the hamster dance and walking home from elementary school and learning Japanese and OPERATIONTWENTYFOURHUNDRED and Sliced and making house tour videos and other fucking stupid home videos and building legos and rebuilding legos bc of simon and REREBUILDING LEGOS BC OF SIMON and planning midnight snacks that never happened and going to the waterpark and going to the park and finally being allowed to go places on our own and practicing singing to you and seeing you at all my concerts and playing Kirby's Return to Dreamland to 100% together and making really disgusting food creations when we were really little and playing with your hotwheels and cleaning my (DIS-GUS-TENG) room together and having random gift days and all your birthdays and all my birthdays and your AMAZING peanut butter fudge banana smoothie (which I,,, still have yet to perfect) and you being absolutely blunt and truthful towards me (except about my drawing skills/drawings which you absolutely loved even though they were terrible) and going through the undertale files to try and hack the end credits so we could get through the mysterious door and having tea parties together with that FUCKING TINY tea set (I have a big one now though) and giving you fashion shows with fucking stupid clothes that were really bad and playing Wii ski together and Super Mario Galaxy together while you were Mario and I froze enemies and collected stars and playing HMTOT and playing Animal Crossing and you selling everything you caught and all your furniture (besides mario stuff, obviously) so I could buy the Gracie Grace stuff (god, I was a cunt) and EOU (YOU'RE AS BLIND AS A WORM) and essentially having our own language and reading jack and annie books when we were really little and just. There's 20,000 more things plus some but I could never list them all. Everything we've ever done together I miss.

I don't know your views on a lot of things now. I don't know what you think about gay people. I've heard that you've called me they instead of he ever since we stopped talking. That's understandable, though. I dressed like a girl and wore makeup and stuff. I was confused. I thought that's what you were supposed to do, as a gay dude. Obviously not. I'm way less out there about my sexuality now. It's not something I talk about. It's not my whole fucking personality anymore. Which is really good.

I've changed so much since I last talked to you. I'm not edgy anymore. I fucking finally hit puberty (GODDAMN IT WAS FUCKING LATE) and my voice is really deep and I've been growing quite a bit of facial hair, which is nice. I don't look like a fucking girl anymore because I stopped dressing like one and wearing makeup and stuff. I realized that being mistaken for a girl felt like shit and tumblr was shit for encouraging that, just because I'm gay. I haven't hurt myself since September 4th, 2017. So that's also good. I've seen the bad things in mom that I couldn't see before. (Even though there's literally. Nothing that should have made your fucking cunt mother and father disown Pauline and mom and I.) I've made more friends and lost a lot too. I've done more writing, but nothing too edgy. I got my shit together in school and I'm going to CCCC starting in the fall. I almost have my driver's license. One of my best friend's moms is the manager at Starbucks and I talked to her about hiring me, so I'm getting a job soon, too. I started learning the piano again, for the first time in 12 years. Since the last time your mom taught it to me. I started cooking more, and have made some pretty amazing dishes, if I do say so myself. Mom and I sent you and Simon birthday and Christmas presents every year. They always were sent back. Except for your 16th birthday. I bought you a pineapple pizza club pin and an orange dad hat with an orange on it. Those are the only things that ever haven't been sent back. I sent a note with them too. Did you read it? I hope so.

I brag about you all the time. Mostly about how smart you are. "My brother essentially taught himself pre-calculus in 10th grade, and STILL passed the class," I say. I then go on to explain that you were homeschooled and your math teacher almost never showed up to the online classes.

I've wondered often about what college you're going to go to, or even if you are going. We used to plan to go to one together. I can't even remember what I wanted as a career the last time we talked. I remember that you had no idea, though. I remember you being really good at coding. Maybe you're majoring in computer sciences? I don't know.

I really miss you a ton. Before she kicked me out, mom used to encourage me to send you a letter. I never did. I was scared. Scared of getting a letter back like the one I sent to Simon on his eighth birthday, or the Christmas package we sent in 2017. Both came back to our house with "RETURN TO SENDER!!!!!!!" written in thick black sharpie on the front. Even worse, I imagined a letter back in your handwriting. I would've been so, so ecstatic. Beyond thrilled. Then upon opening it, finding a handwritten letter from you saying that you never wanted to hear from me again and that you hated me.

It was selfish of me. To not send you a letter. I'm sorry. I texted you twice. You blocked me the second time. It was too scary to me. I should've been brave. For you. Just so you knew I was thinking of you. I'm so sorry. I love you so much. I miss you so much.

After I moved back to our hometown, I thought about going to your house. I texted one of your friends. He said that he could text you for me. He said that you said you miss me. And that you'd text me as soon as you turned 18. Tyler, you don't even know my number. I don't know if the guy was lying or not, but I don't think so. He doesn't seem like the type. He said that you wouldn't have him communicate for us. I don't know why.

I don't know why your parents hate me. I don't know what I did. For the longest time, my therapist and mom and Pauline told me that I didn't do anything, it had to have been something between mom and your mom. I didn't believe that at all. If it was just mom, why did they cut Pauline and I off...? But eventually I started to believe them. That was clearly a mistake, seeing how your mom treated me when I saw her. I wonder if she told you about that. She literally slammed the door in my face. In her own son's face. Who she always told would always have a home with her. Who she always told would always have a place in her heart, no matter what happened between mom and her. So clearly I did do something. I have no idea what. Could it really be that I asked about if I had been forgotten for a trip...? Was 15 years of raising a child completely disregarded because I was curious and confused? Again, I have no clue. I doubt I ever will. But if that is the case. If that's why specifically /I/ was cut off (because I know there was something else between mom and your mom that she literally never explained. Literally all mom and Pauline and I know is that apparently mom was "abusive" for years towards your mom, despite nobody ever seeing it, her never mentioning it before I went to Oak Grove, and her saying that she "knew it happened, but didn't know what it was"), then I doubt that your parents ever really loved me. If a simple question erases a lifetime of care and love and bonds and family, then all of those things were never really there.

It's 0737. Yeah, I still use military time. Also, I wanted to do a speech (in my speech class) on why a time system based on 10's would be better for the world. Remember? You wanted that. I couldn't remember the details, though. Anyway. It's 0738. There's 40 hours and 22 minutes until it's been two years since I've seen you.

I often wonder if you think about me. I think about you all the time. Have I faded from your memory? What am I to you now? Am I your brother, your closest confidant, your best friend, and your <>? Am I nothing? Just a faint thought, a distant memory? Or am I your worst enemy? Have your parents convicted you that I'm a horrible person? I desperately hope not. I hope you remember everything. And I hope that you realize that it's been a long time, and we both have matured a ton. Going from an edgy 10th grader who thinks dressing like a girl, screaming "GAY," and looking up undertale AU's are the coolest things ever to a college freshman who finally realized that sexuality shouldn't be a personality trait, being an edgy cunt isn't cool, and responsibilities are actually important is a big difference. I'm sure you've had some huge changes too. You're almost 18. As of today, there's 2 months and 2 days until your birthday. I've been waiting for it for so, so long. An eternity, it feels like. I'm so scared. I don't know if you hate me or not. I'm going to text you. I'm not sure on what, but something. I'll tell you happy birthday. Just so you know how to contact me in case you want to talk. I have no idea if you'll just block me right off the bat. I'm hoping so, so much that Nathanael wasn't saying you hate me.

It's 0756. There's 40 hours and 4 minutes until it's been two years since I've seen you. Error 404 means...something not found, right? I don't know. It doesn't matter.

I miss you. I love you.

Please come back soon.

- E. Nikolas B.

[zeonmiku]

literally dont read what’s under the cut i’m sure zero people care or understand except me

it’s so funny to me how i hate kiritsugu and love itachi even thought they are literally the same character like. bepsi says itachi is more redeemable but honestly?? is he???? kiritsugu’s dad literally infected an entire town w raging zombism and itachi’s family were just planning a coup that Might lead to war bc they were being discriminated against. like. kiritsugu killing his dad kind of makes sense bc he’s like evil while the uchihas were just like. trying to live.

anyway, there’s a lot more at play here in that itachi was being groomed for this for a very long time, was consistently forced into being a spy for both sides, and had recently lost the only person he could trust with all his heart. so, in that context itachi is a lot more redeemable in that it’s not just some random thing he doesn’t just pick up a gun and emotionlessly shoot his father (which could’ve easily been done by the mage association agent standing right next to him) but it’s this whole dynamic of how everything just converged onto him at once and predetermined that he should be the one to kill his family (i’ll be honest, whether he did it or not, i think danzo would’ve found a way to kill them).

but then there’s also the way that both characters acted afterwards, specifically towards their “loved” ones. i put air-quotes around this because i genuinely do not think kiritsugu loved fucking anyone. he killed his adoptive mother bc she might have brought the weird bugs to the land, cheated on his wife and generally treated her like shit, was always so fucking rude to saber and just an awful master (irisviel was more of a master than him and she was supposed to become the thing they were fighting for GOD), and fucking abandoned shirou with this idea of being some bullshit savior without telling him the costs of such a dream (yes technically he’s dead but he was a shit dad before that).

all right so how does kiritsugu’s general shittiness match up with itachi’s glacial antagonism towards sasuke (and naruto to a degree)? well, itachi told sasuke to hate him, to build up hatred and power and hurt him for the things he’d done. he actively hurt him and pushed him away for a pretty long time, making sure he had no feelings of love for him and kept his eyes on him as the source of his pain. was this a good idea? no, but itachi was like 13-21 in this era and it’s not really like people that age are good at making decisions or planning for the future. there was no way itachi could have known what sasuke would do since he separated himself so far from his life.

this brings us to another major difference in their two characters, kiritsugu kept those he “loved” close and manipulated them that way, he pretended to love all these people in order to control them, especially irisviel (i could make a whole post about how i hate kiritsugu for what he did to her), and used their feelings for him against them. itachi, on the other hand, pretended that he hated someone he actually loved in order to get them to build strength, channel their pain, and protect themself from the powers that were out to get them (namely danzo, as seen w/ sai’s original mission)

both of these actions were driven by selfish intent, itachi’s with his desire to be punished for his crimes and kiritsugu’s bc he has trauma i guess. however, itachi’s actions in some ways seem more redeemable by nature of the fact that he used anger rather than love as his way of manipulation. did this backfire on him? exponentially, yes, but in my eyes, at least, and probably itachi’s as well, using distance and hatred as a source of manipulation is in a way less cruel than tricking people into thinking you love them in order to use them.

i know that in the story, this pedestal hatred is put on causes sasuke to have a lot of emotional problems including being unable to accept love and there is definitely merit in saying that neither is better than the other because of the fall-out and consequences being virtually the same (shirou also struggles to accept love in his heart despite it being for different reasons) but i think itachi’s redeemability comes mostly from the fact that he just doesn’t interact with sasuke very often. 

if itachi never saw sasuke again, sasuke would have been able to get better and itachi, to his merit, didn’t think he should see sasuke again because he felt as if he would still have to play that part and being the 18 yo idiot he was, he still did that thinking it was necessary to keep sasuke blind to the truth of his village. seeing him probably didn’t help itachi much either, helping him to remember his own crimes and the reason he is where he is. i’ve said it before but itachi is just as traumatized by his own actions as sasuke is and there should be i mean even a little bit of sympathy for a child of 13 being forced to kill his whole family and run in exile when the state who ordered it did not take responsibility for their actions.

i’m sorry i started to get a little mad there, anyway, itachi is never really allowed to show remorse except in his reanimated form where he does show the beginnings of growth whereas kiritsugu, who’s in his like 30s is given plenty of opportunities to regret his actions and continues making things worse in those moments. anyway, the reason itachi is more redeemable than kiritsugu is because of his age, the background he comes from, and the fact that he wasn’t actively seeking out sasuke in order to manipulate him.

does any of this make itachi a good person? no, it only proves that he is a good character in comparison to this other character who acts similarly and that people ought to act and think in a different light than just black and white “he was evil” or “he was a hero” kind of way. at least, to me, he is very interesting and complex and though there are some parts of his character i wish were smoother, i believe that overall he’s a well-written character and has a lot of intriguing aspects to his personality and story. a character does not have to act a certain way all the time for that not to be a legitimate part of their personality and i wish people would stop putting him down to only one characteristic or trait

[keepyourpantsongohan]

Ayesha Liveblogs SAO S1

The real question is how no one has arrested this game creator yet 

There are only two types of game players those who create their avatars to look as much like them as possible and those who want to be a pretty princess 

“2,000 people have died so far” well that escalated quickly

Lmao @ Kirito’s group-work anxiety same my guy same

I don’t trust Blue Haired Knight he is hanging back at the rear while everyone else fights 

Well he’s dead now so I suppose it’s irrelevant

I like that Kirito was phased by the fact his partner was a pretty girl for about five seconds before he was calling out battle tactics

Jesus Kirito went from plucky young boy to Edgelord in ten seconds

“Are you talking about suicide?” “That’s not such a bad idea” I mean... u right

I can’t be the only one wondering what’s happening to their bodies while they’re spending literal months in this game unable to eat or defecate

How do u think Kirito’s mum would feel about him sleeping in bed with girls

Kirito made friends and they all died so quickly yikes 

All of Kirito’s decisions are made so abruptly he decided to adopt Silica out of nowhere

Nice to know romance isn’t dead in the virtual reality hellscape

Things are so happy right now I’m sure everything’s about to go terribly fucking awry

Apparently Kirito is a bounty hunter now these time lapses are wild

I can’t believe Asuna is taking Kirito on a date in exchange for letting her nap

Grimlock is a name that screams evil but I’m honestly more suspicious of Yoriko

It seems me being suspicious of someone means they’re immediately going to die lmao

Nope I was correct the first time whoops

“How many times you been married anyway?” Kirito pls 

“I had to kill her while she was still my wife” calm down Othello

Kirito, explaining marriage: “If you marry someone, that means you already like whatever you know about them, doesn’t it? And if you discovered something you didn’t know about them before and fell in love with that too, then that would be awesome?”

Dfghjkfhgkjdhgksd;hf

Lisbeth: Brr it’s cold

Kirito: Well damn Lisbeth I can’t control the weather

But if Asuna has a date and it’s not with Kirito who else are these teens romancing 

“Especially if that someone’s a girl like you, Lis” the biggest recurring trope in this anime is that Kirito is inadvertently romantic 

Lis is such a good friend she sees that Asuna likes Kirito and immediately backs down

“It’s been almost two years since this game of death began” yikes how decrepit must your real body be what about your family what if some of these players have children you are a child

These domestic virtual times are sweet but depressing because their lives are a lie

Sfdjhgdfhgkjh does Asuna’s bodyguard have a titty detector that senses when someone is touching her

“Hey, Klein, still alive huh?” Kirito’s social skill are so great

Lmao @ Kirito punching Klein for trying to hit on Asuna even he seemed surprised by it

I appreciate the plot twist of dual wielding because it’s cool but not like unreasonable within the context of the story

I really do not like that Asuna is basically the prize in this duel 

It’s really zero percent surprising that this event turned to murder so quickly

Literally every choice Kirito makes is so abrupt like I know he likes Asuna but he went from reluctantly joining her guild to kissing her and vowing to stay by her side forever in like a day calm down Romeo 

Gfkhgkjdfhgkfhgkjhfkgj Kirito just wanted to hang but Asuna thought he wanted to bang I’m crying

“And then... we’d get married” I know you’ve been in this game a long time but I feel like you are definitely still minors

This show is the definition of that escalated quickly they decided to get married one minute ago and now they have a house in the woods

“Is he younger than me?!” ASUNA I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU MARRIED HIM WITHOUT KNOWING HIS AGE WHAT IF HE’S 12 AND YOU’RE 17 AND ALSO IF YOU DON’T KNOW HIS AGE WHAT EXACTLY DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THE BOY YOU JUST MARRIED

They’ve still got separate beds and haven’t seen each other naked but also I don’t know what I expected they’re like 15 

I can’t believe they’ve just adopted a child this is insane they are really embracing the ‘I do what I want’ philosophy

You can never escape the stranglehold of capitalism even in virtual reality

“Your mom’s crazy strong, isn’t she?” they’ve really embraced their roles as Yuhi’s parents huh

“I’d rather trust her and regret it than not trust her and regret it” what a lovely philosophy Kirito

It’s really cute that they’re like this little family and all but also really fucked up and sad because they’re not her parents and who knows if Yuhi’s even real

Oh my goodness their baby is a robot 

“Remember, you’re our child” this is going to be upsetting

Did they just promise to recreate their robot baby christ how do you plan on raising her

“Nice job, honey,” this is so funny he’s so proud of his wife the fish slayer

Finally addressing the reality of their decrepit comatose bodies

I knew we couldn’t trust Captain Cheekbones 

I’ve never heard “I promise I’m gonna end this world” said in such an optimistic tone

Whoa they’re both dead that is not where I thought this was going but I guess they went full Romeo and Juliet huh

Well this plot twist makes a lot more sense also how is no one in this hospital stopping Kazuto from escaping the hospital surely a nurse notice him flatline

Is this intro meant to imply that these guys continue to play MMO games after their extremely traumatic two year comas

How exactly did Kazuto explain his relationship with Asuna to her family

Is Asuna’s father going to marry off his comatose daughter?? Surely there are laws against this 

“If I proposed and she could speak, I’m pretty sure her answer would be no” WHAT THE FUCK 

Kazuto makes it sound like she’s just moving away instead of being married against her will while in a coma 

“In the end your heart belongs to her” Is Suguha in love with Kazuto because even if you’re not siblings you’re still cousins ew pls stop

Robot baby has returned

Kirito does not know the meaning of low profile

I am not okay with this cousin-fucking vibe that’s going on Leafa u need to stop

This dude is a fucking rapist I hate him 

How is Kazuto’s education going I wonder considering he just lost two years of his life 

“Do you feel the same way about him?” Obviously not bc she’s too busy wanting to fuck her cousin

Dickface accidentally giving Asuna hope by confirming that Kirito lives

“Did he.... set you that way?” Leafa is asking if Kirito has a daddy kink

This level of drama and dedication to not letting anyone die must not make sense to someone who does not know he was trapped in a life-or-death game coma

It’s funny to see how quickly Kirito has jumped on the killing train now that there’s no longer a danger of actually killing someone

Although with Asuna there it stands to reason that there is potential to hurt someone because there are still some people whose nervous systems are still tied to the game

I can’t believe that Kirito is delaying stopping his girlfriend’s real-life marriage to deal with in-game politics where are your priorities dude 

Kirito as a news anchor: Violence in video games is ruining this generation

Honestly this boy has never been anything less than 200% Extra a day in his life how does he expect to get Asuna if he is causing a ruckus everywhere he goes

Lmao @ everyone hitting on Kirito while he is lowkey thinking about how he’s married 

I can’t wait for Asuna to murder her forced fiance

“Do I want to be a good sister? Or...” do you want to fuck your cousin? It is the latter and it’s unsettling

“I’m in love with my brother, and that’s something I can’t tell anyone about ever” at least you’ve registered that it’s incest but doesn’t mean it doesn’t give me the heebie jeebies still

Without the context it might just seem like Kazuto and Asuna are a weird couple that calls each other mommy and daddy 

I guess Kirito brought a sword to an arrow fight 

“I can do this on my own,” he said immediately after dying

Leafa tried to give Kirito the Hug of Passionate Restraint but instead gave him the Shoulder Grab of “You’re Making a Poor Decision”

Suguha coming to the realization that her life has twice as much incest as she thought it did

I DON’T KNOW WHO IS MORE UNCOMFORTABLE RN ME OR KAZUTO

“I’m sorry” Don’t apologize Kazuto it’s not your fault your sister/cousin wants to bang you

“Right then and there, I swore to close the gap that had grown between us over the last couple of years” looks like that gap was closed a little too well my guy 

That’s a lot of love confessions in a very short time frame 

What are you apologizing for homie literally all you did was exist and be a good human being 

I fucking hate Sugo he is the worst person alive

I think this is the first time I’ve seen someone assaulted on screen in an anime I feel sick to my stomach

What kind of honourable ass shit is this Kirito just gave his enemy a sword

I guess honour only extends so far when you’re tossing someone’s bisected body into the air to impale them

What the fuck are you gonna kill a teenage boy Sugo 

Well if you’re gonna get stabbed a hospital is the best place for it to happen

THIS IS THE REAL WORLD KAZUTO YOU CAN’T JUST KILL PEOPLE YOU DON’T LIKE 

Kazuto should really get those stab wounds treated

Lmao @ these priorities “well you just woke up from a coma it’s time to meet and make out”

Pretending you have objection to PDA Ms. Let’s Get Married at 16

I like how they all come out of the VR world and they’re all still fuckin nerds

Kirito is such a good big brother to his creepy little sister

[ganymedeandcallisto]

someone asked me for the 100 questions but tumblr is fuckin up so here u go my friend

1. What’s your middle name, and do you like it? a: lea (pronounced lee), it was my grandmas middle name and yes I do love it 
2. are you artistic? a: fuck yeah I am I sing and play instruments and do art 
3. Have you had your first kiss? a: yes 
4. What is your life goal? a: to be happy TBH 
5. Do you have any expieriences with a famous person? a: my dad went to grade school with this guy who won an Oscar! also Bernie sanders came to my high school for a rally which was so so cool 
6. Do you play any sports? a: what is a sport 
7. What’s your worst fear? a: that everyone I love is pretending to like me TBH 
8. Who’s your biggest inspiration? a: Kim from Matt and Kim ngl, also the people in Costa Rica who created the giant dog sanctuary 
9. Do you have any cool talents? a: I play 6 instruments and also I have a really good memory 
10. are you a morning person? a: YES I love getting up early especially when I don’t have to do anything 
11. How do you feel about pet names? a: hate (dyldoge) 
12. Do you like to read? a: YEAH I DO it’s so fun to me 
13. Name a list of shows that have changed your life. a: the office, game of thrones, the walking dead (mostly cause glenn and maggie) 
14. Do you care about your follower count? a: nope unless it’s 420 or 666 
15. What’s the best dream you’ve had? a: probably one where I was either flying or hugging someone 
16. Have you ever kissed someone of your same gender? a: I have not 
17. Do you have any pets? a: YEAH I HAVE TWO BEAUTIFUL BABIES (dogs) 
18. Are you religious? a: I am not 
19. Are you a people person? a: ahahahahaha noooooooooooooooo 
20. Are you considered popular? a: I’m not sure?? TBH 
21. What is one of your bad habits? a: saying yes when I want to say no, also procrastinating 
22. What’s something that makes you feel vulnerable? a: showing music I love to people 
23. What would you name your children? a: *dogs I love all dog names 
24. Who’s your celebrity crush? a: Marcos is the biggest celebrity of my heart 
25. What’s your best subject? a: English/history that uncovers how awful white america is/has been 
26. Dogs or cats? a: both!!!!!!!! but TBH dogs more 
27. most used social media besides tumblr? a: I’m not sure but I’m gonna say chat snaps 
28. best friends name a: Marcos and varla ofc <3 <3 <3 
29. who does your main family consist of a: my sister and my mom and dad and my two beautiful dog children 
30. Chocolate or sugar a: chocolate 
31. have you ever been on a date? a: yes! not formally like “would you like to go on a date with me?” tho 
32. Do you like rollercosters? a: I did……but Marcos and I went to the fair last summer and concluded that we are too old for this and our joints are too stiff 
33. Can you swim? a: yes and I love swimming so much 
34. What would you do in the event of an apocolypse? a: grab everyone I love and live in a Costco 
35. Have you struggled with any kind of mental disorder? a: yes ednos, depression, and trichotillomania 
36. Are your parents together? a: yes they are 
37. What’s your favourite colour? a: green forever and ever 
38. What country are you from/do you live in? a: USA :^) 
39. Favourite singer? a: I’m gonna say my favorite artist is Matt and Kim but there are so many other favorites ahahah 
40. Do you see yourself being famous some day? a: no TBH unless it’s for cooking 
41. Do you like dresses? a: yeah I fuckin love dresses but they are uncomfy sometimes 
42. Favourite song right now? a: poplar street by glass animals or vampire money by mcr honorable mention: planetary [go!] by mcr, well it’s true that we love one another by the white stripes, northeast by Matt and Kim, man on the moon by zella day, the way we move by langhorne slim and the law, when you’re young by Edward sharpe and the magnetic zeroes 
43. Does talking about sex make you uncomfortable? a: no I actually really like talking about sex! I think it’s healthy to 
44. How old were you when you first got your period? a: like 11 I think lmao 
45. Have you ever shot a gun? a: nope and I don’t really wanna 
46. Have you ever done yoga? a: yes 
47. Are you a horror girl? a: hell yeah give me some of that 😩💯😭👌🏽✔️✔️👅💦💦😳👀😍 babadook 
48. Are you good at giving advice? a: sometimes like I know exactly what I wanna say but I talk around it bc I’m bad at explaining things 
49. Tell us a story about your childhood. a: one time when I was 4 my cousin was bothering me and putting a pillow over my face so I bit him so hard it bled and now he’s a trump supporter but I can’t bite him bc I’m an Adult 
50. How are you doing today? a: I’m good!! I had a really great breakfast with my RA Rebecca and my roommate Sydney! 
51. Were you a cute kid? a: there was no kid cuter than me up until like 1st grade when I got glasses 
52. Can you dance? a: when no one is watching TBH 
53. Is there anything you do that you can’t remember ever not doing? a: eating with chopsticks and also wanting to be in love 
54. Have you ever dyed your hair? a: nooooo but I wanna 
55. What colour are your eyes? a: brown 
56. What’s your favourite animal? a: horses and dogs!! 
57. Have you ever made a huge fool of yourself? a: yes I definitely have :^)))) 
58. Do you have a good relationship with your parents? a: I think so!! they support my decision to change my major and I’m so so happy 
59. Do you have good friends? a: like 3 maybe who I never get to see ://// 
60. Are you close with anyone of the lgbtq+ group? a: ya bich it me (also yes!! many of my friends are) 
61. What’s your favourite class? a: this quarter, Asian American studies 
62. List all the tv shows you are watching. the walking dead, westworld, full frontal with Samantha Bee, daily show, game of thrones, I think that’s it? 
63. Are you organized? a: honey………no 
64. What was the last movie you saw? Opinion? in theaters I saw rogue one and I loved it so much THERE WERE POC LEADS 
67. Which tv character do you relate to most? a: I don’t know actually but probably Pam from the office TBH 
68. What are some things that stand between you and complete happiness? a: distance :/ and financial instability :/ 
69. If you received enough money to never need to work again, what would you spend your time doing? a: taking care of dogs 
70. What would you change about your life if you knew you would never die? a: id change the not dying part…….it’s gotta happen sometime just not now 
71. What would you do differently if you knew that no one was judging you? a: I’d dance all the time in public 
72. If you could start over, what would you do differently? a: stand up for myself 
73. Would you break the law to save a loved one? a: is this even a question of course I would 
74. When was the last time you travelled somewhere new? a: in August when me and Marcos went to SLO 
75. When you think of your home, what immediately comes to mind? a: the living room and my dogs greeting me and getting in n out for dinner 
76. What have you done to pursue your dreams lately? How about today? a: I found out I can change my major really quickly 
77. What did you want to be when you were a kid? a: a paleontologist I loved dinosaurs 
78. If you dropped everything to pursue your dreams, what would you be risking? a: not too much actually I dream of being financially stable with my love Marcos and being surrounded by dogs and having my family live not super close but not too far away 
79.When did you not speak up, when you know you really should have? a: in class bc participation is part of the grade 
80. Describe the next five years of your life, and your plans, in a single sentence a: I’m going to finish college with a steady job, hopefully travel a lot, and spend all the time I can working towards The Dream™ 
81. What would happen if you never wasted another minute of your life, what would that look like? a: me: graduates college and gets a masters degree within a year 
82. If you could live forever, how would you spend eternity? a: looking for a way to make Marcos also live forever and then taking care of all dogs 
83. How would you spend a billion dollars? a: I’d buy a big house that has a lot of land for my dogs to run around in and pay for a bunch of kids’ tuition and buy my parents a bunch of vacations and create spaces for dogs everywhere and donate to Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren……that’s kind of a big question 
84. If you could time travel, would you go to the past or the future? a: the past so that I can see all the history white people cover up 
85. What motivates you to succeed? a: The Dream ™ of being financially stable in a nice apartment with a few dogs and the love of my life Marcos 
86. What dream that you’ve had has resonated with you the most? a: I had a nightmare that trump became president 
87. Would you rather live in the city or the woods? Why? a: woods bc city smell like pee and is smoggy 
88. Do you believe in life after death a: kinda but I hope it’s a life where I don’t really have to Do anything 
89. What teacher inspired you the most? How did they? a: my great uncle because he was a professor of English and he loved my great aunt so much and had a house in the middle of nowhere surrounded by forest and deer and it had a greenhouse and a place for bats to roost 
90. What’s your fondest childhood memory? a: making pillow forts with my sister and then destroying them by jumping on top of them 
91. If you could have dinner with any one person, living or dead, who would they be and why? a: I wanna have dinner with Donald trump, specifically so I can stab him in his orange face with my fork 
92. What would you have to see to cry tears of joy? a: not too many things TBH I cry very hard at practically everything 
93. What is the hardest lesson you had to learn in life? a: you shouldn’t have to change something about yourself in order to deserve love (unless ur a neo nazi or a mass murderer or something like that obviously) 
94. What do you think happens after we die? a: party in the afterlife 
95. What would you do if you would be invisible? a: probably steal money from trump but make it look like mike pence or richard spencer did it 
96. What’s something you can’t do no matter how hard you try? a: whistle ahahaha 
97. Would you want to choose the sex and appearance of your offspring? a: all dogs are beautiful 
98. How did your first crush develop? a: my first crush was on Luke Skywalker and it developed by me watching a new hope 
99. Is there a feeling you are trying to ignore? What is it? a: it’s the feeling of That Fuck Shit and i ignore it on the daily 
100. Do you live or do you just exist? a: time is meaningless and none of us Actually exist

[pet-diary]

grimmsfairytalegirl replied to your post “why did your parents choose to homeschool you? did they think they...”

It's strange to think of you coming from such a conservative background because you're so progressive. When did your views start to change?

@grimmsfairytalegirl I feel like I’ve always been progressively minded, and what’s actually been more weird for me is the point when I realized that my parents/extended family were more conservative and judgemental than I understood them to be growing up. I always knew they were “against” or didn’t approve of certain things because of their religious beliefs, but I always had the impression they were understanding and caring people regardless of what their own personal choices would be (bc Christianity says to not judge others, etc)... They are caring people, I don’t want to sound like they’re not, I love my parents, they’re not bad people (we just don’t agree about a lot of things and I have a lot of unresolved issues w/ my dad especially)... But something has shifted in the conservative mindset, I feel like people who used to be more capable of seeing different sides to an issue have become harder and more hateful, less willing to think. I feel like there’s a lot of propaganda news that’s intended to make people angry and scared, and it’s working (and my parents listen to that stuff 24/7 nowadays)... I don’t really wanna get into that of course, but I don’t feel like I changed I feel like I started to see people more for who they are, especially as that stuff has become more pronounced and people have had to state who’s side they’re on now more than ever (in my lifetime at least). Also, being an adult has meant my family is more vocal about their beliefs in an attempt to gain support for their side. My parents have often said that moving to Austin “changed” us (both my siblings and I moved there for college. Austin is known as the progressive city in Texas). But we were already the way we were (that’s mostly why we chose to move there!). I remember one time when I was with the coach I had a crush on in high school I was telling him I was planning to move to Austin and he said “watch out, it’s a liberal city, not like here”. I told him that would be fine because I wasn’t a republican! :S It’s funny to think of my parents being so shocked at how I turned out, and that they blame it on us moving to Austin... One thing that does need to be said though is even though my beliefs haven’t changed, my openness about them has. I’ve never come out as bisexual to anyone (other than friends). My relationships and crushes on girls have never been something I felt I could be honest about because I was afraid to be, which is really shitty and I regret that part of my life because I missed out on a lot from being closeted and I know it hurt people other than myself... Times have changed a LOT since I was in high school. Moving away from that small town full of small minded people has helped me to be more honest and true to my beliefs.

But I’ve always cared about other people, animals, and justice. I’ve always been the sort of person to want to help the underdog, and I can’t stand bullies or abuse towards anyone... So even when I was religious I feel I was progressively minded... I’m a lot more educated now and I feel I’m more sensitive to other people’s situations than I used to be, especially because growing up in a small town with zero diversity meant I was exposed to a lot less, it was easy to be ignorant and naive. But I’ve never agreed with anything that meant hurting others or forcing them into situations they didn’t want to be in. I grew up thinking religion was about being kind to others and being morally good. I never saw it as a way to justify hate and abuse, which I feel a lot of people are doing right now.

I hope that all makes sense. It’s kind of hard to sum up this stuff in one response.