#ignore the scribbles. my face looked strange bc i was focusing so hard on getting my hair in the picture😭

[usermoreid]

anyways hair dye update finally

can u believe my family went on holiday and took all the hairbrushes with them. i literally cannot find a single one. also my hair is still wet in the second one leave me alone.

i wanted to bleach it before dying it again bc i hate my roots but i ended up just dying it anyway and honestly?? kinda like it. think it's kinda cool. it's so fucking bright too like it literally looks like that irl isn't that insane

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

What We Want and What We Can Have

Part Two- My Love, Don’t Fade Away

WHOOPS IT’S A PART TWO THAT NO ONE ASKED FOR (part one lives hither)!

Warnings: cannon-typical violence, angst, unresolved tension encroaching resolution, more of Ron and his big beautiful brain, Ron has like three feelings and you take up two of them, non-edited nonsense bc feelings don’t wait for approval

I listened to Reminder by Mumford and Sons as well as I Don’t Feel It Anymore by William Fitzsimmons. Let me know if any of you crazy kids are interested in my BoB heavy-feels writing playlist bc ya know i’ve got one.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The grey smoke from the burning church stung your eyes, and as you feel your tears trickle down your cheeks you wonder if they are soot-stained as well. 

 Around you, you can hear the screams of bombs whistling through the air- the harmonizing shrieks of the wounded and dying ringing in your ears as you watch Gene running towards the smoldering building, but you can’t seem to do anything other than watch. You know you need to do something, anything to help the medic save the handful of people bursting through the smoke like ashen fireworks.  

Yet all you seem capable of doing is dumbly stare at the ruins of the makeshift hospital you’d just watched explode. 

 The makeshift hospital you had been tasked to watch over.

For weeks, you’d been monitoring intel reports for any sign that the Luftwaffe had been intending to bomb the town of Bastogne. Weeks of pouring over intercepted and forwarded information and maps and citizen chatter that you’d been so sure indicated that the town was safe from harm, that the air attacks would be solely focused on the woods. 

Yet here you were, standing in the heart of a bomb-pocked town with ice in your veins and a terrible hollow in your heart.

 You’d failed. You couldn’t have been more spectacularly wrong.

 The irony of your mistake ending in fire was not lost on you, and as your eyes danced up with the flames and plumes of smoke you were filled with the same helpless feeling that had found you after learning of the fate of your mother, sister, and brother-in-law all those months ago. Only this time, you had no one to blame but yourself.

 You had done this. You’d missed something and now all of those wounded soldiers and brave nurses and innocent people were dead and trapped.

 When Gene grabs your shoulders you nearly jump out of your skin, blinking for the first time in what felt like hours and forcing yourself to focus on the drawn face of your friend. Something in his eyes gives you the impression that he’s been trying to get your attention for a long time.

 “Y/N!” he shouts, using his grip on you to pull you back towards the jeep. “We have to go, we’ve gotta go back—”

 “I-I should stay,” you stammer, limbs feeling like lead as you stumble along stiffly. “I don’t think…”

 Gene, ignoring your quiet mumbling, all but shoves you into the car and takes your previous seat as driver.

 Eyes having drifted back to the smoldering church, you try again to get your fumbling mouth to work enough to speak.

 “Gene, I think—”

 “You’re not staying here, Y/N.”

The way he says it leaves no room for argument.

“Bet you don’t even realize that your face is bleeding like a stuck pig….”

 When you raise your hand to touch your cheek you feel that he’s right, you are bleeding- most likely from the initial blast of debris that had hit you when the bomb hit.

As Gene whips the jeep around to take off down the road, you feel the cool wind sting at your eyes, the air so drastically different from the smoke you’d just been breathing that it makes you lightheaded.

 “I killed them,” you murmur, despite the fact that you know Gene can’t hear you. “I killed them.”

 Gene is crying when you look over at him but you can’t find it in you to offer him any comfort. What would the point be? What could you possibly say when everything you’d just witnessed was a direct consequence of something you’d missed?

 Ron was wrong, you think to yourself as you look back to the rapidly approaching forest. It is better to feel nothing. I want to feel nothing.

 Almost as if all you had to do was think about it- a strange calm settles bitterly in your chest, joining the hollow that had been deepening each day since you’d seen Blithe get shot through the throat.

 Just as you’d wished, you slipped into the numbness of nothing.

 ~

 Ron was worried about you.

 No, he was more than worried. He was concerned...deeply concerned.

He had been for a while now- ever since you’d come back from a scouting mission with Blithe’s blood on your hands and a grim look of defeat marring your pretty face. He’d tried to talk to you about it, going as far as to pull you aside and wash the blood from your hands in hopes of getting you to open up privately- ignoring the confused looks of your superiors and his colleagues as he did so.

You had been, were worth any rumors that could come from his intentionally infrequent sign of humanity.

 But you’d given him nothing more than a weak smile and whisper of thanks before slipping away to find Nixon. It was like that moment in the attic had never happened.

 Seeing you come back from the town of Bastogne had shocked him, too. Not as much in terms of the blood pouring from the cut on your cheek, but in the absolutely dead look in your eyes he’d found when he had begun questioning you as to what had happened.

 “I was wrong,” you’d said emotionlessly, barely flinching when Spina had brought an alcohol-drenched rag to your wound. “I missed something, and now the town is gone.”

 Before he could even begin to think of a reply, Spina had asked him to help get you to CP so the other officers could figure out the next course of action. And once he had, you’d had no more to say.

 That night, Ron had poured over the information you’d been given concerning Bastogne, glaring at Nixon until the other man had relented and reluctantly given him the small wooden box you kept your reports in. You hadn’t ‘missed’ anything- there had been nothing to indicate any sort of attack to the town for you to miss. You had done nothing wrong.

 Not that he’d be able to convince you of that. Ron knew you well enough by now to know that your stubbornness could rival his own if you indulge yourself in it enough. He’d learned that long ago in Georgia upon meeting you, that you had not gotten here by accident or through any sort of familial connection- but rather by sheer determination and steadfastness and unapologetic bullheadedness, not to mention a natural gift for finding patterns in behaviors and translating them into strategy.

Watching you work, then and now, had been nothing short of marvelous. 

 But this wasn’t you. This heartbroken husk of you that he had been seeing now made his already frozen body feel even colder.

 Ron needed you back.

 Unbeknownst to you (and initially to him as well), you’d become the reason he fought. At first, it had been a more practical explanation: you worked tirelessly to secure the information needed to build strategies and he felt the need to reward that hard work with his own successful execution of the plans you’d made. Then, upon completing the task, you would come in and use any of the information you found to build the next strategy. It had been transactional, an exchange of services that helped the both of you work towards the mutual goal of winning the war.

It was simple.

 There was no real event to precede his shift in perspective. One day you’d been Y/N and the next you were Y/N. He’d nearly said as much in the attic, when your eyes had burned him alive with their curious sincerity and your heart had called to him so sweetly he’d nearly kissed you. 

 Seeing you now, blinking slowly in the warm candlelight while the voices of the choir wrapped around everyone like a thick blanket, Ron wondered if he should’ve kissed you.

He wonders if, by doing so, he could’ve somehow stopped you from getting to this point.

 You hadn’t been at the frontlines earlier that day for the siege of Foy, yet you looked just as drained as every other man in the company who had. Even with his heavy jacket wrapped around your shoulders, your fingers still trembled as you picked at the dirt beneath your nails, making him wonder if you were shaking from something else other than the cold.

 You startle slightly as he reaches over and places his hand over yours, head quickly turning to look at him and the tiniest dust of pink coloring your cheeks when you realized how close your face was to his. Almost as if you’d forgotten that he was sitting beside you in the pew, that only an hour ago he’d forced you to accept his coat while he scribbled out the names of the men now under his command onto some paper he’d asked one of the sisters for earlier. He hadn’t bothered writing your name- you were not like all of the others, you weren’t something to oversee and keep in order.

And as far as Ron was concerned, you’d been connected to him since D-Day. 

 He didn’t need a note to remember that.

 A shy, small smile turns your lips up at the corners- the action not seeming to quite reach your eyes but Ron felt the sincerity in it all the same. Flickering your gaze back down to his hand resting over yours, he watches as you hook your thumb over his small finger, pleased at the warmth he feels as you momentarily play with the silver ring he always wore there.  Watching your profile, he only takes his hand away when you return your attention to the young girls in front of the altar, allowing his gaze to linger on you for a few moments before turning back to his list.

 Feeling another set of eyes on him, he looks up and catches Lipton looking over his shoulder at the exchange. The other man quickly turns back upon being caught, and Ron studies the back of the other man’s head for a few moments before making up his mind.

 “Y/N,” Ron says quietly, tilting his head towards the door of the church once your eyes find his again, standing and rolling his sore shoulder. “C’mon, I’ll drop you off at your billet on my way to Battalion.”

 The offer seemed to surprise Lipton, but you take a deep breath and nod shortly.

 “Alright,” you say softly, “let me go return Luz’s lighter and I’ll meet you at the door?”

As he nods, you stand up carefully and side-step in front of Ron out of the pew, meeting Lipton’s smile with a weak one of your own as you give the man’s shoulder a quick squeeze.

 “Night, Car.”

 Lipton pats her hand affectionately and then you’re striding over to the pews where Luz, Liebgott, Randleman, and Heffron have set up camp.

Ron watches you go as he loads his gear back on, once again feeling Lipton staring at him. There’s a familiarity in the way Lipton is looking at him- it’s a look everyone seems to send his way, ever since Donald Malarkey started the rumor on D-Day.

 “You wanna ask me, don’t you?” Ron asks, watching the other man fidget.

 “Ask you what, sir?”

 “You wanna know if they’re true or not,” he clarifies, sizing the other man up. “The stories about me?”

 Lip said nothing, and when Ron looked over his shoulder at the man he saw that Lip was looking away. The man amused him, to say the least. The man’s bravery was starting to show in ways that filled Ron with every confidence in him- glad to have a Lieutenant with a backbone in his newly appointed Company.

 “Ever notice with stories like that, everyone says they hear it from someone who was there, and then when you ask that person they say they heard it from someone who was there?” Ron steps from the pew to stand before Lipton. 

“There’s nothing to ‘em, really. I bet if you went back 2000 years you’d hear a couple Centurions standing around yacking about how Tertius lopped off the heads of some Carthaginian prisoners.”

 Lipton seemed to consider that for a moment before replying. 

“Well, maybe they kept talking about it because they never heard Tertius deny it.”

 Slinging his gun over his shoulder, Ron lets a smirk show on his face and squares his shoulders. “Well, maybe that’s because Tertius knew there was some value in the men thinking he was the meanest, toughest son of a bitch in the whole Roman Legion.” 

 When Ron looks over to where you are, he is glad to see that some of the tension in your posture has lessened. He can hear you mumble something that amuses Luz and Bull to no end, unable to help but feel a tinge of sadness at the fact that you’ve still got that hollow look in your eyes.

 “If I may speak freely, Sir?” Lipton says, breaking Ron from his trance and allowing him to look back to the other man. When he nods, the new Lieutenant dips his head indicatively in your direction.

“I’m worried about her….a lot of us are, Sir.”

 Ron keeps his expression neutral, nodding at the comment.

“Is there a question in there, Lipton?”

 A grimace crosses Lip’s face as he seems to ponder his words carefully. 

“No, Sir. It’s more of an observation, if anything.”

 “Go ahead.”

 “I know that, technically, Captain Nixon is meant to be her immediate supervisor,” Lipton says with a bit more confidence. “But I worry that he’s been, er….neglecting some of his responsibilities in favor of more cathartic activities….”

He cuts himself off, looking from side to side quickly before lowering his voice.

“Captain Nixon has been passing the brunt of the analysis work to Captain Y/L/N, if not ignoring it entirely. And, as great an officer as Y/N is, Sir—”

 “I understand, Lieutenant,” Ron interrupts Lipton just shy of insubordination, giving the confused man a nod before realizing that he’s unintentionally called the other man by his new title. “Thank you for bringing it to my attention. You were right to do so.”

 After informing Lipton of his promotion, Ron quickly turns on his heel and makes eye contact with you once more. As you fall in to step with him through the doorway of the church, Ron processes the new information he’s been given.

 While he’d never really liked Lewis Nixon, this revelation has only solidified his stance on the man. It was one thing to drink on the job and still be productive- whatever arrangement this was was unacceptable. 

 Your hand is soft in his as he takes it, the fumble in your stride telling him that you hadn’t been expecting him to do so. But you still don’t let go, you still follow him past Battalion and you offer no resistance when he guides you inside of the small cottage you’d been assigned to.

 When Ron gently takes your face in his hands, your eyes flicker down to his mouth before he even begins to speak.

 “Do you remember what you asked me in the attic, a few months ago? About what I cared about?”

 You nod slowly, and as your gaze meets his he could swear that you’re about to burn him to ask once more. You seem to lean into his touch, and while there is still caution in your eyes he thinks he may also see a flicker of intrigue in your irises as well.

 “Things you can’t have. Things you shouldn’t care about.”

 You say it as if you didn’t need to think about it very hard to remember- something that makes his heart stutter in his chest.

 “You, you know that I was talking about you.”

 Then, you do something that Ron will never forget.

 You smile.

And this time, it reaches your eyes.

~ ~ ~ (*looks over at all the homework/chores I’ve neglected in favor of writing this* WHOOPS

BUT FOR REAL HERE WE BE AGAIN. HOPE I DIDN’T DEPRESS Y’ALL TOO MUCH BC I KEEP DOING THAT WITHOUT INTENDING TO OK LOVE YOU BYE )

taglist: @mrseasycompany​ @itswormtrain @mrsalwayswrite​ @happyveday​ @sunsetmando​ @ricksmorty​ @liebgotttme​

[thebeautyoffanfics]

Hey! I always loved your writing and you actually inspired me to write some myself so I want to request if it’s alright…

Can I have Hanako x f!reader who doesn’t believe in love (this having to due with her parents never getting along). She says that it’s just a little word people say to make them feel better about themselves and it’s a waste of time.

But she can’t help but fall in love with Hanako and gets on flustered when he’s around but tries to tell herself it’s not love. Oneshot please!

Thank you and feel free to ignore if you want!

hanako x f!reader

a/n: hello hello!! thank you so much for the compliment- that’s really sweet, and it genuinely means the world to me;; but, sure thing! (ahh, the fact that i wrote a rengoku fic about the reader feeling that way not long ago- this is a topic I’m familiar with, so I hope that it makes it turn out even better? haha) thank you so much for requesting, and I hope this turns out alright!!! <333 also, if you ever want to share your writings, do feel free to tag me/let me know somehow! I’m sure they’re amazing, and I’d love to read them, should you be comfortable with it!! :DD

bro i guess this request resonated with me bc i genuinely like,,, went off. So it’s,,, pretty long- i hope that’s alright haanofnaoinf-

warnings: implied parental issues?

word count: 2,363

Love was ridiculous. It was a stupid idea. An overused word, thrown onto any situation in which you felt something other than anger, fear, sadness, or disgust. If something made you even a little happy, you’d claim to love it. If someone showed you basic human decency, you’d claim to love them.

You hated it. It made you feel sick.

It’s not like you could control what everyone else did, you supposed. So, you’d continue on normally. If you didn’t fall in love, then there was no worry about falling out of it- that’s what you figured. That’s what you told yourself. Love wasn’t real in the first place- how could such an overused word hold any true meaning? It was like a 1st grade pinky promise. It was easily broken, as if it held any truth to it when the kids exchanged a deal. No matter how much either part of it trusted the promise, it made it no more real or true.

Yep… love was best put as a 1st grade pinky promise.

Maybe not-

Still, such a strong opinion on love, an unmoving opinion, with your own “proof” to back it up… made it hard when you thought that it may be put to question. You walked near the bathroom, the girls’ bathroom, and heard a girl from your class shout something. You couldn’t tell what, but you did notice her slightly annoyed expression as she left the bathroom.

Ah, the girl who seemed to be constantly head-over-heels for boys- particularly Minamoto-senpai, you had noted. It wasn’t like he’d return the feelings, you figured. It’s not like her “love” was anything more than an obsession.

Still, you figured there must have been some other girl in the bathroom. Yashiro probably had friends- she talked to Aoi a lot. Maybe the school’s princess was teasing her friend. You pushed open the door, noticing that all the stalls were empty. The only other entity in the bathroom was… a floating, slightly-transparent boy. He was laughing, and you went ahead and assumed it was at Yashiro’s annoyance.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. Honestly, you just needed to pee, but it shouldn’t have surprised you. Little mokke running around the school constantly, weird things happening, a boy in the girls’ bathroom wasn’t life-changing. Or so you figured.

You grumbled, making some comment you weren’t even sure you got, as you stepped into a stall. Not acknowledging him would surely be best. You were fairly new to the school, and it wasn’t like you were insanely fond of public restrooms anyway. You’d never have to see him again. Plus, if he was anything like the other supernaturals, you were sure he’d be a handful. That was your thought process, as you washed your hands, glimpsing up at the mirror hung above the sink- you caught another glimpse at him.

An old uniform. Brown, almost shaggy, hair. His eyes were amber, and rather large- the way he held his hands, you silently compared him to a puppy. Innocent face, playful eyes- almost too alive for a ghost. He turned his head, nearly making eye contact, but you continued to study his appearance. A white… bandage? Sticker? Something- stuck to his face, the kanji for “seal” written in red.

Weird.

“My, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” He spoke, bringing a hand to his mouth, as a mischievous smirk came to his face.

A pain in the neck.

Your eyebrows furrowed, as you looked back down, turning off the sink and drying your hands.

“Oh? Gonna pretend you didn’t see me? How cruel,”

Still, you ignored him. He couldn’t be serious. How was he so sure you didn’t simply think you caught something out of the corner of your eye? Was he messing with you, or trying to lighten the mood?

“I don’t think I want to associate with a pervy ghost,” You said, shutting the door behind you. As if right on time, the bell rang, signaling that lunch was over. With that, you made your way to class, hoping to not have to deal with any more paranormal things.

…

Unfortunately, things don’t always go as planned. As the rest of the day took it’s sweet time to pass, you sat, spacing out as you thought about that boy. He was one of the first humanoid supernaturals you had seen at the school- honestly, you half-hoped that all of them were cute little bunnies. Not… strangely eye-catching boys… how weird.

You sighed, clicking your pen, letting the quiet sound drown the teacher’s ramblings out a bit. Ca-click, click-click, ca-click, click-click.

“Y’know, people find that little sound annoying sometimes. It never bothered me, but teachers seem to be so sensitive about it.”

Jumping, you turned your head a bit, only to be practically nose-to-nose with the boy from the bathroom. Your heartbeat increased from the surprise, but you placed your hand on your chin, pretending to not have seen anything. Not only did you not want to give him much of your time or energy, but you definitely didn’t want to attract negative attention from the normal kids around you. Your eyes scanned the room, and you noticed Yashiro looking in your direction, most likely at the boy. Yes, she definitely saw him too.

“Waaah, Yashirooooo, the new girl’s totally ignoring me!” He sighed, floating over to her. She looked away as well, focusing intensely on whatever the teacher had to say. You weren’t even sure by this point, watching the two out of the corner of your eye. You stopped clicking your pen, watching as he stood behind Yashiro, leaning against her as he peered at her notes.

He glanced at you again, and you looked away. The boy, who you were now curious as to what his name could be, floated back over to your desk, glancing at your notes.

“You really aren’t paying attention, huh! Yashiro’s not much better- her page is mainly doodles. How on earth do you plan to pass like this, haha?”

You glared at him slightly, before lifting your pen, and clicking it open. Annoyed, you flipped to another page, and scribbled something down. He leaned forward a bit, looking at whatever it is you wrote.

“Leave me alone, toilet boy.”

He laughed, patting your back. “Toilet boy? What’s with all the insults, I barely know youuuuuu- plus, I have a name. I’m Hanako. School Mystery Number 7, Hanako-san of the toilet! Not ‘toilet boy’, nor a pervy ghost.”

You raised your eyebrows, writing once more.

“Wonderful. Now leave me alone, ‘Hanako-san of the toilet’.”

Days passed, and he certainly didn’t leave you alone. In fact, you grew to find yourself spending more time than you expected to with him. You assisted with supernaturals from time to time, even meeting his two other friends properly- Kou Minamoto and Yashiro Nene. You all slowly, but surely, became friends.

“I’m done wiping the mirrors,” You said, tossing the dirty rag into the bucket.

“I’m done mopping!” Yashiro exclaimed, sighing as she leaned against the mop.

“I’ve finished dusting too,” Kou added.

Hanako nodded, clapping cheerfully. “Great job, everyone! Can’t wait to see the same enthusiasm tomorrow!!”

The three of you collectively groaned, rolling your eyes. “Yes, yes, just like that,” Hanako laughed, moving his legs to sit in the air in a criss-cross fashion. Light conversation picked up, Kou talking to Yashiro, and Hanako throwing in a comment every so often. You stood, leaning against the sink, watching your friends look so happy. Hanako glanced at you, closing his eyes as he grinned.

Your heart rate picked up, and you felt your face grow warm. Your eyebrows furrowed just slightly, as you glanced away. It wasn’t the first time a little action like that made your heart go haywire. Not just your heart- your stomach, your legs, your arms. The moment Hanako grinned at you, hugged you, or emptily flirted, you felt as though you lost the ability to function. It couldn’t be love… no, you didn’t want to fall in love.

“Right, but it's getting late, guys. I should really head home,” Yashiro spoke, putting the mop up as she did so. Kou nodded, glancing over at the clock. “I’ve got to get home and work on dinner,” He said, putting the duster away, and grabbing his things.

Hanako glanced at you.

“I don’t really have any plans. I finished homework in class, so I think I’ll linger around for a bit more.”

“Alright! Be safe when you head home, (Y/N)! I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Yashiro spoke, waving as she left the room. “Bye guys! Be safe!” Kou added, leaving not long after she did. Silence filled the room for a moment, the only thing breaking it being the sound of your shoes as you made your way to the window seal. Taking a seat, you looked at Hanako expectantly.

“Well? Any more stories of the things I missed out on?”

...

“The Confession Tree?” You questioned, the other two humans long gone by now, leaving Hanako to recount to you previous adventures they had gone on.

“Yep! Yashiro and I took care of that one- it was honestly easier than most of them were. He’s still around, just nothing bigger than one of those pre-cut broccolis. The rumor was, you’d confess under him, and he’d make the feelings mutual~, buuut, it obviously got way out of control.”

“That’s so stupid.”

Hanako raised his eyebrows, not expecting such a distasteful tone of voice. “What is?”

“A supernatural forcing some kids to ‘fall in love’,” You made air quotes, before continuing, “it’s pretty gross. Love’s nothing more than some overused word. It’s tagged onto everything, and it’s basically used to make you feel better. It’s all a waste.”

For once, he was silent. Several questions began to circulate in his mind, but a part of him was… somewhat hurt.

“But what if I love you?” He questioned, tilting his head. His face felt warm, but he tried to steady his heartbeat. It wasn’t a direct confession. No, just a question. A ‘what if.’

You blinked, your face feeling warm. You understood- of course, it was nothing more than a ‘what if.’ “It wouldn’t be love. You’d be interested in me, only for the interest to go away eventually- even if it took a week. Even if it took years. Just… trust me, Hanako. I’m not the smartest person in the world, but- once you see it happen to the two people who are supposed to be there for you forever, you get the memo. It isn’t love. Never was, never will be.”

Those words you spoke… you didn’t like the fact that you questioned their sincerity. Especially when you were blushing, the boy who made you question those words looking at you with his big, rather beautiful eyes. “Or… that’s… what I think,” You added, the heat rising to your face only making you feel worse, as he blinked. His undivided attention on you- on what you said- made your heart beat much faster than you wished it would.

And suddenly, he was closer. Too close. Way too close. His eyes began to shut, as his face drew closer to yours. Your heart began to beat quicker than it had before- your face grew hotter than it already was- your eyes widened, as you silently questioned what on earth he was going.

One of his hands grabbed your wrist, and you looked over at your arm he was holding, then back up at him. His face was still close, so close you were sure you’d smell him if he still had a scent. So close he could probably feel the heat radiating off of your face, if he could still distinguish hot from cold.

“Then why is your heart beating so fast?” He finally questioned, thumb pressed against your radial artery, as if the warmth of your face wasn’t enough of a sign.

“Because- you’re… way too close.”

“But you aren’t pushing me away? I’ll scoot back if you want. I’m not a mind reader though, so just use your words.”

Your mouth felt dry. Why weren’t you saying anything? You could speak. Open your mouth and tell him to move. Take your free hand and shove him.

But… a part of you didn’t want him to move.

Hanako smiled once more, his eyebrows drawn together slightly, as if he were saddened by something. “I’m sorry that you were dealt a hand like that in life. It’s easy to look around and find all the negatives in life. But,” He leaned forward a bit more, nose nearly touching yours, “you aren’t your parents. You don’t need to follow in their footsteps. Don’t let their problems influence you so heavily to where you miss out on potentially great things. It’s okay to be sad about it. It’s okay to be scared. But it’s still your life, not theirs. If everyone’s overuse of it bothers you, then only say it when you mean it. Still, if you feel love, embrace it.”

Your eyes felt slightly prickly, as they watered up a bit. His sincerity… your racing heart. Maybe, just maybe… you were in love.

“I… think I love you, Hanako,” You muttered. You were scared. You were scared that he’d tell you he was joking- or that maybe this wasn’t love. Scared of so many things, stemming from one little word. Yet, you tried to embrace it.

“I love you, (Y/N). And nothing will change that,” He said, his smile widening. Quickly, he closed his eyes, closing the distance between the two of you. His lips were… cold. His touch was the only thing that reminded you that he wasn’t alive. Still, the warmth of his words made up for it, as you closed your eyes into the kiss.

His encouragement wouldn’t drown out the fear completely. He couldn’t take the memories away. But he tried… he told you that he loved you, so… you’d believe him. After all, you hadn’t heard him overusing the word. It only made that moment feel that much more genuine.

[jungnoir]

ghost!bambam;

a while back @seoulscapes sent me this text post and said this would be ghost!bambam and this idea was always a cute what if...... and then someone requested it

and how could i refuse our bby bam?

ok ok so background on bambam’s death: he died way too young

he was in college and had just been accepted into the frat of his dreams

he was basically living the life

but some dumbass in the frat thought that bambam wasn’t “ride or die” enough so the head of the frat acquiesced bc obviously the reputation of the frat was on the line and he couldn’t have any of his pledges getting in easy peasy

obviously

so they decided to gave him one more trial, a quickie that barely meant anything to them at all 

even bam himself was like “lol that’s easy”

the trial was to enter this old house in the neighborhood and to retrieve a well hidden letterman jacket, the jacket that new pledges get once they’d passed all the tests

the head of the frat sent the dumbass with the genius idea to hide it, and that guy and his friend made sure to make it unrealistically hard for bambam

they placed it in the attic, where there were countless holes and creaky floorboards and basically the whole thing is a death trap nightmare

but bambam is super confident!!! he’s like hell yeh imma get in there and imma find that jacket and im gonna look so cool to the prez of the frat that he’ll throw me a party in my honor and thank me on his knees for even considering his frat

he got ahead of himself obviously but i digress

at first, bambam was sure he could find it

he searched everywhere, high and low, and the longer it took him to search the more frustrated he and the frat brothers got

after a while, the brothers decided to head back, and if bam could bring the jacket by morning then he was in

bam had searched every area of the abandoned house and finally he had reached the attic, which had been ~mysteriously~ left open

he decides it wouldn’t hurt to check and goes up, flashing his phone light to see the jacket all the way across the attic, practically waiting for him like treasure to a pirate

he scrambles up, not even thinking about watching his step

and not even a few feet later, he’s got the jacket in hand, but he collapses right through the floor

honestly, a lot of people had fallen through the attic before, leaving with nothing more serious than a broken bone or two, but it’s not bambam’s lucky day

he happens to step in the worst spot, and it sends him falling from the high open ceiling above the front door, falling three stories and hitting the ground with a sickening crack

he was dead on impact

the frat brothers didn’t see bam the next day, or the day after that, so most of them assumed bam got hurt or chickened out after not finding it

until a few days later when some students passing by the house noticed a foul smell

the police were called and bam was found, and the frat brothers were so surprised that they didn’t dare speak a word of it to anyone

it looked like a frat kid playing around, and got too brave and ended up dead

it was a tragic case, and the campus mourned for months

bambam didn’t quite realize his ghostly self until a week after the incident, when he found himself staring out of one of the bedroom windows, laying on the floor with the letterman jacket around his shoulders

he was super confused, wondering if the fall had been a dream and he had just passed out in a random room or something

he leaves the house shortly after, and sees one of his frat brothers

he goes to greet him, to gloat about finally passing all the tests, but as soon as bambam walks up to him the frat brother walks straight through him

so bambam really starts freaking out and thinks that he’s drunk, and starts yelling at the frat brother for help or something but

nothing

no one can hear him

and it seems like no one can see or feel him either

it’s only when he gets to the frat house that he sees a vigil still up, filled to the brim with fresh flowers and a small stand that says “for bambam, may he rest in peace”

it’s so unbelievable that all he can do is break down and cry, scream for anyone who might realize he’s there, but after a while his cries grow less and less, and suddenly he’s confined himself to the house of which he died in, spending every day alone and depressed

he slowly learns that he can still be helpful, and whenever stupid teenagers try to sneak in for fun, he always scares them off before they can

the least he can do, he thinks, is keep others from meeting his fate too

so for months, it’s all he’s used to

the solitude grows so suffocating that bambam actually thinks he’ll go mad, but then you show up

you’re new, with ripped jeans and dirty sneakers and your hair pulled out of your face

you’ve got a clipboard in hand and glasses on the tip of your nose as you make your way inside, taking a step every few feet and scribbling something on your paper

he’s learned that he can appear and disappear to those he wants, all he has to do is focus

so he keeps invisible and stays behind you, being careful not to startle you as he reads over your shoulder

and sure enough, he finds out that you’re a real estate agent

“this place is a lawsuit waiting to happen. no wonder that kid died here” you mumble under your breath, and bambam forgets to conceal himself, his eyes widening as he appears before you with a finger pointed at himself

“me?!” he shouts

you’re so frightened you scream and tumble back, but bambam is fast and grabs you by the waist before you can hurt yourself, his face knitted into an expression of concern

as soon as he sets you upright, you’re scrambling to get away from him, looking around for any signs of him coming in, but it’s like he appeared out of thin air

and he looks strangely familiar, but you just can’t place it

clutching over your heart with a heavy breath, you narrow your eyes at him and level your clipboard to defend yourself just in case “who are you and what are you doing here, kid?”

and bambam is highkey offended like

kid?? he’s- well, he was going to turn 21 soon

folding his arms over his chest, he pouts, “i could ask you the same thing. don’t you know this place is off limits since that... ya know... incident?”

he tries his best to sound authoritative and to have the upper hand in the situation but you catch on quick “it’s off limits to the general public, a public of which i am not apart of. i’m a real estate agent and i’m supposed to be casing this place for repairs. it’s gonna be hard to sell, what with the history behind it, but some people like stuff like that”

for some reason, bambam feels like he’s being intruded upon

like how could you just come in and take this place from him? he had nowhere else to go

it was already hell being on his own, he didn’t want to know what it would be like trying to avoid actual people living in the same place he lost his life

and it wasn’t like he could just relocate. his spirit was forever tied to that place, and even though he could go to some places, he could only go so far before his spirit would weaken and he’d be forced to return

“you don’t wanna do that. honestly, it’d be a better idea if you just left me- i mean, it alone”

he hopes you don’t catch on to his slip up but you’ll be damned if you ignore it

“you? what, do you come here to avoid your parents or something, kid? look, i’d suggest you find somewhere less dangerous to spend your time. isn’t it a bit early in the morning to be here anyway?” 

you continue to keep interrogating him, fretting over him like a child, and bambam is finding it really hard to keep his cool

he obviously can’t outright say he’s dead and has nowhere to go, but you don’t seem to be shutting up any time soon

in the middle of your spiel about how “back in your day” you rebelled too, you reach a hand out to grab him, but 

your hand...goes right through him

while he was getting worked up about you, he hadn’t been focusing on how his body was slowly fading in and out of its solid state

you kinda just stand there, fingers hovering right where his palm and the bones of his hand should stop you, his skin translucent and bordering on transparent

you think your eyes are playing tricks on you so you move your hand up toward his chest, and it solidifies under your touch as you let out a relieved sigh

but then you don’t feel anything under your fingertips

you place your hand right over his heart and feel nothing, not a steady beat or even his chest rising and falling to take in a damn breath

it’s just cold skin under a cold, thin tee shirt, and the boy before you is looking at you like he’s been waiting for you to notice

“what... why are... where is your heartbeat?” “i don’t very well need one if i’m dead, do i?”

suddenly the familiarity hits you, and all those months ago when you’d first seen his face on tv, the tragic case of a college kid who’d lost his life in the very house you were in

you let out a choked scream, but it’s barely loud enough to startle the birds out in the backyard

he just watches with raised eyebrows as you stumble back, your eyes widened in fright and your hand over your mouth 

“y-you died! here! you’re a ghost!” you keep repeating to yourself, trying to find your sanity

yet all he can do is sigh, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, “i’ve been aware, captain obvious. and i can’t go anywhere else, so you can’t sell this house” he tells you, walking up to you and grabbing your arm to keep you steady, just in case you fell again

when you’ve seemed to calm down a few minutes later, you level a glare at him and shove his arm off, “i can’t just tell my boss that this house is off limits because it’s haunted. i’ll sound like a lunatic” “bring your boss here. i’ll scare the shit out of him, hm? problem solved”

but no matter what he says, you stand firm in your decision that the house has to go, and that he’ll just have to deal with it

after all, what was the worst he could really do?

lmao

had you been a lil wiser, you might’ve not asked the question

the months spent fixing up the house were torture for you

from tripping up carpenters, throwing screwdrivers at windows and using red paint to draw ominous messages on the walls, bambam refuses to back down

and the worst thing is, it seems like you’re the only one he’s allowing see him

bambam: *in the middle of drawing a pentagram on the floor* don’t sell the house

you: *furiously painting over the remaining drawings of “666″ and “the antichrist lives here”* fuck off

he’s so??? infuriating?? and he’s dead which makes it ten times as bad bc he never gets tired

but despite his efforts (and there were plenty), the house soon gets fixed up into a livable state, and it’s up to you to begin decorating and getting the house sold

and after a while, you become used to bambam

it took a while for you to formally introduce yourselves to each other, and while it was a bit,,,,, stiff, you both had since come to an agreement

he would comply and let the house be sold, staying out of the way, but he would pick the tenants

so reluctantly, you accepted

bad idea of course but ANYWAY

he’s picky about everything

“i don’t like them, too many kids” “but they only have one??” “one too many”

“no old people, i’m the only one who’s gonna haunt this place goddamn it”

“the wife hates dogs???? what the hell!!”

no matter who you bring in, he hates them all

if you find it hard deterring the tenants from taking the place after his disapproval, he’ll start banging pots in the kitchen, or randomly screaming from different parts of the house, or creating shadows to scare people away

he’s always finding something bad about each one, and as the days stretch on, your boss starts getting on you about selling the place, seeing as he’s put so much money into making it even slightly desirable after bambam’s death

after one particularly taxing day, you find yourself curled up on the bed upstairs, blanket tucked in comfortably around you as you come to

bambam is there next to you, staring up at the ceiling as you flip over in bed to face him

you ask him how long you’ve been asleep, and he tells you it’s only been a few hours, but it’s dark out

you’re halfway up and out of bed, mumbling that you should probably head home, when you feel bambam scoot a little closer

and then you feel his breath on your shoulder, and in surprise, you turn, coming face to face with bambam

he looks a lot different than usual, a sad look to his usually peppy disposition

“would it be... strange... if you stayed the night? i mean, you leave snacks in the pantry since you’re practically here from sun up to sun down, and the bed is comfortable, and i... i’d really like some company”

and it’s crazy, but you find yourself staying

he spills to you about his life that night, telling you all about how his life had been before he died, how he had tried to check up on his family but hadn’t been able to get very far, and about his plans for the future

you get an idea and give him your phone, and he pulls up the social media of all his family members, spending hours just pointing out the silly posts they’d made, showing you the instagram pics that he had taken with them in the past, and reading their eulogies to him

“thank you for that... i’ve always wondered how they’d been” he tells you, watching with fondness as you struggle to keep your eyes open much longer, you mumbling out a quiet reply of “of course”

quietly, he tucks you back into the bed and lays a soft kiss on your forehead, and had he been alive, his cheeks would’ve flushed at the contact

from that day forward, you start to feel closer to bambam

you two share stories of your lives, you being a young but somewhat lonely real estate agent, telling him about how you felt like your life was going nowhere fast

he comforts you, talking to you through work stress, or letting you drink your worries away with him after a bad date (the alcohol passes right through him, and he’s thankful for that seeing as when he was alive he was a terrible lightweight)

he becomes someone in your life that you don’t think you could live without, much to your shock

it’s a rainy night and you’re still finding yourself spending time with bambam, a bottle of soju in hand as you both talk about your day when he suddenly goes, “why don’t you live here? i think you’re the only person i could tolerate being around all day”

he half expects you to laugh it off, but as you swish the contents of the bottle back and forth with a thoughtful expression, his heart clenches

with hope??? maybe

“i’ve thought about it, actually. but i don’t know... that’s a pretty big step just to hang out with annoying ol’ you” you tease, nudging your foot into his side as he grins

“just think of me as a cool, dead roommate. when you’re away, i’ll guard the house. and i can keep up with chores and keep the place warm. i can even make you dinner”

the more bambam talks, the more the idea becomes appealing

and it’s true, you’re the only person bambam could stand

in fact, you’re the only person bambam would want

the amount of times he’s dreamt of coming home to you, embracing you and spending his nights with you every night like this, being able to see you in your warm, relaxed state... it makes him a lil thankful to whomever had put him here

because if he had continued to live the life he had before, he would have never met you

and he misses his family, but he knows they’re okay

he’s at peace, he’s content, and it’s all thanks to you

there’s something more there, he thinks, but he knows it’s wishful thinking

yet as you lean into him, your warm breath brushing his arm as you mull over your thoughts, such wishful thinking doesn’t seem so distant

“if i move in... you’ve got to promise not to pop in on me in the shower and stuff” “hm, no promises”

his fingers curl around yours as you hit him with your other hand, laughing melodically into his ear

“you’re terrible” you grumble, snuggling that much closer to him as you both watch the stars through the window

“mhm. love you” he mumbles, drawing his lip between his teeth as your heart stutters 

your eyes dart to his even if only for a moment, your cheeks flushing in bashfulness

you breathe out, feeling his gaze on your face as you try to remind yourself just who you’re talking to, and what situation he’s in, “love you too... kid”

because it’s obvious

having feelings for him would be weird. it wouldn’t make sense. it would only end in heartbreak if he ever moved on to the afterlife, or if you ever found someone to start a family with. it was wishful thinking. it wouldn’t amount to anything...

...right?

you can’t really find the heart to believe yourself as his fingers squeeze around yours, and the night fades into warm hearts and stargazing, the promise of something strange, something good lingering right between you two as you drift into lovely daydreams of a boy who was just a little bit different from the rest

other ghost!got7

ghost!youngjae

ghost!jaebum

imaginary friend!mark

spirit!yugyeom

goblin!jinyoung