#it feels like forever (two months) since i made a little fic post so im very happy abt this

[daydadahlias]

John Dough

it's Crystal's @kindahoping4forever birthday and i love her :)

Summary: The one where Luke is an erotica writer pining after Calum the mailman but, also, the small-town baker is pretty hot too.

Word Count: 15,821

Pairing: Luke Hemmings/Ashton Irwin/Calum Hood

Rating: E

Content Warnings: puns

READ ON AO3

[strawberries-and-racing]

i wanna be yours - mv1

pairing: max verstappen x fem!reader

requests that came together and inspired this series:

• nsfw prompts 9-13 (in pt. 2)

• 'listen up. Obsessive possessive crazy max for sweet innocent reader smut.'

• 'ok so we need dark FICS of any driver of your choice but make him very obsessive and possessive and don't forget the smut. Keep it up girlllll!!!'

summary: a lot of tension building between possessive max and sweet y/n.

warnings: alcohol consumption, fluff, slightly crazy max, some cliches (im sorry!) also the title is based off the arctic monkeys song because i felt like the vibes matched also i love arctic monkeys💕

a/n: screaming once again!!! this is the first fluff ive posted and it's part 1/2. the next part has the smut as promised but i wanted to take my time and build this up please enjoy🙏

the flight to the UK was long, but well worth it. two months ago you'd been offered an unbelievable opportunity.

an opportunity you'd been dreaming of for years, one you'd spent what felt like an eternity working towards— an engineering internship. not just any internship, one with the red bull formula one team.

you'd be able to travel with the team, shadow the engineers, help with various tasks around the paddock, and design parts at hq. an absolute dream.

after scouring a thousand real estate websites, you'd finally found the perfect place for to live.

a little 1 bed 1 bath apartment, tucked into a beautiful, quaint little neighbourhood. just 30 mins to the red bull hq.

you'd dedicated many late nights and ikea shopping trips to making the apartment your own. your comfortable escape from the grueling hours of studying and pressures of the internship.

you led a busy life, but it never bothered you. you adored what you did and formula one had been your passion since you were a little girl.

and now everything was falling into place. in fact, tommorrow you'd leave to attend your first race with the team. austria. red bulls home race.

you were ecstatic to say the least.

  °~•☆•♡•☆•~°

you hurriedly made your way through the paddock and into the red bull garage. your eyes glued to the schedule on top of the pile of papers in your arms.

you were on your way to assist one of the senior engineers in preparation before the race began.

you were nervous, and it was no help that you weren't exactly sure where you were supposed to be meeting him.

suddenly, you stumble over your own feet and bump into someone.

you feel hands on your shoulders, their grasp firm, steadying you.

you look up and are taken aback by the pair of strikingly blue eyes staring back at you. his eyes were the kind of crystal blue that would capture anyones attention. but despite their bright colour, they had a sort of inexplicable depth, darkness to them.

there was something in his expression that you couldn't quite read. something stirring beneath the surface of his icy gaze. it was as though he wasn't just looking at you, but into you.

you abruptly become aware of his hands, still on your shoulders. you're so oddly aware of them, as if it's your first time being touched by anyone.

he holds you firmly, as if trying to hold you together. the moment seemed to last forever. the two of you frozen in time.

a stranger's eye contact and touch shouldn't be affecting you in this way.

"you okay?"

it's only once he speaks that you realize who the man standing in front of you is.

your eyes widen, cheeks flushing. you straighten up quickly, mouth slightly agape.

"oh'" you start, at a loss for words "yeah, im sorry." you manage a small smile.

you straighten up an take a step backwards, pulling away from his grasp. you miss the warmth of his hands more than you'd ever like to admit.

"it's okay, no worries," his eyes linger on you a moment longer before you both go your separate ways.

as you walk away, you cant help but glance back at him.

max verstappen.

you'd certainly heard him speak before on tv, but something about his accent in person was enchanting. his energy seemed to linger on you like perfume.

everything about him caught your attention, long before you'd bumped into him in person.

you'd seen his dominance on track, it was impossible not to notice. he could control the car like no other driver, handling each corner perfectly. he pushed the car to the limit every race and it payed off.

it wasn't just his driving you noticed. his persona. it was everything. and you couldn't ignore the fact that it was sexy.

his short temper, his tendency to snap easily.

it was unreasonably and indescribably attractive.

  °~•☆•♡•☆•~°

the next time you see him he's across the room. you're studying the notes that the senior engineer gave you, papers and writing utensils spread across the table in front of you.

he was discussing something with his race engineer, he certainly wasn't doing anything that was particularly interesting or peculiar, he wasn't even looking in your direction. but for fucks sake you were distracted. you were somehow absorbed by his prescence.

ever since bumping into him you couldn't seem to get him out of your head. last night you'd replayed the memory over and over in your mind, finding it more difficult than usual to fall asleep.

all day, you'd silently prayed you would bump into eachother again. your relentless efforts to push your thoughts and feelings to the back of your mind were useless.

the mere idea of him was addictive, so alluring. he was drug-like to you and impossible to ignore.

although it was unknown to you at the time, max had found himself similarly hooked on you. or rather, the thought of you. even though he found enough strength to avoid looking at you, he was well aware of you. sitting at the table in the furthest corner. he was even more aware of the fact that your eyes kept flickering in his direction.

your energy was unlike anything he had ever known. you walked around with an aura of pure innocence. yet you seemed untouchable.

your smile shone. your laugh was contagious. you radiated sunshine. max had come to know these things about you.

you were magnetic in such a way that made him curious.

it stirred something inexplicable inside him. like you were another thing for him to win, to claim. another thing for him to dominant. to corrupt.

your innocence was tangible. and max wanted to be the one to wreck you. it was all he thought about.

ruining you.

  °~•☆•♡•☆•~°

the light in your apartment was soft. that's how you preferred it.

you relished your alone time. your small apartment was tailored exactly to you. it was always where you felt perfectly safe and at ease.

light from the sunset was just beginning to spill through your windows. you're stirring a big pot of soup on the stove with lazy motions.

a buzz from your phone catches your attention, the screen lights up and you see a new message. it's from andrew, one of the young engineers at red bull who you'd grown close with over the past few months.

your eyes widen upon reading the message.

a dinner with drivers? you couldn't deny that it sounded exciting.

but then again, you were already in your pajamas and the soup was beginning to steam.

you suck in a breath.

fuck.

the three letters of his name were more than enough to change your answer.

  °~•☆•♡•☆•~°

you spent half your time getting ready frantically choosing an outfit.

finally, you'd settled on your favorite black dress. your hair fell over your shoulders in soft curls left over from the day before.

now, you were standing outside the restaurant. you take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves.

you walk in and the hostess greets you with a friendly smile. you're led to a booth connected to a big table that's only half full.

andrew waves you over and you take a seat next to him in the booth. lando sits across from you.

youd never spoken with lando outside of strictly professional context and you were pleasantly surprised by his charming humor. you're engrossed in the conversation with the two boys as the rest of the group fills the table. you look up to greet the others.

your breath hitches when you see him. his eyes stare into yours with the same intensity as they had two days ago. you don't break the eye contact until he sits down and a dark haired boy you've never seen before calls his name.

despite the abrupt rush of blood to your head, you manage to hold up the conversation with lando.

  °~•☆•♡•☆•~°

max couldn't keep his eyes off you for long, and the longer he watched the tighter his grip got on his glass, until his knuckles turned white. he was so focused on you laughing and smiling with lando that he didn't pick up on the way you fidgeted with your ring. a nervous tell.

max clenched his jaw as you leaned in close to something lando said. far closer than what many would deem an action between two casual friends. your giggles and blushing and landos knowing smirk and your hand jokingly smacking his arm made max see red.

"you alright, mate?"

"im fine."

  °~•☆•♡•☆•~°

as the night goes on and the chatter and laughter get louder, people begin shuffling around, moving to talk with new people.

lando is called over to a different group of friends and andrew leaves with him, leaving you alone in the booth.

"having fun?"

you recognize his voice immediately, sense his burning presence as he slides into the booth, sitting next to you.

"yeah." you manage a smile. "the food was really good."

"that's good." he says, briefly glancing away. your eyes involuntarily trace over the tendons of his neck.

he was wearing a dark button down, the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. simple, but ridiculously sexy.

he turns his eyes back onto you. "i didn't know you were gonna be here."

"oh i—" you hesitate for a second, his eyes making your heart skip a beat.

"andrew invited me." you explained, turning slightly so you could face him.

"mm, so are you..." he gestures between you and andrew a few seats down, you know what hes asking.

"oh no, we're just friends." you toy with the edge of your napkin.

it was a bold topic to bring up during a first conversation to say the least, but it didn't feel weird. there wasn't the usual tension, usual coldness that typically came with talking to someone for the first time. it was comfortable, you were able to relax a little.

"hm." is all max answers with. he spreads his legs slightly and pushes his hips forwards, getting comfortable. his leg brushing against yours.

the casual action had your heart thrumming in your ears, beating so loudly you're worried he can hear it.

you swallow, having to glance away. you feel your cheeks turning red.

why max verstappen had such an intense effect on you was still a mystery.

"so um—" you start, trying to make some small talk that would distract you from his arm that now rested on the ledge behind you. you take a breath, composing yourself before speaking. "how often do you guys do this kind of thing?"

he shifted again, his leg touching yours, but he doesn't pull it away this time. the knot of nerves in your stomach tightened. you felt your face turn even redder. the physical contact made your body ache for more.

max smirked, his ego swelling as he saw the effect he had on you.

"once in a while, usually after a race." 

you nod, biting your lip.

"congratulations by the way." you say, it wasn't surprising he'd taken first yet again, but you said it anyways. you prayed he wasn't able to pick up on the way your words came out slightly shaky.

you wanted to do nothing more than relax into him, but with the way he was looking at you that proved to be impossible.

you took a sip of your wine, desperate to cool down as an unexpected surge of heat washed over you which lingered between your legs.

max was different than anyone you'd ever talked too before. he reminded you of nobody. his sense of humor was unique and hilarious.

as the conversation continued you grew immensely fond of the dutchman sitting beside you. although you were absorbed in the stories from his childhood he told you, you remained acutely aware of how close the two of you were now sitting.

max's night couldn't have been unfolding more perfectly. your body language made your thoughts and feelings painfully obvious.

he picked up on the way you blushed immensely at any slight touch from him. the way your pupils dilated as you stared at him. the goosebumps that spread across your chest when he complimented your dress.

but the loudness of the restaurant was a little too much for him. there were too many people here. he craved something more intimate, more private.

"do you wanna get out of here?"

you're caught off guard by his words.

the question was so cliche, yet coming from his mouth it made your heart throb.

"there's a beautiful view not too far from here," he continued, "we could walk?"

his voice was like velvet and he leaned in close, speaking in a low tone as if he didnt want anyone to hear except you.

by now, you're practically having heart palpitations. the pit in your stomach gapes wider.

it was already hard enough for you to keep your sanity intact with him while surrounded by other people. you honestly aren't sure if you could handle being out alone with him.

you nod slowly your head spinning, breathe quickening.

"oh, yeah i'd love that." your voice was unsteadt, yet enthusiastic.

without another word he starts getting up, but before he slips out of the booth he gently touches your leg with his hand, as if reassuring you.

his fingers may as well have been made of hot metal, his touch affected your entire body, his fingerprints burned into your skin.

you felt like a little kid with a crush as you gingerly got up and followed max out of the restaurant, butterflies in your stomach and in your mind.

you don't notice all the eyes on you two as you leave the restaurant, too caught up in the giddiness you were feeling. your own eyes too focused on max in front of you, more specifically on his back which looked so good in that damn shirt.

max, on the other hand, was well aware of all the eyes on him. he fought to keep his cocky grin at bay. there were at least 20 other people there, and out of everyone, you were leaving with him.

he opens the door and lets you by first.

"thank you," you say, the night air cooling your overheated body.

"of course."

amongst the ever present—extremely active— butterflies that fluttered in your stomach, you felt a twinge of genuine nervousness.

you realize that you had just left a restaurant, alone at night, with a guy you technically barely knew. was this safe?

it certainly felt safe. max felt nothing like a stranger.

your nervousness melted away once max fell into step beside you. you looked up at him, at those intense blue eyes.

you were walking so close your arms touched. you had the urge to reach out and take his hand, but of course you didn't.

so there you were, walking alongside max verstappen into the dark night, to see the promised beautiful view.

you'd only walked two blocks before max carefully took your hand in his, entwining his fingers with yours.

please let me know if you want to be tagged for pt.2 (this might end up being three parts)❤

[shitouttabuck]

20 questions for fic writers

tagged by @thewolvesof1998 thank u bud i’m procrastinating packing and this was fun

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

seven!

2. what’s your total ao3 word count?

129,484 which is a fake number to me

3. what fandoms do you write for?

nothing has made me as insane in my life as network television procedural drama 911 on abc, so

4. what are your top 5 fics by kudos?

you can start a family who will always show you love

let the world have its way with you

my hearts over-pumping and your mouth is an ambulance

like a dog with a bird at your door

i like the summer rain (i like the sounds you make)

5. do you respond to comments? why or why not?

i try very hard to because they make me so happy and it’s unbelievably kind of people to take the time to leave them!!! However i sometimes leave it too long and then worry it’s weird to reply after like. a month. which as a fic reader i wouldn’t give a shit about so idk what my problem is!!!! i will reply i will just maybe take a hot sec to do it

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

i don’t have any i’m a happily ever after or bust kinda guy in my own head if nowhere else…… angstiest is probably the sound of love astounds me if only because it ends post-feelings realisation but still pre-relationship

7. what’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

they’re all so happy omg. i will say with great personal bias it’s my heart’s over-pumping but also i have. a sequel in the works….

8. do you get hate on fics?

no people have been very very very lovely but also sjjsjsjs i’ve not been here super long. the funniest comment i’ve gotten was on my first fic where someone was like i liked this but it is jarringly inaccurate as mcdonald’s in california doesn’t have a veggie burger option 😭 i cried laughing im so sorry to u americans. pls petition your local mcdonald’s to stock the mcplant it slaps

9. do you write smut? if so, what kind?

have written two e-rated fics….. it’s very fun but i don’t think i’m very good so i’d like to practice actually (maybe some sexy prompts after i finish the bed-sharing ones?) just the regular kind for now like i love buck and eddie desperately and am myself into a million things but i don’t know how kinky they would actually get in my own head. so just a little gross with it for now i guess

10. do you write crossovers? what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

nope!

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

nope

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

no that would be SICK. @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove is podficcing bucket list fic which is so very cool of her!

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

no omg i don’t know how y’all do it i’m bad at group projects but also this sounds soooooo fun. if also deeply stressful

14. what’s your all time favorite ship?

if that’s synonymous with most likely to get you institutionalised, uh. gestures around us. otherwise mulder/scully and i am just now right as i’m typing this realising i’ve never ever in my life actually read x files fic what the fuck. also steve/bucky but i haven’t read fic since 2017 probably

15. what’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

listen i have not written a word for x files au past that one snip i shared forever ago. i want to soooo bad i’ve talked about it to some of you very rabidly but. it does not want to be written and if it did it would have to be so fucking long which is very daunting to me. not saying i’ve put her in the ground yet but. we might need some necromancing

16. what are your writing strengths?

i think i’m pretty good at writing in character? mostly? sometimes i struggle with buck just because i think we’re very similar and i project a little and then have to go back and fix it lmao but for the most part i think i’m good at that! and i have a lot of fun writing dialogue

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

plot!!!!!! and pacing!!!!!!!!!!! also my inability to write non-linearly omg if i get stuck i just get Stuck i can’t jump ahead

18. thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

oooh i love it and would love to include more than the teeniest bits i have but i’m so conscious about it sounding natural and not stiff to people whose language it actually is (shout out and a million kisses to @eddiebabygirldiaz for fixing the spanish in i love you like a dog!!!!!)

19. first fandom you wrote for?

911 babey!

20. favorite fic you’ve written?

my heart’s over-pumping and your mouth is an ambulance !!! not just because it was the first fic i posted after joining tumblr fandom but. idk it is so so so special to me like it makes me so happy and when i think about it i’m like. hey u wrote that. good for u my dude. and also maybe i just associate it with meeting a bunch of you whjsjssjsj

tagging @callaplums @eddiebabygirldiaz @housewifebuck @rewritetheending @try-set-me-on-fire @onward--upward @anxieteandbiscuits @devirnis @athenagranted if anyone wants to do this i’m nosy soz if you already have !!!!

[archivomeow]

“ watch my shattered edges glisten ”

marvel cinematic universe | read on ao3

summary: Yelena believes she’s broken and learns what Aromantic and Asexual is, from a friend - Kate Bishop.

a/n: anyways i need some good aroace rep also o tried my best to include terms like aplatonic or afamilial, i will probably expand on those in future fics!

Yelena couldn’t help but feel lost, every since she was a little girl she did, life screwed her over, she had major trauma, PTSD, abandonment issues and many other things that still needed to be worked out in therapy. One thing that was brought up multiple times were relationships and dating, she always assumed she wasn’t ready, that she just felt broken, that as soon as she got fixed she would do all of the normal stuff - date, love others in that special way she hasn’t loved anyone yet, but as days and months passed she saw no change, she still felt trapped on every date she went out on as soon as things were becoming too overwhelming for her. At some point the topic was dropped to he renewed im therapy later on, as nothing seemed to work to fix her. She was unfixable, broken forever and she hated it.

That thought made her heart ache, made her stomach hurt, she somewhat also found joy and comfort in that, in loneliness. She hated the thought at times, but it seemed so precious at other times, so convenient and comfortable, like it fit her, but it’s not normal, so she had to fix herself… or so she believed. It was rainy Tuesday, a meaningless day that changed everything for her, that showed her a new path, her path.

Yelena wandered around, with no apparent destination, she left the bar in a rush just to walk around in rain, passing couples, families and singles all running from the rain as she soaked, with no umbrella or a hoodie, she just walked, her hair and clothes dripping wet but she couldn’t care less at the moment. She stopped at one point, as she looked around recognising the neighbourhood - she was here multiple times, ever since she tried to kill Clint Barton, she and Kate run into each other multiple other times afterwards, which as one would assume correctly was very awkward. As time passed the two even kept in touch, Yelena send Kate post cards from all around the world and got back NYC postcards, which she kept all, as souvenirs.

Yelena moved towards Kate’s apartment, she was soaking wet and just now it hit her how her clothes were uncomfortably sticking to her skin. She walked towards the door, it felt like forever before she reached them, her hand was shaking as she knocked on the door. The door opened soon enough, Kate had her hair in a messy up-do, her makeup was clearly off and there was a fresh bruise on her face, right on the side of her forehead. She was wearing a dark purple sweater alongside grey sweatpants. Yelena stood straight as she unconsciously clenched her jaw and looked at Kate in silence for a moment.

“Hey… I wasn’t—“ Kate spoke hesitantly, but was interrupted as Yelena walked into the apartment, uninvited.

“We need to talk.” Yelena spoke firmly, as she moved her hair back, trying to unstick all the blonde hair pieces from her face.

Kate’s eyes looked at the woman, scanning her up and down. Yelena’s yellow jacket was dripping with water, right onto Kate’s tiles, so were her midnight blue pants and the white t-shirt hidden under the jacket.

“First, you get warm!” Kate demanded as she locked the door behind herself and pointed to her bedroom, in an attempt to communicate to Yelena that she can take her clothes, Kate on the other hand started to make tea.

The two sat in comfortable clothes with their hair up, covered in blanket with a warm cup of tea in their hands. Yelena was staring at Kate for a second before she spoke up, her voice not as confident as before, she paused a lot and repeated herself couple times before she said the whole thing.

“I think- I think I might be… broken.” She mumbled, looking down at her tea cup.

“Why?” Kate questioned the woman, trying to figure out what exactly the unexpected visit was about. She sipped her tea, making sure to stay focused on Yelena.

“I don’t- I don’t love… It’s like I’m heartless…”

“You don’t love?” Kate furrowed her brows, she had a hint, an idea of where Yelena was going with this, but didn’t want to scare the woman, so she simply listened.

“Like… I love… But not like I’m supposed to. I love my sister and I love my dog… I love vodka, I love my family and all that… But I don’t love love, you know?”

“You mean, romantic love?”

“Yes, that.” She paused for a moment as silence filled the room. “That is a fancy word for love.”

“Well we have different types of love…” Kate started slowly, as Yelena seemed to be still in her head, she wanted Yelena to let it all out, it would definitely help the woman - to share.

“I just… I don’t get it, why don’t I feel it? What is wrong with me? Why me? And I- I… I want to feel it, I want to love and I want to be normal and I- I just… I don’t understand…” She paused, before continuing the rant, Kate simply listened.

“I want to love and to be loved and I want to understand love love… I thought I did… But I’m not sure anymore. It’s not right, it’s not…” Yelena breathed out sharply.

“Yelena, breathe…” Kate smiled reassuringly as she put her cup down. “It’s okay.” She nodded as she spoke. “You don’t have to love… besides love is such a smaller thing then people make it out to be.” Kate placed a reassuring hand on Yelena’s shoulder as she continued to speak.

“You’re not broken, you don’t need to be fixed, you’re not lacking or missing out. You’re completely fine, completely normal and completely valid. You don’t need love, romantic, platonic, familial, it doesn’t matter… There’s so much more then love to live for… No matter what you feel, how you feel, what love you feel or don’t feel, it doesn’t make you less, it doesn’t make you a bad person, it doesn’t make you disgusting.”

Kate shifted in her seat, Yelena looked at the woman, she wanted her to continue to speak to say more. To reassure her, that she was fine, that she will feel it, but that’s not quite where Kate was going.

“You don’t need it now or ever. Your inability to love same way as others do doesn’t make you less. You might love in whatever way you want to someday but you might not… Both are alright, okay?” Kate smiled warmly at Yelena.

“But that’s not…” Yelena mumbled softly as she seemed to be processing what Kate was saying.

“It’s fine.” Kate nodded slowly. “You being different doesn’t make you less and you’re never alone, okay?”

Yelena nodded at Kate’s words, still slightly lost.

“Ever heard about aromanticism and asexuality?” Kate asked catching Yelena’s attention.

“No…What’s that?”

“If you’re on the aromantic spectrum - it means you experience little to no romantic attraction or you experience it only under certain circumstances. Being asexual is the same but with sexual attraction.”

“So little to no sexual attraction or only under certain circumstances?”

“Yeah, exactly!” Kate’s voice went high pitched as she got overly excited, but had no intention to hide it. “There’s a lot more too… Like A-Spec, with identities like aplatonic, afamilial and such…”

A light sigh and an ‘oh’ left Yelena’s mouth as she seemed to understand the information.

“So I’m that?”

“I can’t tell you that… But I can help you do some research, how about that?”

“Yeah…Let’s do that.” Yelena nodded with a determined look in her eyes.

[abidethetempest]

Rise and Fall Ch 1 Retrospective

I've been wanting to do little behind the scenes style posts for my fics for EVER, and now i finally have a platform to do it >:D prepare to be subjected to my ramblings!!!! (link to the fic btw)

long ass post below the cut:

General Notes:

chapter 1 of any fic for me is both very fun and very nervewracking. writing the start of a project that I've been brainstorming for a long time can go one of two ways: i have All The Ideas right away and it comes out in one session, or i spend 600 years agonizing abt my ~vision~ and making sure everything is perfect. this fic was decidely the second. part of this is because im a big dumb idiot and planned everything except the opening for literal years. it took me probably 3 months just to get thru the intro stuff and feel like it was good enough to move on, let alone post.

Stuff I Cut:

unfortunately, there is actually a lot more i wish i could have included, but didn't for the sake of pacing. i wanted this section to include more of Risen's time alone on the road, her isolation from post-collapse society, and her deeply held guilt abt her role and self-percieved failures as a Lightbearer. i'd love to write some one-shots or little scenes about it! I wish we got to see more of what it would be like for a Lightbearer in the dark age that didnt want to be a Warlord, since timeline-wise we don't really see the emergence of the modern Guardian archetype until the Iron Lords or the early Titan orders. We hear abt it some from Drifter, but he is understandably reticent to speak on his past so we don't get much. Risen as a character feels very strongly about her purpose as the "Traveler's warrior", something that will be touched on next chapter, but she struggles to reconcile who she wants to be with the reality around her. The aftermath of this gets explored as time goes on, but i do want to revisit her very early days of life as a new light someday.

The Sanctuary:

the mission that Risen and Ghost are on at the beginning of this fic is,,,,, entirely made up by me, it's not from canon or remotely related to anything in the lore (as far as i know, at least). They're chasing rumors, driven by Risen's desperation for someplace to find a family and a purpose, and by Ghost's desire to keep Risen away from danger. I just needed a reason for them to be on the move.

The Town:

The town scene is... *sigh*. I struggled with it a lot. In part because it, AGAIN, was not something i had ever planned for until i actually sat down to write. I needed a scene to show Risen's desire to be a protector of others conflicting with her current modus operandi. I still feel like it's too on the nose when she talks to Ghost at the inn but sometimes you just gotta spell it out i think. Her reaction after running came out as I wanted, though. While running away to fight another day might be the logical choice, Risen definitely is the type to carry her guilt with her forever even if it was the "right decision". Risen:

I LOVE Ghost as a character. I want more Ghosts that are flawed, angry, hurt. More Ghosts who are afraid maybe none of the fighting and death is worth it. More Ghosts who go thru just as much development as their Guardians, please. I find it interesting that, as the first contact a Guardian has and their constant companion, a Ghost has a big influence over their Guardian's early development, and I want to see it explored more how they could push their Guardian down one path or another.

Warlords:

In case anyone is wondering, the Warlords in this fic are entirely OCs. The destiny timeline already gives me hives, I am NOT abt to try and find some canon characters to use in this fic when I can just.... make them myself. Warlords are such cool concepts! I want more lore about them (and the Dark Age in general).

I think thats all I have for now! Thanks for reading (assuming anyone is reading these lol)

[revelmaven]

🍉?

🍉in what ways has writing helped you process trauma and/or navigate through your own life?

yeehaw. strap the fuck in. tw for eating disorder

in short: way more than i was prepared for it to. writing fic has always been about two degrees of separation from just keeping a diary for me, and the more i love a character the more likely it is i'll end up using them as a proxy through which to tell a story from my own life that i feel needs to be told.

im currently In The Process of writing a fic that i keep (semi) fondly referring to as an exorcism. the purpose of Communion is twofold: one, to explore what it might look like to commune with the god of death, and what sort of rituals might be necessary to become close to someone whose domain is That; and two, speaking openly about my own eating disorder (and, in later chapters, my experiences with self harm).

this is not something i particularly Delight in talking about. despite my general shock value open-bookedness, actually telling people what happened to me (what i did to myself) in that time is... not something i'd prefer to do. i'm still ashamed of a lot of what happened. i still feel stupid for a lot of the decisions i made, and i feel like people knowing that's something i indulged in will not take me seriously. i'm convinced i should've known better. should've done better. for a long time i had no patience and no grace for my younger self.

i only told, i think, three people that it was happening while it was happening, and only a handful more after it ended - and Nobody got the full story at Any point in the timeline. there were some things i kept my in fucked up little heart of hearts and vowed to die with.

and then. i didn't die. and i still couldn't tell anyone the depth of it - it didn't feel fair to tell anybody the Truth after the fact, not all of it - so instead a not-quite-year of my life got filed away and i have simply tried to avoid its gaze ever since. and the longer it went secret, the more its self-imposed taboo strengthened, and so increased the shame of having done it at all. and that's. i definitely carried and harboured (less so now but still do) a lot of resentment for myself. it was a dumb decision i'd made in my youth, among a myriad of others.

of course, you get older and you hopefully get better - or in my case you don't. i returned my body ostensibly to rights and it immediately fell apart, this time in a way that's seeming to be permanent. i inherited god-knows-what's-syndrome from my mum, and it didn't hit me until my early 20s when it hit her (just over a year into my recovery), and now i live with chronic pain. forever. the body i worked so hard to repair betrayed me ultimately. and i had to decide very quickly if i was going to be angry for the rest of my life, keep pushing myself beyond what i knew was healthy, forcing myself to limits no one in my condition could meet and further (which is arguably definitely a factor in getting me into this mess) - or if i was going to take care of my body, and respect it, even though it could not be fixed.

enter ashton.

i started writing for critical role with a migraine fic about ash a few months after c3 started. before that i'd been writing sanders sides and got pretty much no attention, so i assumed this would continue, posted without a care, and off i went.

and then Softness blew up. and suddenly there was demand. people liked hearing my story. other disabled and chronically-ill people were in my messages talking about how it resonated with them and how they adored my writing style, how i captured the feeling.

and i thought, fuck it. i've got stuff to work through. let's throw it out there.

so i started writing about kingsley, too. i started writing about what it's like not knowing who you are, especially when people, even people you consider family, seem to like you better for who you used to be, or who you remind them of. i started writing about trying to work out who you are. i started writing about nightmares.

something else came up, and i wrote Lucky - because, and if i were to make a tl;dr this would be it - it's easier for me to confront the things i need to about myself when done behind the abstraction of a blorbo.

so naturally we came around to Communion. and i thought, what the hell. maybe it's time to get this out. i'm not angry at myself anymore. enough time has passed and i have put enough grit and spit and effort into being kind to myself that i have sympathy for that kid finally. i look back on what happened, and i would break the world apart to save her from it.

this one is a lot more personal than the others. it was easier - is easier - to write about ashton because the pain is my companion now, whether we like each other or not, and it's something i've grown to have grace for. it's easier to write about kingsley because i've worked out who i am, and the hurt from that is a distant memory. it is not so easy to write about vax, and go through this again, because unlike the others this is Not something i have spoken openly about, and it's Not something i've completely come to terms with. this Is the coming to terms. and while i'm learning to have patience and kindness for that experience, putting the gorey details out where it can be judged and scrutinized by complete strangers is still terrifying. i am still afraid no one will take me seriously. i'm afraid people will see this as nothing more than a story, that i'll have people demanding i slice more of myself off more frequently than i can, that i'll get criticism for it being unrealistic or stupid, that its significance will be downplayed or ignored - laying my trauma naked like that in front of an audience i don't know is both freeing in its anonymity and absolutely shattering when it goes wrong. i'm lucky. the reception for Communion has been amazing in the majority. and getting it out there, having said it - again, it's not that this was something that Dragged At My Soul, as such. but i do find that when i sit down to write a particularly uncensored memory out, when i get back up there is a space where something Used to be, and is not anymore. it feels better.

in all my works, i'm hoping that i can show a younger person like me that the worst thing that can happen to you can happen, and you can still go on and find a good life with great people. you can lose yourself entirely in bad decisions, or tragedy, or what have you - and you can still walk out of that a little while later and start again. that message is as much for me now as it is for anyone else.

thank you for asking <3

still taking requests from this ask list

[lavenderwhore444]

Ok so we all love pervert shigaraki ( Ik u do so please don’t lie to ur self love 😀) anyways what if shigaraki had a huge crush on the reader and steals there panties ( when there out in a mission working there ass off) but the reader notices and placed cameras in her room just to see who’s stealing them surprise surprise it’s ya boy shiggy and the reader finds it kind of cute that he’s that desperate but is also upsetting because there working and he’s here getting off on her stuff so.the reader catch’s him in the act and shows him the videos ( shigaraki at this point is crying from embarrassment and he’s begging for the reader to delete the videos) as a punishment the reader pegs the shit out of him and the ending is fluff since I do love shiggy

First of all English isn’t my first language so apologizes for any mistakes and for the ending please work ur magic sis 

💍🧎🏻‍♀️marry me this is so good

COMMISSIONS

If you want to use interactive fics, it's easy and makes reading fics SO much better. First, you download the Google Chrome extension. You'll see it in the top right corner of your screen. Next, you enter your name in the first box. If you want to change something other than y/n, please click on the text that says “want to change something other than y/n?” here, you can change any word you want to a different word. When I talk about your quirk I will use y/q

Warnings: smut (obvi) shigaraki is a perv degradation a little I think #peg shiggy 2021 fingering for Shig 😌 humiliation??? Idk what to put man request says it all

InteractiveFics

Master List

Song: 

🌸 I have an irl on here rn because we both simp for crusty men, and she’s probably lowkey scared of me. I was drunk on having social interaction for the first time forever and was like, “omg, I write for them. I have Tumblr 🤪” Listen, I told you I would do anything for him, and I fucking meant it, ok? And he’s a little pervert, so they're kinda gross (indirectly making me have gross kinks too ig ☹️) Plus, I warned you about his piss kink, that should've been a good indicator to the rest of these 🙄 , Anyways anon has sent me THE BEST SCENARIOS OMG. I have read a lot of Shigaraki fics, BUT THESE ARE SO ORIGINAL IM SO HAPPY. There's one, in particular, I'm excited to write because it's just so cute, omg. 🌸

It was the fifth time this week. You were out on another mission, and Tomura was half-naked in your room on the verge of passing out from how many times he had cum into various articles of your clothing. It started off as just your panties. Perverted but not insane. As time went on, it only got worse. The panties weren’t good enough. He started putting one of your shirts over his face as he got off, and that worked...for a while. His next fix was to steal some of your perfume, but it wasn't good enough.

He felt disgusting the first time he got off in your room. He felt like he'd crossed a line (not that he hadn’t already), but it was the best orgasm of his life. What's done is done, so he might as well take advantage of the rest of your room. He was pretty comfortable now, face pressed into your pillow, inhaling your scent as his body spasmed for the last time. He was utterly spent.

And now, for the worst part, being in your room surrounded by your stuff, smelling your perfume, but still being all alone. It wasn't like Shigaraki had a crush on you or anything. Him having a crush on y/n? Unheard of. The rest of the girls in the league were like family to him. You two just weren't there yet, even though it had been five months, and he blushes whenever you talk to him. So what if he wants to punch Dabi whenever he looks at you? He wasn't in love with you. God damn it, he was just horny. That was it. That was the extent of his feelings, and they would go away.

They didn't go away, but more of your stuff sure did. It was becoming more common for clothing in your room to go missing only to end up clean and folded in the proper drawer. It was weird, but someone was doing most of your laundry for you. It wasn't Dabi taking your stuff. He could get his dick wet whenever he wanted. The other guys preached “don’t lewd y/n” and tried to fight Dabi when he put his hand on your thigh. Toga would steal your shirts but definitely not your underwear. If she did steal your clothing, she’d post a mirror pic and tag you in it.

So that left your boss. Tomura Shigaraki. You thought he hated you. He got all quiet and distant when you talked to him. Was he nervous? He glared at you and Dabi. Or was it just Dabi? Maybe the little creep did like you. He was kinda cute. His messy hair looked so soft, his eyes lit up when he won his games, Shigaraki had this little smile when he was watching the league sit together, and he had discarded father almost completely. But he was a creep, and you definitely didn't have a crush on him. Definitely not.

But part of you didn't want to tell him to stop. It took a while to cook up a plan, but it was foolproof when you came up with one. You found stole the money to invest in some hidden cameras. By now, you were starting to accept that you might like him just a little. But in a sad puppy kind of way. You didn't actually have a crush on him. Nope, not at all.

And it was kind of mean that he was making you do all this work while he got to jerk off in your bed. You'd come back with cuts, scrapes, bruises, and even a broken bone one time, just for him to totally ignore you. He had spent all day ruining your clothes and wouldn't even look at you.

Your behavior had changed towards Tomura, though, and he had definitely noticed. You were acting the same way he was. You were always blushing when you talked to him. You sat next to him while he played games, but it's "just because you're bored." Maybe you were starting to like him back. He had come to terms with his not-so-little crush on you. This didn't stop him from acting like a perv but still.

The cameras had been up for a while, and honestly, watching those videos back was way better than watching porn. Shigaraki looked so sweet and desperate. The way he laid in your bed afterward, holding your pillow, made your heartache for him. He just looked so lonely. You decided it was time to confront him.

"I'm going out for a couple days, guys!" you called, walking out with a backpack on your shoulder.

"I'll miss you, dollface," Dabi called back, blowing a kiss as you laughed at him.

The glare Shigaraki gave him could have dusted him right then and there. You stayed at a cheap motel for a while, watching the cameras. It was pretty nice to finally have some quiet. It didn't take long for Shigaraki to wander into your room with a raging hard-on. You took your time getting home, knowing he'd be there for at least a few hours. You glanced at your phone once in a while, catching two of Shigaraki’s orgasms. You’d hear a strangled cry and see his mouth wide open, eyes squeezed shut, and back arching. He’d coat his chest and your underwear in hot cum. You started to walk faster. Most of the league was asleep as you used your levitation quirk to float silently up the stairs. You opened the door.

“Who knew you were such a perv, Shiggy. All this time, I thought you hated me, but it looks like someone has a little crush on me, ” you said sweetly.

He looked like a deer in headlights, eyes wide as his body froze. A soft whimper left him as his face turned an angry shade of red that matched the head of his cock.

“N-no please, I'm sorry y/n I-i just didn't um ill leave. I'm so sorry, ” he muttered.

He got up, but you pushed him back on the bed.

“Not yet, Shiggy. I have something to show you, ” you said in a singsong voice.

You sat next to him, slinging your left arm around his shoulders. You pulled up the live feed.

“Aww, look at how cute we look right now, Shig, ” you teased.

His face told you that he was terrified.

“Y-you didn’t, ” he tried to fool himself.

“Oh, I did, ” you whispered in his ear.

You heard him sniffle. You slid the bar at the bottom of the screen back to show him what he was doing mere minutes ago.

“No, you can't, ” he choked as tears fell from his eyes, “please don’t show anyone y/n. Please I c-cant. I'm sorry, just don’t show anyone, ” he sobbed, “please don't. I’ll never talk to you again if you want I’ll do anything just don't show anyone, ” he cried.

“Anything?” you questioned.

“Anything, ” he nodded, still crying.

“Well, first of all, ” you said, “you can start by taking me out on a date, ”

He nearly choked as his eyes widened.

“What?” he whispered, wiping his eyes and nose.

“I said that you’re going to take me out on a date, and please use a tissue, ” you said.

He nodded and cleaned up his face the rest of the way.

“And second, you can take off your shirt and bend over the bed with your legs spread, ” you whispered in his ear, pressing a kiss just below it.

He looked confused for a second until his eyes widened, and he did as he was told.

“Now, don't play dumb with me. I know you’ll like this. I've seen you try and finger yourself before, but you did a shit job, and I promise this will be even better, ” you smiled, ruffling Tomura's hair.

He was getting more comfortable with you now, giving a nervous smile and humming when you touched his hair.

You walked back with everything you needed, only to sigh disappointedly, “oh Shiggy, that's not nearly wide enough. I know you can do better than that. Spread your legs more,”

He nodded, eager to please, and nearly did the splits. You giggled and smacked his butt. He jumped, causing you to laugh again.

“You’re so precious. It's a real shame I'm about to turn you into a slutty mess, ” you cooed.

He felt two slimy fingers press against his hole, and he shuddered. He tried to relax and let you press into him. It didn't take very long to get him moaning, bucking against your fingers. Two became three, and three became four before you decided he was ready. You were looking forward to eating him out, but this was supposed to be a punishment. You lined him up, rubbing the head against his hole that was still clenching around nothing. You pushed the entire thing inside of him as he screamed.

You scoffed, “do you know how many people you just woke up? Do you want the whole league to know you're getting pegged as punishment for being a disgusting, perverted slut? You want them to know that I'm fucking your ass? Huh? Do you? Cause I'll bend you over the fucking bar and show them who you submit to, ”

You started thrusting at a brutal pace. Tomura pushed his face into the pillow only for you to levitate him so he couldn't do anything to stop all the sounds coming out of his mouth. You were looking forward to all the looks you'd get as you smirked, and he struggled to sit next to you. You managed to go even harder.

“You’re not sitting or walking this week, Shiggy, ” you cooed.

“No, ” he choked out, “n-no call me Tomura p-please, ” he moaned.

“Tomura, ” you whispered in his ear, “pretty name for a pretty boy, ”

You reached around and twisted his nipple, causing him to cry out. Tomura only got louder as you reached around and grabbed his balls another hand-squeezed his tip between two fingers and pinched gently before jerking him instead. He was losing it now, tongue hanging out, and eyes rolled back. Little screams were ripped from him, and he jerked around.

“Y/n ‘m gonna, ‘m gonna cum, ” Tomura slurred.

“You gonna cum for me, Tomu? Go on, do it, ” you encouraged.

He cried out, his body going rigid as he shot cum out of his cock. He was gasping and panting as you let him flop down on the bed and pulled out.

“C-can you help me back to my room, ” he whispered, looking sad.

“No, ” you said as he frowned, eyes watering again, “because you're staying with me tonight. Get in bed, ”

He blushed and crawled into the corner. You yanked him closer, taking over as the big spoon.

“Goodnight, Tomura, ” you said. Kissing his back and shoulders, you rubbed his stomach and chest, “you're so pretty, baby. I forgive you. It’s obvious you’ve never had a crush on a girl before, and I think you learned your lesson, ” you said, rubbing his sore ass.

He nodded, “I'm sorry, I just didn't know what to do, ” he mumbled.

“I know, sweetie, ” you whispered, “I know. Was what we did ok? Did you like it?”

He nodded, “I liked it, ” he whispered.

“Do you need anything, ” you asked.

He shook his head, “just tired, ”

“Alright, baby, just get some sleep, love, ” you said.

He nodded as you both found an absurd amount of comfort in being so close to each other. You slept like a baby. You woke up to him gazing at you lovingly, pushing a piece of hair behind your ear.

He kissed your forehead, “I hope you know you're never getting rid of me, ” he smiled.

He kissed you, “y’know I'm kind of disappointed you didn't kiss me last night, ” he pouted.

“Mmm, I was too busy fucking you, sorry sweetie, ” you said, kissing him again.

“You enjoyed your ‘punishment’ a little too much, but having to go downstairs should be punishment enough, ” you grinned.

He groaned, “please don't make me. Let me stay in my room forever y/n, ”

“No, can do Tomu, you need breakfast, ” you said.

You walked downstairs, sitting at the bar and eating your breakfast. No one else was up yet, or so you thought until you heard footsteps coming down the stairs.

“You're not dead?” Dabi asked, completely dumbfounded.

“No dumbfuck, I'm not dead. Why the hell would I be dead?” he snapped.

“I dunno maybe cause you were screaming from y/n’s room all nigh- oh no. Oh god I think I'm gonna be sick, ” he fake gagged.

All you did was laugh at him.

“You two are disgusting, y’know that?” he said.

“We know, ” you smiled eating the rest of your breakfast.

[bts-reveries]

expect the unexpected |15

The Kim family had just finished dinner and were having family time in the living room!

Minseok played with his siblings on the coffee table. He was teaching his younger brother and sister how to share their toys as they often fought with each other. The two youngest’s personalities often clashed as Soojin and Haneul were both chaotic in their own ways.

“Soojinie,” Minseok calls, he notices that his brother was pouting next to his sister. “Let Haneul borrow that.” He points to the car Soojin was playing with. “You’ve been holding onto that this whole time, Haneul’s been wanting to play with it too.” 

“But it’s mine,” Soojin says, holding it close to her chest. 

“I know, but Haneul just wants to play with it. It will still be yours,” Minseok says, holding his arm out for the toy. Soojin hesitates, but gives it to him anyway.

“Here Han-Han,” Minseok says, acting cute when he gives the toy to Haneul. He only calls Haneul that when Haneul’s sad. 

Haneul immediately lights up when the toy car is given to him. 

“Thanks hyungie~”

“At least we raised one nice one,” Jin says, watching his three kids. The two of you were sitting on the couch. Well, you were sitting on the couch. Jin was laying down, facing up, with his feet on the arm of the couch and his head on your lap.

He turns his head to look up at you, snuggling his head on your lap. 

“They’re all sweet in their own way,” you respond, watching Soojin finally play with Haneul and Minseok smiling as he watches them two. “Look at them.” You gesture to the kids, watching them laugh with each other. 

“Yeah, if only it was like this all the time,” Jin sighs. Nowadays, he’s been busier and has been out of the house often. When he is with the kids, they’re often in bad moods, or he’s had a stressful day. Sometimes they're all in bad moods which makes it all just stressful for one another. If only it was like this all the time. When everyone’s happy~ 

He turns his head to look up at you. 

“Can you believe it’s almost been a month since our trip?” Jin says. Your anniversary trip was almost a month ago. Which is crazy to think. Time goes by fast doesn’t it? 

The two of you have been busy, with work and with the kids. Sometimes together, sometimes individually. There’s been long nights and long days. But it’s all worth it in the end. For nights like this.

“I miss Jeju,” Jin pouts, closing his eyes. You giggle, poking his round cheeks. “I wanna go on anodo twip~~” he whines, talking in aegyo. You roll your eyes, cupping his cheeks and shaking his head from side to side. 

“My baby wants to go on anodo twip?” you repeat, jutting out your bottom lip. Right when the word baby leaves your mouth, you see Haneul’s head whip towards you from your peripheral vision. You look up at him and he’s frowning.

“I’m the baby,” he says, pointing to himself. Jin turns to look at him and shakes his head.

“I’m mommy’s baby,” Jin says, turning his head toward your stomach, looking away from his kids. You look up at Haneul and you can tell that he’s mad. Minseok starts to giggle as Haneul starts walking up to his dad. 

“No! Me!” Haneul yells as he stands in front of his dad. “I’m baby!” With that came a smack to Jin’s shoulder. Jin’s head whips toward him so fast and his eyes are wide.

“Did you just hit me?”

Haneul hits him again. “I’m mommy’s baby,” he says, smacking Jin’s chest. 

“Stop hitting my daddy!” Soojin yells, running towards her brother. She pushes him to the side and hugs Jin. Of course this made Haneul scream. 

A quiet household doesn’t last long for you five. 

“Soojinah,” Jin whines, holding onto his chest. Acting as if he was so hurt. “Haneul hurt daddy.” 

“See you hurt my daddy!” Soojin yells, pushing Haneul back down as he finally gets up on his feet. 

“Yah--” You say, putting an arm on her shoulder. Let’s not take this too far.

“That’s my daddy too!” Haneul yells out. This whole time Minseok was just leaning over the coffee table, watching everything unfold before him.

“No he’s mine!” Soojin yells. 

“No, daddy is mine,” you say, making both of them turn to you. You lean down and hug Jin’s head, pressing his cheek against yours. “And I have known daddy for longer.”

You give Jin a kiss on the cheek, he already had a cheeky smile on his face. You turn to look back up at Soojin and her lips are quivering and her eyebrows were already turned upwards. 

“Soojinah--” You say, right before the floodgates have opened. 

Now you had two screaming and crying children as Haneul started crying right after his sister did. You froze, looking up at your last, quiet child. You and Minseok made eye contact and he let out a little smile, making you laugh. Your laughing only made Soojin cry louder. 

“Alright alright, daddy is yours, come here,” Jin says, sitting up and opening his arms. Soojin is still crying as she walks into her dad’s embrace. Jin picks her up, placing her on his lap. Soojin tucks her arms under herself, sandwiched between hers and Jin’s chest. Jin rubs her back, saying “it’s okay, no need to cry.”

“Haneul come to mommy?” You say, opening your arms as well. Haneul stands up and runs into your arms, crying into your chest. 

“How’d it turn out like this?” You say to Jin, letting out a small laugh. He shrugs his shoulders, smiling at you. 

You both are rubbing the two youngest’s backs, trying to calm them down. 

“Look at Minseok,” Jin tells you. You look up at your oldest and see him just awkwardly looking at you two. 

“What about you? Who’s your favorite?” You ask him. Clearly Soojin was more of a daddy’s girl and Haneul was more of a mommy’s boy, even though he was fighting over Jin.

“I love both of you equally,” Minseok answers. Jin nodded in approval, he said the right answer. 

“Oh! But hey, Haneul looks like you’re winning him over,” you tell Jin. Haneul often liked to be trouble with his dad, as if he hated him. But of course he was always sweet with you.

“Is that true Haneul-ah?~” Jin says, lowering his head down and looking at Haneul. He’s calmed down now, both him and his sister. “Do you like daddy more now?” 

Haneul looks up at Jin and looks back down, ignoring his answer. 

He definitely loves his dad.

“Can you two make up now?” You say, referring to Haneul and Soojin. You and Jin pulled away from the little ones for them to sit up and look at one another.

“Make up so we can play already,” Minseok says, walking towards his siblings. 

“Han-Han~” Minseok says, putting a hand on Haneul’s back. “Jinie-Jinie-Soojinie~” He says in a sing-songy voice, turning to his sister and putting a hand on her back. 

Haneul slides off of you and hugs Minseok, looking up at his sister. 

“Go say sorry to Haneul,” Jin tells Soojin. She frowns, sliding off of him and walking towards Minseok.

“Sorry Haneul,” she says, pulling and tugging onto Minseok’s shirt, trying to avoid eye contact. 

“Haneul say sorry to noona too,” you say. 

“Sorry~” He says, looking up at his sister.

“Okay~ Let’s play now,” Minseok says, patting Haneul’s back. 

With that, the three turned around and began playing as if nothing had just happened. Jin sighs, going back to his previous position and laying back into your lap.

“Yeah,” he says, eyes closed and all. “I want to go back to Jeju.” 

You laugh, patting his cheeks. 

“We can go,” you say, his eyes opened so quickly. As if they were saying ‘really??’ 

You nod, “but with the kids this time.” He whines, dropping his head down and shutting his eyes. You laugh at his reaction, squishing his cheeks once again. 

*ring ring*

You turn to the sound. “Is that mine?” You say. You and Jin have the same ringtones. 

“I think so, my phone is in our room,” Jin responds. Eyes still closed, not budging one bit. 

“Well can you get off of me so I can get it?” 

Jin shakes his head no. You sigh.

“I’ll get it mommy,” Minseok says, running to your phone. 

“Thanks sweetie,” you say, watching your oldest run and get your phone. He gives it back to you quickly and returns back to his siblings.

“Oh it’s my dad,” you say, answering the call.

“Hello?” You say. “Dad, is everything okay?” Your eyes widen as he explains the unexpected call. You didn’t have much to say but ‘Yes-- What?-- When?-- Wait-- Why?-- Tomorrow?-- Okay.. I’ll be there.’

You ended the call after what seemed like forever. 

It was mostly you listening while your dad talked. Jin looks up at you, he couldn’t hear much of the conversation.

“What did he say?” he asks.

“My mom’s sick,” you say, feeling uneasy. “I have to leave tomorrow.”

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

expect the unexpected

♡ part fifteen: im baby ♡ 

pairings: ceo, dad!jin x interior designer, mom!reader

a/n: okay i feel like i’ve been saying this, but nOw we’re getting somewhere

also, i know i haven’t been constant as i used to be and that’s more of a part of me not being in the mood to post much, which is also on the fact that i don’t think much people (at least compared to the previous member’s au), are reading this one? i have new readers everyday for the other au’s and although a lot of people love this series and were anticipating this au, this has been the au with the least feedback/readers which make me wonder if it’s boring or what haha ahh.. i don’t want to be that person who’s looking for likes or anything but in the bts tumblr fanfic community idk if everyone’s aware of this, but jin’s au tend to be the ones with the least amount of readers etc. which is why there isn’t much fics on him, a lot of writers gets unmotivated to write for him when they know it doesn’t get as much as tae’s and jungkook’s. and im starting to feel that way, just because for previous au’s i’d constantly post because i’d always get feedback on every update and it motivates me to write more but this au has been the driest au ever lol which is sad because a lot of people were asking to be added to the taglist and i have no idea what happened to them now but i just hope everyone’s okay! i know none of us are obligated to be on top of reading updates but i just wanted to say how i felt. the only thing keeping me going on this au is jin. haha, as silly as that sounds, i don’t want more au’s on him to discontinue because of things like this. im ot7, this whole au is for all of the members so i hope my followers and fellow tmbmil fam continue to read till the end because i did had something planned for the ending, which might just not happen depending on how this au ends. but also the others that keep me going is my sister, a fellow jin bias, and the handful of readers who comment on my updates haha but yeah, this is just how im feeling. i don’t want anyone to think im just not in the mood to do this thing anymore. i really did enjoy this

this was an unexpectedly long a/n, im sure only a few will read this actually, but to those 3 or 5 people who see this, i hope you have a lovely day/night! thank you for reading this, you have my love 💜

taglist: @silentlyimpractical @jillianmarie @waddlebby @cecedrake2217 @ddofa @samros95 @sope-and-shine @joonjoonsmiles @codeinebelle @aianloveseven @Chamchamcham @princessjazzyjazz @notvantaes @casspirit0705 @ramyagovindraj @brinnalaine @ephyra1230 @betysotelo18 @thoughtfultaledreamer @salty-for-suga @cosmicdaylight @dreamcatcherjiah @kookoo-kachoo @justinetingball  @josierosie @jayhope88 @butterflylion @hobiismyhopeu @momma-said-that-it-was-oke @shinyplaidbagellamp @catspancake @somewhereofftheglobe @strawberryforever25 @rjsmochii @prdshobi @beeeb05 @eatjeanjin @taekookcaneatme @Cheeely14 @kookietsukkie @anpanman-sonyeondan @glitteringcoffeefreak @chocobetterknot @alpaca1612 @ohmy-fandoms @liljooniecutie @Jikachoo @preciouschimine @fan-ati--c @Joondala @httpmuffin @dammit-jjk @jikooksgirl19

TAGLIST IS CLOSED!

to be notified when i post, please turn on my notifications! thank youu~

[purplestzebra10]

He truly appreciates you

Summary: You’re Spencer’s girlfriend and the BAU had just gotten back from a case. It wasn’t the worst case but it did leave spencer a little shaken up. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Word count: 498 (something small for now)

Warnings: Aftermath of a case, you comfort him.

A/N: Okay, so I know that haven’t posted anything in about two months but I am going to work on a schedule. Seeing everyone like my fics really make me motivated to get up and write some more and I have written a lot but its just a matter of finishing and editing them. I have about fifteen fics started lmao. Also, this is a formal apology to my bestfriend b/c she is still waiting on their Momo x Reader. I am also thinking about doing a post where it’s like “How the BAU would respond to you changing your pronouns” maybe b/c im changing mines idky. I might do that for all of my fandoms, possibly.  Oh and lastly, I am so sorry this is wordy, I am slowly getting into the MCU fandom but i haven’t finished the movies yet. 

(not my pic, I got it from a google search and my camera roll is filling up.)

The natural ambience from the light storm was very calming for you as you sat on the couch scrolling through your phone. Today was a pretty chill day, you got off of work, got home, made dinner and listened to music. This would’ve been one of the days you ordered takeout, however, today Spencer is coming back from a case. 

You offered to pick him up from the office but of course he declined. You could tell that something was off from his tone over the phone. Still, when you asked he said it was nothing. 

The case didn’t go well and of course you didn’t know the details but Derek told you that it left Spencer shaken up. So you stuck to what you knew and made some dinner. You made some steaks, potatoes, and pan fried asparagus. You  were hoping that it would light up the mood and get him comfortable. Plus this way you could make sure he ate some real food.

You were broken out of your trance when you heard the keys in the door. You heard Spencer walk in letting out a heavy sigh. You put your phone down and got up from the couch to meet him in the walkway. Without saying anything you helped him take off his jacket and set his stuff down.

“Hey.” He said in almost a whisper when he finally looked at you.

“Hey. Dinner is made, I can run you a bath if you want or read something to you.” You suggested looking him directly in the eye. 

“Did you eat?” He asked, he brought his hand your face and caressed your cheek with his thumb.  

“No, not yet.” 

“You should probably go eat.”

“I’ll eat when you do.” You answered. It feels like it's been forever since you last sat down and ate together but given the situation that could wait. “Let’s just cuddle on the couch.” 

Spencer just nodded his head. You walked him over to the couch and sat down with your back against the arm. You left your legs open and Spencer crawled in between. His head rested against your chest and snaked his arm around your waist. 

“You don’t have to talk to me about it.” You were running your fingers through his hair gently. Before being with you, Spencer wasn’t much of a physical touch person but he has gotten more comfortable with you. 

“I know.”

You laid there for an hour or so just hugging each other. This wasn’t the first time you two have ended up like this and with his line of work it wouldn’t be the last.  

“You should eat.” He stated. You just laid there and continued to massage his hair then kissed him on the forehead. 

“Are you ready to eat?” 

“Yeah.” 

That dinner was a quiet one but you being there helped Spencer a lot. He liked how you didn’t ask questions and you listened whenever he talked. He truly appreciates you.

(might make this a series about the little things Spencer and Reader do for each other. Idky)

[erin-bo-berin]

Drunken Words

MASTERLIST

Seems like its been forever since I’ve posted a fluff! This wasn’t really a request, but after a convo with an anon who popped up in my ask, this little fic came to be. It’s a little shorter than most of my fics, but I think it suits the purpose. It’s short, sweet and to the point. Hope you all enjoy! Happy reading!

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: G (fluff)

Word Count: 1,524

Cheers and laughter filled the night air, music accompanying the happy sounds.

You took another drink of your champagne, the carbonated bubbles tickling your nose. You were already on your third glass of it, but it was a celebration, so no big deal.

One of your best friends Jennifer Jareau had finally married the love of her life, Will LaMontagne Jr. You couldn’t be more happy for them. They’d been together for over five years, been parents to their amazing little boy named Henry for four years and now they were tying the knot. They were a great couple.

You took a large swallow of your alcohol, your head buzzing since the middle of your second glass.

“What are you waiting for, girly?” Penelope Garcia twirled by you, in the arms of Derek Morgan, “Come dance already!”

You laughed, shaking your head, grabbing another glass of champagne after you finished your previous one. 

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” a slightly slurring Spencer Reid, meandered up to you.

You giggled, your head now swimming more than before. Apparently, you were drunker than you thought.

“And how much have you had, mishter?” you slurred, yourself.

“Two glasses,” he grinned, proudly.

“I saw you stumble over your own feet just ten minutes ago.”

He waved a hand, loosely.

“No big deal. Come on, wanna dance?”

“With you as drunk as you are? Psh no way.”

“Too bad,” he giggled, pulling you out to the dance floor, causing you to deposit your glass on the nearest passing surface.

“I wasn’t done with that,” you pouted.

“You can get another one later, Y/N,” he said, moving to the fast paced song.

Your hips swayed to the song as he twirled you quite literally around the dance floor. It did nothing for your already spinning head, but you were laughing and smiling so hard, that you didn’t want to stop.

“You’re cute when you smile,” he chuckled.

His hand was on your back and you were pulling him by his hands to dance to the next song.

“You’re cute in a tux.”

“Maybe I should wear them to work more often,” he joked.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

The alcohol was making your tongue loose and your inhibitions around your friend and coworker disappear.

“You’re cute,” he grinned.

“You’re cuter,” you chuckled, booping his nose and giggling.

The DJ decided to take a break and of course, that was when you and Spencer decided to fetch you both more alcohol.

“Yo, PG! Can I get a shot for myself and my lady here?” Spencer hollered.

You had to stifle your laugh with your hand at Garcia’s startled look.

“How much has he had to drink?” you heard Morgan mumble, “I’ve never seen him like this.”

“Neither have I,” Garcia mumbled back.

She poured two shots and handed them to Spencer. He handed one to you and clinked his shot glass against yours.

Throwing it back with a wince, you moved to sit down in one of the chairs but squealed when you felt arms around your waist. Spencer pulled you into his lap with a big grin.

You didn’t miss the wide eyes of some of your other coworkers.

“What?” you asked, clearly confused.

“Nothing, nothing.” Morgan said.

“Have fun little love birds,” Garcia called over her shoulder.

Your brain was too hazy from the drinks to register what she’d said, so you turned back to Spencer.

“You smell good,” he grinned, nuzzling his face into your neck.

“It’s Sí by Giorgio Armani. I only wear it for you.”

“Do you now?” he grinned, flirtatiously.

“UNCA SPENCA!”

You both turned to see Henry running over.

“Pway wiff me?” he asked.

You stood from his lap and he got up, scooping Henry in his arms.

“Little man is going on a flight!”

“Spencer Reid, don’t you dare drop my son!” JJ hollered across the lawn.

You giggled, grabbing a fresh glass of champagne, watching as Spencer put Henry down and Henry started chasing Spencer in circles.

“What is with you guys tonight?” Emily asked, walking over, studying you.

“What do you mean?”

“You two just seem...different.”

You shrugged, not knowing what to say.

“Everything is as normal as always.”

The DJ started the music up again and you grinned.

“Time to hit the dance floor again!”

You danced all the way back towards the floor, your champagne flute still in hand.

•

Spencer found you next to the gift table, where you were standing, taking a breather.

“Guess what?” he asked.

“Hmm?”

“I got you these gifts. I hope you like them.” 

He tried to motion to them, but fell against the table, pushing some of the gifts off the table.

“Spencer!”

You gasped, then burst into giggles, trying to straighten them before anyone noticed.

The music changed from the more fast paced and upbeat songs that had been playing, to a slower song.

“Dance with me,” Spencer said, suddenly serious.

You obliged him.

He took your hand, leading you out to the dance floor where he slowly danced with you in his arms.

His arms were around your waist and yours were on his chest as he spun you gently, landing you right back against his chest, breathless.

Maybe it was more than the alcohol, but in your fuzzy brain, it seemed to make sense to kiss him. 

So, you did.

You leaned your face upwards to his, meeting his lips as you kissed him.

The world spun and disappeared around you as all you could focus on was him kissing you back.

You never saw the shocked and wide eyed looks from the rest of the team as they stared at the two of you.

You didn’t miss the statement from David Rossi though.

“Maybe we need to get them drunk more often so they’ll finally admit they like each other.”

•

By the time the sun made its appearance again the next morning, you were waking up groggy and incredibly hungover.

Rossi didn’t let anyone leave last night due to the fact that everyone had been drinking. So his house—or mansion, as he preferred to call it—had become a crash pad for everyone until they were sober enough to drive home.

Rossi’s instructions were the only thing you remembered from the previous night. The only thing you remembered prior to that was the ceremony. You must’ve drank a lot.

You were sitting up from the couch, rubbing your head when you saw Spencer walking in from the kitchen.

“Morning,” he whispered, looking as hungover as you.

You groaned in response. 

“Here, I figured you’d want some relief as well,” Spencer said, handing over a bottle of water and an ibuprofen.

“Bless you.”

You took it, sipping the water gently. 

Luckily, you weren’t one to vomit much during a hangover, but you knew if you gulped the water like you’d been in the Sahara desert for months, you definitely would be sick.

“How much did I drink last night? What did I drink last night?” 

You rubbed your temples, trying to soothe the throbbing in your head with no luck.

“I don’t even remember what I drank,” Spencer chuckled, sitting next to you.

“Well good morning love birds!” came a loud holler.

You groaned, covering your ears at the loud volume.

“Morgan, I swear if you don’t shut up,” you grumbled.

“Aw, did someone wake up on the wrong side of a lonely couch this morning?” he teased, “I was sure you’d end up sleeping with your boyfriend.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

You winced, your words a bit too loud to your own ears.

“You and pretty boy over here were all over each other last night,” Morgan said, coming into the room, a bagel in hand.

Your eyes widened, your face burning.

“Stop joking around. What really happened?”

“He’s not lying,” Garcia said, walking in with JJ in tow, “You were arguing at one point with one another about who was the cutest.”

“Plus you were in his lap half the night,” JJ added.

You groaned, burying your face into the back of the couch.

“Well I figured you two decided to finally admit that you liked each other,” Morgan announced, beaming.

You took a peek at Spencer, who until this point had remained silent.

His lips were pressed together and pulled inward, like he was trying to suppress a smile. His glance darted to you and the dam broke, freeing the smile. You felt a flutter in your chest at it.

“Hey you finally kissed, so at least you finally have proof that you like each other,” Garcia pointed out.

You groaned again; you couldn’t feel any more embarrassed if you tried. 

You felt a touch against your arm. You looked up to see Spencer, watching you. His hand glided down your arm, to your hand, which he took in his with a small smile.

Maybe the alcohol hadn't been such a bad idea.

Derek’s exiting comment had you both trying to hold back your laughter.

“If we knew all it took was to get you guys drunk, we would’ve done it sooner!”

TAG LIST: @dreatine​ @reid-187​ @groovyreid​ @reidslibra​ @iamburdened​ @cindywayne​ @sundippedprincess​ @missprettyboy​ @hushlilbabydoll​ @sammy-jo1977​ @haileymorelikestupid​ @lemonypink​ @multifandommandy​ @teamkiall​ @redbullchick​ @ifeelloved​ @one-sweet-gubler​ @nanocoool​ @delightfullyspeedyearthquake​ @unsteadyimagines​ @ughitsbaby​ @inkwiet​ @pennythetechgoddess​ @capt-engr-ssa​ @sixx-sic-sixx​ @spencersdolore​ @reidsstudies​ @disney-dreams-world​ @chocolatecalzoneherringbonk @mggwhore​ @andiebeaword​ @cupcake525​ @be-the-bravest​ @gretaamyk​ @hopebaker​ @prisonreid​ @httpnxtt​ @daviddoughboy​ @pastathighs​ @marvels-gurl​ @blushingspencer​ @simp-for-dr-reid @victorzsaszmydaddy​ @inlovewithamess​ @im-inlovewith-mycar​ @xshakesqueerx​ @queenofmischief​ @mattgraygubler​ @graceluvsyouu​

[iceeckos12]

tma fic recs

I’ve seen a couple of fic rec posts floating around. since ive been reading so many excellent fic recently, i thought that id make one as well! please note this list is going to be 99% jonmartin. also buckle up, because this is going to get long.

Completed

the umbrella by Wildehack (tyleet)

"And to think—all of Jonah Magnus’ carefully laid plans, the centuries of scheming, the murders, the sacrifices, all of that work could have been completely undone if Martin Blackwood had gone back for an umbrella" - holdthosebees

Notes: This is probably my go-to fic if i want an apocalypse never happened scenario. The jonmartin is wonderful, as is the h/c.

Diary and Prenon-nous la main by luftballoons99

Diary summary:

Not for the first time since they ran away together, a camera reel of all the things they don't know about one another whirs behind Martin's eyes, and he can't help but look at all the sprawling magnetic tape and wonder if they’re going to wind up a romance or a tragedy.

or: Office parties, garage bands, and the joy of being known.

Prenon-nous la main summary:

They still haven't talked about it, any of it, not even to pass the time on the long train ride to Scotland. Instead, Martin fell asleep in the seat next to him, pressed into his side from shoulder to knee, and Jon thought about love confessions and verb tense and how the two fit together when you think you're dying.

or: Good cows, mediocre poetry, and other crucial topics of discussion.

Notes: Do you love impeccable safehouse jonmartin characterization? do you love characters grappling with the mortifying ordeal of being known? do you love softness so tender that it makes you want to weep? please read these fic. im begging you.

i’ll tell you about all the times i’ve smiled because of you by cryptidkidprem

Summary:

Martin thinks about their shoes, sitting beside each other on the floor by the bed. Thinks of the way Jon wears Martin’s cardigans more often than he wears his own, the way Martin’s started keeping elastics around his wrist because Jon always forgets his own when they go out.

He thinks about all the gentle touches and fussing over each other they’ve done, and how much is still to come over the next… however long Jon will have him.

They have a long way to go, an entire life to build out of the wreckage Jonah Magnus and Peter Lukas left them, but laying together in a comfortable, sleepy quiet, Martin thinks they’ve got a good start going.

Or, Jon quits the Institute, saves the world, and it turns out to be exactly what he needs in order to heal and start moving forward towards building a life with Martin.

Notes: how many times have i reread this fic? more than i can count. jon quits the institute and it’s just full of soft jonmartins. they get married! god i love them.

go softly by doomcountry

Summary:

And there is nothing else besides this.

Notes: every time i remember this fic i reread it. please heed the tags because martin is blinding jon, but he’s like. blinding jon in the most heartbreaking way possible. idk how the author made this so tender but i know i was certainly crying so!

The Reverb in These Holy Halls by  Wolftraps (AlwaysBoth)

Summary:

Undoing the apocalypse would have been enough for Jon, if all his people survived. Without them, Jon's only recourse is making it so it never happened in the first place. He's going to do better this time.

Notes: Do you like time travel fixits? i sure like time travel fixits. reverb is an excellent one. heavy on the h/c, I wanted to hug jon so so badly. 

Yesterday is Here by  CirrusGrey

Summary:

"Who the hell are you?" Jon could feel his hands shaking. The man laughed, taking a step forward and raising a hand to point at him. "I'm you, from the future!" he said, then swayed, eyes going unfocused, and collapsed to the floor in a dead faint. -------- Post-season-four Jon and Martin time travel back to the season one Archives.

Notes: Yet another time travel fixit! also excellent. the teasing was HYSTERICAL. also Im just going to say this now - CirrusGrey in general writes incredible tma fic. You can’t really go wrong.

unassigned supplementals by  bibliocratic 

Notes: I won’t put in a summary just because it’s a long series of oneshots, but bibliocratic’s writing is amazing. Again, you can’t really go wrong with one of their fic!

let the soft animal of your body by autoclaves

Summary:

Standing in the warm kitchen, slats of sepia light filtering through onto the counter in front of him, Martin doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He half expects them to go through the countertop entirely, glossy and solid as it is. He isn’t used to any of it, yet. The safehouse. Jon. Beams of sun pouring into his hands. After being deprived of everything of significance for so long, the longing that crashes over him is almost painful in its tangibility. He wants to laugh, to sob, to scream and hear it echoed back against the neat, square walls of the safehouse.

In the end, he doesn’t do any of these things. He makes eggs instead. He can do that, can’t he? Use his hands for something simple and plain and good.

(Or: In the safehouse after it all, Martin starts cooking.)

Notes: this fic really speaks to me a) because i project on martin like crazy and b) because food is also my love language. this fic is incredibly soft and it’s all about cooking!

“Have you tried turning it on and off again?” by shinyopals

Summary:

I hope you find your new role as Head of the Institute as rewarding as captaining the Tundra, wrote Elias Bouchard, to Peter Lukas. There are so many people working there: all with their own interesting lives, and all desiring your attention and support. I'm sure you will relish the challenge it will bring and enjoy every moment spent with the fine men and women of the Institute. In time I'm confident they'll become like a family to you.

The Magnus Institute has a new boss. The Magnus Institute also has a new tech support technician. These two facts are unrelated, except they both happen at the same time.

Meanwhile Jon's woken up from being dead for six months and for once he's trying his best. He just wishes Martin would stop avoiding him and answer his messages...

Notes: if you’re looking for a good laugh, this fic is SO SO SO FUNNY. i was dying. basically the magnus institute being an absolute bureaucratic nightmare.

hello my old heart  by  firebirdsuite

Summary:

Peter’s wrong, of course. When it’s all over, Martin does still want to tell Jon everything. It’s just—well, there’s a few things they need to work through first before they can get there.

Martin and Jon find each other again in Scotland.

Notes: it’s all about the yearning. and trust me, the yearning in this fic? im just. i sure do love jonmartin, and this is such soft, loving jonmartin it just makes you want to cry

two ships passing by pyrites

Summary:

Gerard Keay is 10 years old the very first time he tries to run away from home, right around the time that Jonathan Sims has just come into possession of his first Leitner.

Or: One dropped stone can change the way the whole ocean moves.

Notes: again, JONGERRY. MY GOODNESS. this fic is beautiful, the writing is absolutely breathtaking and it owns my heart. im so in love with it. the author said you’re going to have emotions about jon and gerry and jongerry and i said OKAY

Terminal Sight by viv_is_spooky

Summary:

Spider silk weaves through the visions of two Seers. Monstrosity is dawning on them both.

Notes: I’d never read a gerryoliver fic before this, but the execution is EXCELLENT and now im sold on the ship forever. This fic has wonderful prose and great characterization and i love it a whole lot.

Incomplete

assistant archivist au by  PitViperOfDoom

Notes: I won’t put a summary since I’m reccing an entire series, but. it is absolutely no secret that i adore jongerry. pit’s assistant archivist au slapped me over the head with some gorgeous jongerry oneshots and then gave me the gift of the main fic (which is still in progress) about head archivist martin. i love this au so so much

dustsceawung by  callmearcturus

Summary:

Martin had always been favored by the summer courts, and moving up north to the little village of Lacuna is a difficult adjustment. It's rainy and lonely and everyone seems to have a strange, distant relationship with the local faerie court.

However: there is a strange man in a cloak who walks past Martin's remote little cottage every few days.

However: there is a moth that keeps getting stuck in Martin's house during the rain.

These events are not as disconnected as they first appear.

Notes: you ever just read a fic that you didn’t know that you needed until after you read it? yeah. featuring the fae and moth jon and excellent characterization.

Illicio by ThatOneGirlBehindYou

As the new Archivist debates between life and death, the Eye ponders on what to offer him in order to avoid an encore of the unfortunate situation with his predecessor.

-----

Gerard Keay opens his eyes at what feels like fuck-ass in the morning, inside a room with far too little space and far too much dust.

Notes: This is also the moment where I reveal that im a sucker for jongerrymartin. please read this fic. gerry is brought back from the dead in s4 and everyone is far better off for it.

where there’s a will, we make a way by bubonickitten

Summary:

"So, what does happen if an Eye learns to See within itself?

What happens is this: the Archive Beholds the Watcher – and the Watcher blinks first."

________________________

Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Notes: this time travel fixit is shaping up to be an absolutely incredible read. i love the way this author writes jon so so much, and the characterization is spot on. this whole fic just satisfies some little part of me. god. also!! bubonickitten’s writing in general? beautiful. please check out their other works.

The Timeline of Theseus by Applea

Jon tries to force the Spiral to send him back, but the Sprial's corridors never twist things quite the way you want them to. Back in 1996, Elias has no idea why or how the Eye made such a powerful Avatar out of an 8 year old, especially when said 8 year old doesn't actually know he has any powers at all. Clearly such a child cannot be left outside the Institute's care. 

Notes: This fic is legitimately brilliant. The author manages to capture the big ADHD mood and the precociousness of baby Jon while managing to write a wonderful storyline. Time travel! Elderly lesbians! A Jonah who is wildly in over his head but was walloped over the head with paternal instinct! Baby Gerry! What more could you possibly ask for?

rooms full of people who do not love each other yet by seaer

Summary:

“Wanted to ask about a book.” The boy has his hand on the counter, and he leans into it, nonchalant. The library is air-conditioned, but by no means frigid, and Jon can’t help but feel sweaty just looking at the layers he’s wearing; what looks like old leather over an olive-green Magnus pullover over his school shirt. “Do you have A Journal of the Plague Year?”

Jon says, tetchily, “We’re about to close.”

“I know. Do you have A Journal of the Plague Year?”

Notes: I am so in love with this author’s writing style and the way they write the characters!! The jon and gerry friendship is PERFECT and the character interactions are all darling.

if you read these fics please send the authors some love, they definitely deserve it!! 

[dendrite-blues]

Hi just wanted to say that i recently read (devoured) reparations and permutations and i loved it so much. An amazing depiction of gender fluidity and racial and sexual themes. One of the best I have read. Also, the relationship between loki and his kids (and tony and the kids) and their distinct personalities was wonderful to see unfold. Now im in a puddle of parent!loki feels...Anyway thank you so much for writing! If you ever decide to come back to it i will definitely be reading 💕

This is the first ask I've ever gotten, will you internet marry me? jknknkljkjkj

It's funny that you ask this right now because I am actually on the cusp of being able to return to this verse finally.

I'm not sure if the story I'm about to tell is interesting at all, but Rep is my baby so I'm gonna babble a little. I hope that's alright. :)

The funny thing is that I've never wanted to stop writing Rep.

The day I finished it I expected to feel victorious and relieved but I actually felt hollow and lost. I went into the most intense depression for weeks after. It had been my anchor for nine of the most turbulent months of my life, and suddenly it was just gone.

I wanted it back, I wanted to see these characters living their dream life and raising their children. I wanted to see Loki finally confront their gender directly, to see them live truthfully in front of Thor and Asgard, to see them embrace their role as the God of Change.

But the story was also finished, and in a fashion I was particularly proud of. It felt satisfying, like all the little threads had been tied up and you really believed this family was going to be happy forever.

So breaking up that nice, clean ending with a sequel felt like a terrible mistake. (And in a moment of weakness I went and did it anyway! That's how much of a hoe I am for this verse *cries*) As soon as I opened up that door and moved past the happy ending, there was an ocean of other stories and headcanons waiting. And I didn't think I would ever finish it. I would be writing it my entire life.

At the time, not finishing felt taboo. My very first fic had been abandoned two years earlier and throughout writing Rep I had motivated myself by thinking "I'm never doing that again. No matter how overwhelming this story feels, I'm not giving up. I'll never fail my readers like that again."

So I forced myself to move on and write other things. Once Tamed happened and then grew past its intended ending. Endgame came out and in my grief I impulsively started If You Had to Choose. And I was steadily feeling burnt out from denying myself the pleasure of writing what I really wanted to--Permutations.

The guilt and stress of maintaining all those WIPs pushed me out of writing from May 2019 to February 2021, and I only got back into it because an RP partner reached out to me from the ether and rekindled my love for the pairing.

So at that point I had a decision and I'm honestly not sure if I made the right one.

On the one hand I could abandon Tamed and Choose, trading the guilt of not finished for the guilt of giving up, and be rewarded with writing Permutations. On the other, I could grit my teeth and stall my own gratification in the name of honoring my readers.

Because I am Rep Loki and I am incapable of setting boundaries, so I naturally chose to spend the last 6 months writing Choose, and the next three weeks writing Tamed. And then I made a bunch of new stories also out of love for Mobius and Sylive. REEEEEE

But anyway, whether it was a good move or not I chose the path of least regret and I have succeeded in clearing my old WIPs. Just this week I have finally freed myself to write whatever the hell I want to, and it feels bloody fantastic.

And what I want to write is Permutations. It's been the light at the end of my tunnel for so long. Literal years of putting off my heart's wish in the name of being responsible.

So now that I'm here, I'm ready to fuckin party.

Get ready for a festival of smut and feels and cooky family subplots. Get ready for ridiculously indulgent tangents and plots that are a pile of thinly veiled head canons. Get ready for a veritable mountain of angst, h/c, kidfic, gender/race issues, and kink exploration.

My best guess (and I'm pretty accurate because I hit my deadlines well) is that new Perm chapters will come out late August/early September 2021.

A StrangeFrost spin off about Timestone Loki from Chapter 11 will come shortly after that. Probably October/November since I'm planning to prewrite that one. It's a very intense, dark story even for me, so I want to get it beta read for sensitivity before posting.

And anytime I write this verse there's always little oneshots and things that come up, so I'm willing to bet Cornucopia will be updated too.

You're getting so much more Reparations, my friend. And soon.

Thanks so much for reading and sending me my first ask. It's so nice to talk about this and to finally get the news out there that the story isn't over yet!

[sunshineseung]

Content Creator Year in Review

tagged by: @bearseungmin :o thank you for thinking im interesting enough to do this lol tagging: uhhh idk who’s been tagged yet so if you’re a smaller creator and want to participate in this tag, feel free to do it and tag me so i can see it :)

2020 was a fucking mess but I finally started writing here on Tumblr so I guess it wasn’t that bad in that aspect, right? For real, thank you for the endless amounts of support on this blog! Ya’ll are insanely sweet and supportive and I’m glad I joined this community when I did, because I’m having such a good time interacting with ya’ll and writing my shitty stories. Here’s to another year of being horny for kpop idols and writing smut to satisfy the insatiable!

(year in review under the cut)

1. first creation of 2020 and most recent creation of 2020 first: Anniversary - This is the first smut I ever wrote... it kinda sucks now but ya’ll still seem to like it lol most recent: Gag Gift - I’ve been super depressed so this took like a month to release, but I also hated the first several drafts, but I’m happy with it now :) Startting 2020 with being horny for Seungmo and ending it with being horny for Seungmo. Perfectly balanced as all things should be.

2. one of your favorite creations from 2020  I’m gonna do three of my faves lol Sinner (Part One) - Ah, a classic. I went in on this one, and I really like the end result, and clearly everyone else did because dozens of people requested a part two! Royalty - Probably my favorite thing I’ve ever written in terms of stray kids smut, honestly. I’m just really proud of it lol Little Secret - Duh!!! This was my first planned series smut (sorry Sinner) and the reaction it got was just amazing. Thank you for the support on this little bitch of a story!

3. a creation you’re really proud of  R O Y A L T Y ^^^

4. a creation that took you forever  gag gift :’) but also it took me like 30 years to finish writing my NCT drabbles for SMM 100 so... that !

5. a creation from 2020 that received the most notes  i’m pretty sure my post with the most notes is my mark lee drabble, but if it isn’t... oops! Little Secret also got a bunch of notes, plus the OT8 stray kids things I made a few months ago... phew! ya’ll really liked those lol

6. a creation you think deserved more notes  ya’ll slept on my hendery in a maid cat outfit drabble and I will not forgive you for that TT

7. a new fandom you joined and a creation you made for it  I just became an nctzen in january of this year after being interested in them since their debut lol but i’m glad i’m an nctzen now because NCT 2020 is the highlight of my year (other than SHINee coming back ofc). I’ve linked to the nct smuts like 100 times already so just... scroll up lol

8. a creation you made that breaks your heart psycho because it’s breakup angst from when i was missing my ex which just so happened to occur while ‘00 line did their psycho performance lol thanks hyunjin for the fuel 

9. a ‘simple’ creation you really love  first kiss is my only not smut work on my blog and I still love it with all my dainty little heart :) ya’ll slept on this one too but i understand why. it isn’t smut so ya’ll dont care about it lol it’s alright 

10. a creation that was inspired by another one  movie night was inspired by a jisung cockwarming fic i read on wattpad, but i can’t remember what book it was in :( sorry! but it was just a short drabble that made my brain go brrr so i had to write a whole fic about it (and then someone else requested it so i HAD HAD to do it)

11. a favorite creation by someone else inhales any of these but also ... I think about this one like... DAILY ! Actual art right here ugh i just love king/royalty stories ig one of my favorite threesome smuts!!! johnny suh just does something to a girl, okay? subby lix owns my heart THIS FIC DRIVES ME CRAZY ARE YOU KIDDING ??? that’s all for right now but you can go through the whole fic rec tag and see what kind of kinky shit i’m into lol

12. some of your favorite content creators from this year @lovebini - I literally visit ems blog basically every day just to see what FINE ART has been posted. everything is just A+++ if you aren’t following her already, what are you doing? @hanji - you dont understand... I’m OBSESSED jokes aside, another blog I visit a lot ! it’s all just so good wtf  @mochinnie - everything is GOLD 10/10 highly recommend :) @nightshade-minho - definition of perfect. this mf dont miss! everything is incredible and just... so good! please! if you aren’t following already youre missing tf out! @hanflix - duh. duh! wha- duh!!! so good, so so so good! amazingly talented person writing on a gorgeous blog. literal perfection!  @binniesthighs - great username, great content! another blog where every story is high art that should be put in... a really good museum that i totally know the name of!  that’s all that i can think of right now, but i’m sure i’m an active follower on some other blogs that i’m blanking on right now since i usually just scroll through the stray kids smut tag lmao.

again, thank you for an incredible year! more content coming soon! 

[langdon-is-my-drug-of-choice]

Intrigued

A/N: First fic im posting on tumblr and I’m really new to this, so please! Bear with me whist I try to figure to this out! 

Outpost!Michael x reader

My Masterlist

Warnings: Smut, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, daddy kink, sorta mean Michael, think that’s it?

The days down in Outpost Three were dreadful. You had lost count of the amount of days that had passed a long time ago, and every single room was always uncomfortably cold. The long hallways in the Outpost always made you dizzy, all the twists and turns, some hallways even leading to dead ends.  

Right now, you were walking down one of those very hallways, mopping the floors. It was established right when you arrived here together with Timothy and Emily that you were a gray, a worker ant as Venable had said, why they got to purple’s and why you had to be a gray, you had no idea. But, as Ms. Venable had said herself, “The grays serve, and are grateful for the opportunity”  

And boy, were you grateful.

You always followed your commands, sometime even doing more than you were asked to. After doing this for every excruciatingly long month down in this hell hole, you eventually became Venable's favorite gray. Or, the gray she hated the least.  

Walking down the hallway during dinner time, everything was peaceful, at least as peaceful as it could be down here, you were humming a quiet tune you remember loving from before the bombs dropped.  

You didn’t have the chance to finish singing your little song, since you were rudely interrupted by the blaring sound of a harsh alarm being projected from the speakers back in the dining room and the lounging area.  

Your body picked up the pace as you continued to mop the floors, desperately trying to finish the damn chore. Once the floors looked pristine enough, you propped your mop up against the wall and bolted down the hallway, aiming to head back to your room.  

You didn’t have the chance to make it all the way to your room, since the sound if two different voices cut you off.

“You don't sound like you believe me” you could distinctly hear Venable say. Her tone was light for a change, she even let out a light chuckle.  

“Why wouldn't I? To me Seems like you've done a wonderful job. The walls are still standing. Your people are alive and healthy. Which is quite a feat, considering” the second voice said, the voice of a man, but not a man you recognized.  

By now, you had propped yourself up against one of the walls, leaning against in with your back to the wall.

“Considering?”  

“That three more Outposts have been overrun, and the remaining three won't last through the year”

“Why are you here?” Venable asked him, her voice reeking of confusion, but still holding a certain level of authority.

“Because it's only a matter of time before the same thing happens to you. The good news is, there's another facility, a sanctuary. This one's completely impregnable and stocked with enough supplies to last a decade” the male voice explained, his voice being deep, but at the same time holding some sort of boyish quality to it.  

“You're here to take us there” Venable said, thinking she had finished his sentence for him.  

“Hmm, I've been assigned to evaluate the people here and select the ones most worthy of survival. I could take all of you or none of you” he retorted, knocking down Venable’s previous confidence boost.

“Those who make it, live and will continue on” he continued; his tone of voice however, soon turned dark, almost eerie sounding.  

“Those who don't end up like my horses” he finished; his voice having dropped a few octaves.  

Only when you heard the sound of footsteps coming towards you, did you hurry down the hallway in the opposite direction you came in. Hoping you weren’t seen.

---

---

You were on your knees, poking at the fireplace in the lounging area. The rest of the occupants were sitting around, seemingly waiting for something, but what, you weren’t quite sure.  

Even though your attention was mostly directed at the fireplace, you didn’t fail to hear the insistent clicking of expensive-sounding leather boots coming towards you from behind. From what you had gathered by now, you knew that Ms. Venable was standing behind you, so it couldn’t have been her boots clicking.

The sound stopped right behind you, Venable stepped down from her spot in front of the Outpost's residents. Venable’s hand found its way to your shoulder, grasping tightly, urging you to stand, and face the Outpost’s new found guest.  

You did as you were silently instructed, standing up and standing beside Venable. You let you eyes wander to the man you had eavesdropped on last night, and boy was he a sight to see.  

He was tall, with long strawberry-blonde hair the reached just below his collarbone. His beautiful crystal-clear blue eyes were scanning the room, looking at every single person inside the room. When his eyes met yours, you could feel you heart flutter and your moth fall slightly open.  

Upon catching sight of his entire face, you felt your breath catch in your throat. You let your eyes wander his face, from his hair, to his eyes, to his beautifully sculpted cheekbones, to his jawline and last, but certainly not least, his beautifully plump looking lips.

He quickly averted his gaze, and faced the elites once again, his large hands clasped tightly behind his back.

“My name is Langdon, and I represent The Cooperative. I won't sugarcoat the situation. Humanity is on the brink of failure. My arrival here was crucial to the survival of civilized life on Earth. The three other compounds In Syracuse, New York, Beckley, West Virginia, and San Angelo, Texas have been overrun and destroyed. We've had no contact from the six international outposts, but we are assuming that they, too, have been eliminated” Langdon said, your mind drifting back to last night, the conversation he had with Venable.

“What happened to the people inside?” Andre asked as he looked up at Mr. Langdon.  

“Massacred. The same fate that will befall almost all of you” he explained.

“Almost all?” you said from beside Mr. Langdon, your breath once again catching in your throat once your eyes met.

“In the knowledge that this very moment might occur, we built a failsafe The Sanctuary” he said, not breaking eye contact with you.

“The Sanctuary is unique. It has certain security measures that will prevent overruns" he continued to explain, almost sounding annoyed.

“Excuse me, sir. What measures? Why weren't we given them?” Ms. Mead asked, her tone being firm and assertive.  

“That's classified. All that matters is that The Sanctuary will survive, so the people populating it will survive, so humanity will survive” he said while raising his hand to her in a dismissive manner.

“Who are the people who are populating it?” Andre asked again.

“Also classified. However, I have been sent to determine if any of you are worthy and fit to join us” Mr. Langdon said, dismissing Andre’s question.

“The Cooperative has developed a particular and rigorous questioning technique we like to call "Cooperating." I will then use the information gained to determine if you belong” Langdon said jokingly, almost laughing at his own pun.

“What is this, The Hunger Games? This is bullshit. I paid my way in here, and that is the only cooperating I plan on doing” Coco whined out to him, sounding pissed.

“You don't have to sit for questioning” He said with a sigh, clearly annoyed.

“What happens if we choose not to?” Andre prodded.

“Then you stay here and die” He said harshly. The tone in his voice was clear and demining, and you weren’t gonna lie to yourself, he was doing a very good job of turning you on.

“I volunteer to go first” Gallant said while raising his hand high into the air.

“I’m afraid that wont be possible, as I’ve already chosen the order of my interviews. The process should only take me a couple of days, so you won't be kept in suspense forever. For those of you who don't make the cut, all is not lost. If the worst should happen and feral cannibals come knocking, down one of these. One minute later, you fall asleep and never wake up. I look forward to meeting each and every one of you” Langdon said, reaching into his pocket, pulling out a small vial of tiny white pills.

---

---

“Come, Mr. Langdon has requested to see you in his office” Ms. Mead said to you as you were finishing up your chores for the night.  

“Now? But, I’m not finished with my chores yet” you replied to her’ knowing how mad Venable would be if she found out you didn’t finish your chores.

“Now, Ms. (L/N), he said he didn’t want to be kept waiting” she said. You propped your broom up against the nearest wall and hastily followed her down the corridor.  

She led you tov the wide, dark sliding doors at the end of one of the corridors, you had been down there a few times, sweeping the floors and whatnot, but you had never been inside before.

Ms. Mead knocked on the door, but then the door slid open on it’s own, neither Mead or Mr. Langdon had laid a finger on it.  

“Ah, come in, I’ve been waiting for you. Ms. Mead, you may leave now” said, ushering you inside and shooing Mead away. She nodded politely and left down the corridor, leaving you and Langdon alone.  

“Sit” was all he said as he too, sat down behind the desk by the fireplace. You did as you were told, sitting down in front of him, keeping you eyes on the ground.  

“Do I scare you?” He asked. You shook your head in response, eyes still on the ground. You heard him getting up from his chair and stalking around the desk to stand in front of you.

His fingers curled themselves around your chin, lifting your face to look at him. You could see his eyes wandering you face, then down the entirety of your body. At this point, you could feel just how much this man was turning you on, and all he had done was talk.

“You’re not quite like the others here, are you?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” you whimpered, thoroughly confused, but at the same time, insanely turned on. He hummed, brushing his thumb against your bottom lip, parting you lips slightly.  

“You’re so willing” ha said as he let go of your chin and leaned back into the desk, almost sitting on it.

“Willing?” you asked him, now looking at his handsome face willingly.

“Yes, willing. Willing to serve, eager to please” he said, and you couldn’t really dent it either.  

“I guess” you mumbled, not knowing what else to say.

Langdon pushed himself off the desk with his hips, casually stepping to the side, facing you.

“Sit on the desk for me, can you that?” he said with mock sweetness in his tone, but you knew he wasn’t joking. You nodded your head and did as you were told, gently climbing onto the dark wooden desk and squeezing your thighs together once you had gotten situated on the desk.  

“Good girl” he said, but as soon as those words left his lips, you could feel a new flood of arousal was over you, positively soaking your plain cotton underwear. He walked over to you placing his hands on your knees and prying your legs apart, coming to stand between them.

His hands trailed up your thighs, coming to rest on you hips. Your breathing was heavy, and you were positive that Langdon could hear you heart thump in your chest.  

“Nervous?” he chuckled while sliding his hands along you waistline. This time, you nodded while slightly squirming under his warm hands. He chuckled a little at your response and reached behind you to undo the tie on your apron, tugging it off you and letting it fall to the floor.

He continued, once again reaching behind you, unzipping your gray dress, pulling the top part of it off of you, exposing your plain cotton bra to him. His hand soon found it’s way to your throat, pushing you back to lay down on the desk.

“Now, you do know that it’s very rude to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations, right?” he laughed, somehow, he knew about how you had accidently listened in to his and Venable’s previous conversation.  

“I-I’m s-sorry” you whimpered, finding talking a bit difficult due to his hand being coiled around your throat. He harshly let go of you throat as he started to rid himself of his own clothing, first his lavish jacket, then his undershirt, then his belt.  

His bare chest was now on full display, and you were definitely enjoying the view.

“Sadly, ‘I-I’m s-sorry’ isn’t going to cut it, pet” he said, mocking your previous whimpers. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your gray uniform, pulling it off your body, dragging your panties down along with the rest of you uniform.

He stepped in between your thighs again, your glistening cunt now on full display for him. “I’ve barely touched you, and you already so fucking wet for me, dirty girl” you whimpered at his words, becoming even more turned on than you already were.  

He reached behind your back and undid your bra, with some difficulty. Now you laid on his desk, completely nude in front of this gorgeous man who was currently unzipping his expensive-looking dress pants.  

He let his pants drop to the floor, along wit his boxers, exposing him fully to you.  

“Tell me what you want, pet. Naughty girls have to beg to get what they want” he teased as he slid two of his fingers along your slick folds, urging you to call out and beg for him.  

“Please…” you whimpered out quietly, color flooding your face out of embarrassment. He grabbed ahold of you thighs, pulling half of your ass off the desk, giving him better access to you.  

He raised his hand and brought it down onto your bare ass, hard, making you yelp.

“You can do better than that, pet. Now beg. Beg for me to fuck you” he said, it was more of a demand than an instruction.

“Please! Please, f-fuck me, please Mr. Langdon, please” you said, heightening your voice so he could hear you more clearly. He lowered his head down to your stomach, leaving wet sloppy kisses down your abdomen, teasing you further.

“Good girl, I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?” he asked, once again faking that sugary-sweet tone. You nodded your head as fast as you could just wanting him inside you. He came up from your stomach, grabbing ahold of his cock jerking himself a few times, spreading some of his precum onto himself, though you doubted is was necessary.  

He lined the head of his cock up with your drenched entrance and slowly pushing into you. One painfully thick inch out of time. His hands wandered from your waist to one hand tightly gripping your throat to the other holding a bruising grip on your hip.

One he was finally fully sheathed inside you, he let out low growling-kind of noise, making you clench around him. He gave you very little time to adjust to his size, since he soon began pounding into you at a ruthless pace. Your moaning was loud, and you were sure that if you didn’t shut up soon, the entirety of the Outpost would hear just how good this man was making you feel.

“You’ve gotta stay quiet for me, okay pet?” all you could do was nod you head in response, but you didn’t seem to be keeping your promise, since you didn’t quiet down. Langdon put both his hands on your waist, leaning down and planting his lips over yours, effectively shutting you up.

His lips were soft, just as soft as they looked. They moved against your lips in perfect sync. The feeling of his lips on yours was almost orgasmic on its own.

You could feel a certain pressure building up in your lower abdomen, and you knew you orgasm was creeping up on you. Langdon must have felt it too, since he soon detached his lips from yours and slowed his pace significantly.

“Don't you dare cum before I say you can. Now, show Daddy just how much you want to cum” he instructed, making you pulse slightly around his cock.

“Please! Please Daddy, I want to cum on your cock, I wanna cum so bad, please!” you begged him for your release, and apparently, that was enough for him, because he came back to his previous pace with a passionate fury.

Thrusting his cock into you as hard as he possibly could, he seemingly stopped caring about just how loud you were being. You could feel his cock twitch inside you, and that was quite enough for you to start clenching around him as your orgasm washed over you.

Because of how much you had tightened around him, Langdon couldn’t hold back his own orgasm either. With a few more hard thrusts, his cock twitched inside you once again as he released his cum deep inside you, filling you to the brim, some of it leaking out and dripping down and onto the floor.

Both of your breaths were heavy, you were borderline panting at this point, but he was also breathing heavily, his face buried in your neck, leaving gentle little kisses along your throat.  

“Is this part of my test?” you whimpered out weakly, his cock still hard inside you, twitching and pulsing.

“Isn’t everything?” he asked breathlessly, coming up from your neck to look into your eyes once again, still breathing heavily.

“Well, then do I pass?” you ask, feeling a single tear run down the side of your face.

“Yes, you’ll be coming back with me, pet”

[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.”

[dawniebb]

Closure

So...back again with another marathon I’m hosting (?) with @healing-winston-pratt <3! about our canon divergence because canon is for the weak :) however, this time you’ll only see me so...yeah, guys, I’m sorry, bEAR WITH ME LMAO AFSGHJADFGSHJA :’)))

I thiiiiiink this is...the last marathon we’ll do about this I think, and it’s a series of four fics called “Closure” which is...basically, what the name says :’) it’s about people finding closure for the ones they lost throughout the books AND before the books this is about Georgia hello darling you’re wonderful im sorry mm killed you because we thought it was..necessary after that half-assed Supernova epilogue uwu. So yeah. The first one in this Closure series is Georgia :’)

You can use this post as a masterlist for backround bc we don’t have one yet

And the tag list (If you want to be addedOR removed just notifiy us pls): @novadreamer95438 @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff @novas-tunnel-of-anxiety @obsidianfr3sk

ALSO I NAMED THESE AFTER SONGS :) So the link will be in the lyrics I hope

Georgia

I Kill Giants

Heavier heels His mourning concealed On the saddest of days Why couldn’t we save you?

A couple days after the supernova, once all the funerals had passed and things were going back to normal, Adrian went to visit his mom.

Georgia Rawles was buried inside a very ostentatious mausoleum, located in Gatlon’s cemetery.

Nobody had ever confirmed that, but rumor had it, it resembled the structure of Pops’ old house, by the edges of the city, close to the abandoned train rails; it had similar dimensions and structure, but the décor was a hundred times better, with white pillars, stairs that led to the entrance and a wooden gate with a carved R; at some point in time, all members of the Council would be there.

Right now, it was only Mom and Evander.

The mausoleum was always surrounded by gifts that people left there. And right now, since Gatlon was grieving Blacklight, the fence was open to the public.

Though…

Well…

Whether the fence was locked or not wouldn’t have mattered under normal circumstances because, obviously, Adrian had his own copy of the key, though he rarely went to see her. Not because he didn’t love her (he did. A lot. And he missed her every day despite having been torn from him when he was just a kid), but because…

Because he liked to remember her as what she had been, not for the fact she wasn’t here anymore; he liked to see her in family albums and draw her, but the mausoleum was a very…sad place for him, almost depressing.

It was also a place where he liked to be alone with Mom. And sometimes talk to her. After all, they lived in a world where people had powers; everything was possible. Which meant that, deep down, Adrian still had faith she would answer someday.

But she never answered.

Not really.

But it wasn’t like that made Adrian mad, because maybe she was too busy doing something else; maybe she was very comfortable…wherever she was. And that made him feel rather happy.

To know she was at peace.

So, slowly, Adrian walked up the stairs, and then opened the gate.

The smell of candles and flowers greeted him, for the two headstones were being visited more often these days.

The Renegades’ slogan was written on top of the wall where the headstones rested.

Bold. Valiant. Just

Written in shining silver, so they didn’t take much attention from the spots where the two fallen Council members laid.

Right now, the bottom of the wall was upholstered with Blacklight and Lady Indomitable plushies, photographs, and tons of flowers.

So many flowers, that Adrian had to, manually, remove some of them to make his way to the wall; first, he left the bouquet he had brought for Evander; he had put some snacks in it, because it had seemed…funny in a bittersweet way at the moment, and also tons of polaroid photos Adrian had taken with him some years ago, when he was trying to entertain him during a Christmas dinner.

Evander had always been Adrian’s favorite Council member, because he…was young enough to treat him as brother; of course, Evander was an adult, but that didn’t change the fact he was younger than 14 when Adrian was born, and they had always shared a rather close relationship. He was annoying at times and, during the last months he was alive, he had fallen into a bottomless pit of madness, which deformed his personality until he almost acted like a dictator.

Of course, Adrian didn’t condone that, but he still had good memories regarding Evander and he doubted he would ever get rid of those memories. Mostly because…somehow, he didn’t want to.

 “May the light guide your way.”

Evander Wade. Blacklight.

Brother, husband, father, friend and hero.

 Adrian supposed the right thing to do would’ve been saying something, but he hadn’t come here today to talk to Evander, so he didn’t have anything to tell him. Not really.

So he just touched the headstone, but then he moved on to his mom’s, which was to the left of Evander’s.

And there she was.

There was Mom.

“When in doubt…fly.”

Georgia Rawles. Lady Indomitable.

Sister, mother, friend and hero.

 And also gone too soon, like Evander, but nobody ever wanted to say that, because it was depressing.

Gulping, Adrian placed the bouquet of white and pink roses on the floor, and ran his fingers through his mother’s name.

“You can’t see it…but I have a lot of bandages beneath my clothes.” He told her, barely able to laugh. “…because I got a ton of tattoos. I don’t know if you would’ve approved that but…yeah. I already took them off, though…in the most violent way you can imagine. But I’m doing good.”

His sentences, like it always happened, were met with cold silence, as Adrian ceased caressing the name and hugged himself, feeling the bandages that were wrapped around his body; the wounds barely hurt anymore, though. After all, they had been treated by a prodigy healer; the process was supposed to be this fast.

“I hope you’re doing good too.” Adrian said, taking a deep breath, before staring at his feet.

If he had to find a word to describe what he had been feeling since the battle of the cathedral, that word would’ve been “shock”. Because, there in the cathedral, it had been the first time somebody had told him what he had done. And his heart had been feeling heavy ever since , and Adrian didn’t know how he was going to get up from this one.

Maybe he wouldn’t.

Maybe it was something that would torment him forever unless he got help, which didn’t seem so unlikely, given that he had his dads were supportive and also willing to help him go through the process and everything.

But everything was way too heavy, just…

Knowing what he had done, even if it hadn’t been directly his fault.

“Something that seems…extremely weird, in the good sense…. Is that…” Adrian coughed. “I crossed paths with the little girl you were trying to save, and you would be happy to know she’s an amazing person…and…well…she’s my girlfriend now so, you know…she…she’s just amazing, and I love her; I guess you would’ve loved her too...”

His voice was starting to break, but Adrian chose to continue, adjusting his glasses using his pinky and sniffing.

“She’s also very broken. But she’s trying to get better, and forgive…” He said. “….I like to believe you would forgive me too, you know? Because I…I don’t know. We both know what happened. And I…”

I’m sorry.

“I loved you so much. I still do. I’m sorry my fear of losing you was bigger, until it took you away. You didn’t deserve that.” Adrian had no longer control over his shaking hands. “You were supposed to be here; to meet Nova; to be with me and I’m…I’m sorry I…I’m so sorry, mom.”

He shook and shivered, but he didn’t cry.

Not yet.

Because when he touched his mother’s headstone again, he just remembered the texture of her skin; it was always soft and warm, although her hands were a little calloused, and she smelled like violets and sun (even if people tended to insist on the fact that the sun didn’t smell like anything); he remembered how he wrapped his legs around her waist as she held him into her arms and danced with him around the apartment to Have You Ever Seen the Rain, although Adrian didn’t understand the lyrics back then and he was yet to have the guts to listen to the song again; he remembered how Mom spun around, kissing his nose, and at some point she got so lost in the moment, that her feet lifted up from the ground.

That had been a good day. And those had been a good 6 years. And while Adrian rested his head against the headstone, he almost felt the fabric of her pants, as he saw her taking out her Lady Indomitable costume and begged her to stay at home, just for today.

Now that he was older, he had grown to accept that had been her job, and he was her legacy, although not everything that was left of her.

This world. The whole twisted yet powerful everything this world had, was what was left of Georgia Rawles. And Adrian would forever be proud she was his mom, just like he was proud Hugh and Simon were his dads. Because he had fallen in the safest place he could think of.

Adrian remained like that for a while, pressing his forehead against Mom’s headstone until, through the thick blank noise, he heard knocking; three gentle knocks on the gates by the entrance, which made him jump.

And, when he turned around, all he could see was Hugh.

Which…didn’t surprise him at all.

He was wearing a jacket and jeans, but Adrian could see that his blue shirt was the one he often wore to sleep; besides, he was fidgeting with the car keys between his fingers, which only confirmed what Adrian had been thinking before leaving the house.

He should’ve had notified his dads he was leaving early; he had risen with the sun, only to be here in the cemetery before everyone else could. But he hadn’t told Hugh or Simon.

And, lately, Simon had been having trouble to sleep, so by the time the sun was rising, he often went to Adrian’s room and slept on the couch; he supposed he had tried to do that, and then he hadn’t found him, which led to immediate chaos.

Yet, Hugh didn’t seem mad.

In fact, once he put the car keys inside his pockets, he smiled.

“Mind if I join you?”

Adrian didn’t answer, but Hugh understood it was a positive answer anyway, so he went ahead; the sound of his steps created a faint echo, and when he was next to him, Hugh wrapped an arm around Adrian’s shoulder, gently.

Then, they both stared at the headstone in silence, as if they both were having their own private conversation with Georgia, in a crowded, yet very intimate scenario; a phenomena that went on until Hugh scoffed, laughing at his own thoughts, and looked at Adrian, saying:

“When your mother was pregnant, her baby bump remained hidden for quite some months; she only had a small bulge in her lower stomach…and we would always tease her about it saying that was just her abs..” He laughed. “…which would make her mad, of course. Georgia was such a mom. I feel like she really wanted to have a child, despite having acted as mom towards all of us…and she wanted to have a pretty baby bump, because she wanted to remind herself you were there….that, and cute maternity clothes, I guess.”

In response to the sudden comedy break, Adrian snorted, adjusting his glasses again.

“We can’t judge her.” He told Hugh. “We’ll never be pregnant, but we gotta admit maternity clothes are cool.”

“Oh, they were cool. And pretty expensive also. Geez, Adrian, thanks for forcing us into involuntary fasting.”

“Dad!” Adrian chuckled, punching him in the ribs, despite knowing Hugh hadn’t felt anything.

Hugh laughed with him, but his laugh, suddenly, became inexistent, and Hugh scratched his own chin, staring at the headstone. Smiling at it, and probably waiting for something that would not happen.

So he decided to speak again, although his voice sounded more hesitant, and the most…insecure Adrian had ever perceived it.

“Your dad was going crazy.”

Adrian already knew that, even if nobody had told him.

“…but I told him to calm down, because I just…knew you were here. It’s where I always come when things are rough.”

To that sentence, Adrian stared at his feet, but not yet pulling away from his father’s touch. He knew Mom and Hugh had been pretty close but, if he wanted to be honest, he had no idea he liked to come here to visit her.

“Adrian, you see…” Hugh didn’t stare at him either.

“Your mom was amazing. She was…one of the most amazing people I’ve ever meet, and I don’t think anyone that I happen to meet in the future will top her…she was an outstanding mom and just…the coolest best friend I could ever ask for.”

As Hugh’s body seemed to grow weak, Adrian felt the burning need to hold his hand, but it was far.

“…and I miss her every day, just like you; and your dad, and Tamaya, and Kasumi, and…” For a whole second, Hugh’s lips quivered when he came to the realization he had been this close to list Evander, before noticing he was also gone, so Adrian remained staring at him.

And Hugh stared back, his blue eyes looking vulnerable and just…

Weak.

So, so weak and tiny.

“You were her son. And she loved you more than I’ve ever seen a mother love her child…and I know how much you’re hurting, because I know Simon and I will never be able to fill the space she left…believe me, we’re not trying to replace her…but we’re doing our best to be enough.” He said.

“….and I understand your pain…and your grief and all the awful things you might feel when you realize you’ll never see her again…because, Adrian, I…” His lips quivered again, but this time Hugh didn’t mind to stop him.

However, Adrian could see he was choking and stumbling on his pride, which stood stubbornly in the way, until Hugh decided he was stronger, let go of Adrian and held his hand instead, tightly.

“…I need her too.” He said, almost relieved, as if a secret of a lifetime had slipped from his mouth.

“I need her so much, and I miss her so much…because she was...like a sister. She was my best friend and she’s gone, and I have to live without her and…Sometimes I feel so lost…and I just know...” As tears streamed down his face, Hugh sniffed and looked away.

“…I just know she would’ve known what to do; she would’ve known how to stop this world from falling apart… and if she were here, Evander would’ve met his baby.” Hugh stared at him again, hiccupping.

“And you look so much like her, Adrian. And I miss her so much.”

Unable to see through the fog in his glasses, Adrian removed them, as his own chest went up and down, and he barely had time to process this was the second time he had seen Hugh cry.

“I miss her too.”

And as they wrapped their arms around the other, they mourned Adrian’s mother in the most peacefully painful way possible, just the two of them, in a mausoleum full of flowers, in front of her headstone, coming to the realization that they were damaged; far too damaged, but since they were still sane enough to admit it, it wasn’t too late for them to get help; maybe they would get help, and things would finally get better when they escaped the stunted grief and all the pain Mom had left behind.

He hugged Hugh tightly as he could, feeling as if this was the first time he had ever hugged him, or hold him close.

And he felt something.

Through the dread and the pain, Adrian felt as Mom let go of his hand, leaving a cold emptiness on his wrist, which later turned into warmth due to his own temperature, and Hugh’s hold.

“Simon and you are enough.” Adrian sobbed.

“You’ll forever be enough, and I’ll never be able to put into words how much I love you.”

He meant it. Because, again, Adrian felt safe right there where he was; he felt safe in Hugh’s arms, just like he felt in Simon’s… but there were some things that needed some talking.

Things that needed some type of resolution.

Things that were awful.

Things that were broken.

Things that were shattered.

But when the world crumbled down, as long as people had the willingness to do it, it wasn’t too late to build it again.

And, after all, the first step into fixing something, was accepting the fact it was broken.