#i should probably try??? it seems like a decent artist community

[faygelehh]

I DEEPLY miss the era of being an online artist and being able to have a page with detailed customization and SLATHERING it with your ocs, your art, your friends, other artists you looked up to, etc . And striving to make it really POP, but like, not as a form of… “branding” or trying to sell your aesthetic, back then it was literally just “hiii look at my ocs :3c i made this page myself with basic html and i had fun!! Look look look!!”, i miss pagedolls, i miss pixel art, i miss old school deviantart and tumblr where we actually cared about each other’s page themes , i miss artists being a more intertwined community instead of being forced to focus on what is the most “palatable” !! I wish we didn’t have to sell an easy-to-swallow “brand” to survive, i just want to create, and i miss when there were platforms FOR artists, yknow?

#ughhh.. bark bark bark. not to sound like an old man but i miss ye olden days when you could customize more than a banner and a pfp. #im so tired of minimalist online spaces. i want 1000 stamps and blinkies and a dancing lil gif of my ocs!!! #im thinking about starting a MySpace page now that im getting more into coding #i miss old deviantart so bad i remember like 10 years ago when da was actually fun #the only website i can think of that has this level of customizability is … toy house #and nothing against th tbh but ive just never been able to Get Into It #i should probably try??? it seems like a decent artist community #but i want MORE of that. i want my page covered in EVERYTHING top to bottom no blank white empty space #rrrr. ok im done. bark bark #j barks

[meruz]

im gonna reply to some asks but not that many bc the last time i tried to type up one of these posts i accidentally closed the tab and lost like several paragraphs so now im scared

lots of heavypaint questions

@porch-gremlin

its the fan tool on heavypaint!! which is a free drawing app that i love a lot. and the fan tool is my fave its kind of a crutch actually im trying to use other tools gkfdhgsdg but its so fun i can do a whole painting using it exclusively. heres a video of it in action while i mess w the configuration options. u can slide the noise jitter up and down so its more or less streaky hehe ^^

thank you!!! heavypaint ROCKS!!!!! I love it... its like the only art program ill be a shameless shill for lol

also im flattered you think of my art while playing splat...i should draw more splat i feel like i havent done enough.

my phone!! I have a samsung galaxy note 20 that I am still not done paying off LMAO.... but I've been a galaxy note user for years. combined with heavypaint its a shockingly good mobile sketchbook.

I'm sorry it's crashing on your tablet... I don't have a tablet so I don't really have an advice. Unfortunately because HP is a small dev app it can be kind of finicky... especially in between updates. I think if you reached out to vaughn ling/heavypoly he'd probably respond though! he seems to keep up with the community pretty well.

@hellisrealsign nice nice.. I'm glad our tastes match up a little! hopefully that means you don't mind my frequent fandom jumping LOL. I promise to always be true to my homestuck-loving infinity-train-loving self.

LMAOOOOOO I HOPE YOU HAD A GOOD TIME? (covered in blood)

idk is it worth it to read any shounen manga for female side characters?????? (??) HEAVILY DEBATABLE. on one hand the casual observer would say no but on the other hand femslash shippers are the strongest people on god's green earth and will endure great tortures for paltry table scraps.

I think mha is a good manga but it's still a shounen, some of the tropes they squeeze the girls into kind of suck. I can kind of put my annoyance aside because regardless im still a big fan of cool fight scenes and the power of friendship but I think your mileage will vary depending on how much tolerance you have for that kind of story...? There's an awful lot of chapters afterall. I will say this: though toga and ochako aren't the main characters they're not in the background either. the path of their relationship spans multiple arcs across the entire manga and is both plot relevant and relevant to the greater themes/thesis of the story. it's pretty clear that the mangaka and editorial team are dedicated to giving these characters the time and page space to play out. it's not perfect but thats better than a decent amount of big shounen femslash in my opinion? shrugs

Thank you! for both the compliments and the concern. but I want to assure you that... to be perfectly honest I don't think I'll ever stop posting my art regardless of AI. I don't want to make this into a hot take like this is an entirely personal opinion and I don't expect any other artists to share my position but: Everything about my art that I consider valuable is inherently impossible for AI to replicate and everything about my art that is replicable and monetizable is not something I'm interested in owning or protecting. (this is also why at the end of the day i dont really care that much about art theft, tracing etc. and i think 90% of the time style theft is just silly)

I believe art should be freely shared and to restrict that is to make art into a product which is morally despicable and moreover uninteresting... to me. lol. I DO RECOGNIZE HOWEVER I'm very lucky to have both more of an online audience than I even want + a fulltime job that takes the pressure off any of my other art to make money. it's totally valid for other artists to have differing opinions on this especially depending on personal circumstances. AND also I make art that is primarily a product above all else for work everyday so im a hypocrite but. yeah thats my two cents.

I love posting art online LOL. I do it because its fun for me.

HAPPY NEAR YEAR!!!!!!!!!11111111

#ask #woof

[kyndaris]

Let’s Talk About Books, Baby!

From the ashes of obscurity, books have seen a resurgence. My mother always wondered why I would ever want to be employed at a bookstore when the printed word seemed to be going the way of the dodo. But what was once considered a dying medium has seen new life bestowed upon it through the valiant efforts of BookTubers and even Booktok. 

Yes, you read that right. Booktok! Forget about all the dancing teenagers trying to create the next new floss dance move. There are people on TikTok that actually provide book recommendations. Or riff on certain tropes. Heck, there’s even relatable WriterToks!

Yet, this all comes with a caveat. Most of the books that are seeing a huge boost from influencers are Young Adult fiction. There’s also some very questionable romance stories that are also seeing an endless amount of attention being showered on them. Not once, in all the time that I’ve watched compilations of BookTok videos, have there been any videos on series that are lesser-known. 

Instead, Sarah J Maas dominates with her wing kink Fae universe. Leigh Bardugo has also reached peak prominence with many on the site, but some of that may be due to the Shadow and Bone adaption on Netflix (and after reading the books, I definitely prefer the Six of Crows duology). Then, of course, there are a litany of romance stories with half-naked men on the covers. 

Unfortunately, Fifty Shades of Grey was not an anomaly.

Rather, smut is in. Scratch that. Smut has never left. Whether that be fanfiction on Wattpad (apparently people just love Mafia alternate universes or being kidnapped by boybands. Where have I seen this trope before? Ah yes, the manga Haou Airen by Mayu Shinjo. Actually, just any work from Mayu Shinjo in general. It’s as if the collective gutter mind has picked up on her works and started to remodel it somehow into what now populates sites such as Archive of Our Own and other places where fanfiction exists.

And when it comes to Sarah J Maas and the disaster that was A Court of Silver Flames (I really agree with many BookTubers that have negatively reviewed this work such as withcindy), it seems authors can also get away with having about nearly three fourths of an 800-page book just be about having angry sex in every corner of a fantasy realm.

But that is NOT why I decided to write this post.

While I believe I could pump out decent videos and become a regular of the Booktok community, I just want to shine some light on a burgeoning series in the fantasy section that deserves more love than it’s been getting. And that is the Rook and the Rose trilogy. From its gorgeous cover to the excellent world-building to the lovable characters! 

Somehow, it’s still so niche that my local Dymocks didn’t even stock it! I had to go online just to get it in hand. Honestly, that’s on me and I probably should have just gone to Kinokuniya or Abbey’s with its hefty science fiction and fantasy section.

Written by Marie Brennan and Alyc Helms under the name M.A. Carrick, the Rook and the Rose series tells the story of Ren, a con artist, who has come to the city of Nadezra to trick her way into a noble house and secure a fortune for both herself and her fellow ex-street urchin: Tess. The way the authors craft the world and the lore behind it is immaculate, the focus on the characters and the slow plotting also make it a delicious read that had me become incredibly invested into its world.

Nadezra, though the setting for the story that is being meticulously plotted out, feels like a character in its own right. The history of the city is rich with promise and the Venetian-esque vibe that emanates from it (along with the masquerade masks that adorn the covers) makes the place feel alive even though it’s only something crafted from words and I’ve merely just pictured the actual buildings in my mind. 

But although Ren is front and centre, there’s also Vargo, everyone’s favourite criminal mastermind with a heart of gold, and Grey Serrado, a stiff Captain of the Guard that has a huge chip on his shoulder. While there are plenty of other characters to wrap one’s head around, these three are the heart, soul and mind of the series as it currently is and I cannot wait to see what happens in the third and final book of the series that should be releasing sometime in early 2023.

Honestly, it’s a shame that this series hasn’t received the attention it deserves. For anyone that has fallen in love with the Locke Lamora series or who likes tropes of found family and dashing rogues trying to fight against a corrupt aristocracy, the Rook and the Rose series has it all.

Heck, even if you want to have a creature mascot, there is one in Alsius! Someone, draw a spider with socks on each of its legs! Please! If Doomslug from the Cytonic series can have merch, then so can an aristocrat trapped in the body of a spider! 

And the way he bemoaned his lack of gloves had to be one of the funniest sentences I’d read in a long time.

Then of course there’s the things that BookTok could be capitalising on. Like the tarot card readings and the drawing of numinatria (which is basically geometric shapes)!

Oh, can’t forget the FASHION!

Alyc Helms might not be Tess in real life but she’s definitely an eye for describing clothing and I wish I had that talent when it comes to describing what my characters are wearing. Given my current ineptitude (I can’t even tell the difference between a cross stitch and other forms of embroidery), it’s a wonder how I manage to clothe my various fictional characters at all. One of these days I ought to sit down and just research the different types of doublets, jerkins, cuirass and other such attire. 

The world is also ripe for an adaption, as was requested in an interview with the authors with Kia Carrington-Russel, an Australian author.

It is a shame that many influencers have yet to read or signal boost this criminally underrated series. How is it that books such as House of Sky and Breath have become so popular that they now feature in the local Big W and not a fantastic fantasy series that tells such a bewitching tale in a fully realised world?

I can’t say for sure if I have any reach when it comes to my blog posts, but I hope that someone out there will draw a spider with gloves/ socks and it suddenly becomes viral. Because that is what the Rook and the Rose deserves! 

That or a streaming deal. Just think of how beautiful the world would look with just the right vision behind it? Certainly, we’ve seen Bridgerton bring back Regency and Shadow and Bone dabble with an actually intriguing young adult fantasy series. Now let’s see that Netflix budget (or Amazon/ Binge/ Stan/ whatever other big streaming services there are) try to put it on a burgeoning IP that has so much promise! And don’t cancel it until the second season! 

#books #booktok #rook and the rose #the mask of mirrors #the liar's knot #m.a. carrick

[beatleszeppelin]

You're A … Inexperienced

Summary: On watch one night you find out some thing that Daryl has never done. And you offer him some experience

Category: Friends to Lovers, Eventual Mild Smut, just a good ol' time

Paring: Daryl x reader (second person)

Warnings/Includes: General Walking Dead grossness, Smut (but not in this chapter), swearing, use of weapons, non-graphic hunting, mention of past child abuse, (let me know if you see anything else)

Word count: 2.1k

Chapter 1: Truth

The night was off to a slow start since you and Daryl had taken watch. The sound of the chain link fence rattling in the wind served as a pendulum in the back of your mind. A chill in the late summer air made the concrete you used as a backrest cool to the touch. Both of you sat against the base of the watchtower on lookout, since the two with the regular shift were on a run.

“Know any games to play to stay awake?” You asked, slumped against a wall, and turning to look at Daryl, who was sitting cross legged, head rested in his hands.

“No,” he replied, “should get some cards or somethin’.”

“Yeah, next time we go into town.”

The night had become dark, no moonlight deciphered the sky from the inside of your eyelids. Time ticked on and before you knew it both of you had fallen asleep.

The rattle of the fence shocked you out of your sleep, and you saw an arm reaching through the fence trying to grab at you. Although a decent distance away, you could still see it’s skin peeled back up to it’s bicep; raw meat dangling behind the wires, so it could fit the exposed bone deeper through the fence.

The growling must have woken Daryl up, because by the time you were standing to go and kill the bloody thing, he had handed you his knife to use. You took it graciously and tiredly walked over to kill it, looking much like a zombie yourself.

Stabbing it through the eye, you could feel the pop of penetration to the skull, and with that it fell to the ground dead, fully dead. With all of its weight moving downwards, the force must have been too much, causing it’s limb to stay on the side of the fence opposite to it’s corpse. You hoped backwards as the appendage reached for your ankle, then shriveled up like the rest of its body.

Returning to your space adjacent to Daryl, you handed his knife back, and sat down breathing heavily.

“You rest, I won’t go back to sleep,” he said leaning on his hip to pull his red rag out from his back pocket. The knife you had used was laying on the ground next to him, beaded with blood.

“No way I’m getting back to sleep, I can hear my blood pounding in my ears.”

“Tell me if you need ta though, ‘cause I’m good,” He said, reassuring you.

You just shook your head and leaned against the wall, propping yourself up with a gun by your side.

You rolled your shoulders back every once in a while to stretch your back. Daryl mindlessly fiddled with a rock that he picked up off the ground. The sky was now dark and all of the stars in the night could be seen. Nothing like this would have ever been possible before. As the stars moved and passed with the coming hours, your tiredness from before seemed to return.

Neither of you had spoken in quite some time, which wasn't weird for you now that you have been taking shifts with Daryl for sometime. At first it was weird doing nothing with him, it was like he wasn't comfortable enough with you to converse, but now you know it's quite the opposite. You guys can communicate by means other than just talking. However, silence needed to be broken if you were going to keep him company until sunrise.

“I miss coffee,” you broke silence, plucking some grass and throwing it past your outstretched feet.

“Huh,” he snickered.

"I don't think I appreciated it before, I don't even remember drinking it that often."

"Don't even remember the last time I had it." He said and spun the little shiny rock he had in his grasp.

“I do,” you said.

He readjusted his position to be facing you holding his knees up to his chest with his chin rested on top. His head tilted down, but his eyes looked up at you to continue.

"Was a date, or not a date, but a meeting. I was out at a cafe, with the TA, for the psych class I was in. And he ordered for us, and after I explicitly told him to get almond milk, he didn't."

"Why?" Daryl asked with conviction.

"Because I'm lactose intolerant and I had to kick him out that night because my stomach hurt so bad." You picked a few sticks up from the ground and broke them into tiny pieces. The stick sprinkled across the ground, and disappeared in the surrounding weeds.

"Didn't mean why are you lactose intolerant, I meant why didn’t he get ya what ya wanted?" He furrowed his brow for a second.

“I don’t know, never thought about it, maybe he’d just forgotten or something. Doesn’t matter, he wasn’t even that good in bed.”

Daryl threw his special rock in the air and caught it swiftly. For just a second it had sparkled in the air, before he held it in his fist like he would never let it go.

“I bet you’ve been on bad dates, too.”

“Nah,” He said and threw his rock across the land and wrapped both his arms around his legs.

“What!? Okay, I guess your fucking perfect,” you said scoffing in a half joking manner.

“No, just didn’t go with too many people.” He mumbled.

“And all of them just happened to be great?” You questioned.

“Never said that,” He tucked his chin under his arms, that still rested on his knees, “I never went on any good ones neither.”

“It’s kinda hard to believe you didn’t date much, I mean, look at you,” you joked, but also couldn’t deny the genuine admiration that he evoked from the people that surrounded him.

“Nah, forget I ever said anythin’. Let’s just go back to sittin’ here.” He turned his head to the side in which the sun would eventually rise.

“No, please, I just came up with a game idea,” you begged.

“Hmm?” He glanced over.

“Truth or dare!” You exclaimed, failing your attempt of hiding your excitement.

“Nuh uh. Not subjecting myself to that shit,” he said tersely.

“Come on, I wanna know about these dates you didn’t go on, and you could dare me to do stupid shit in the mean time,” you said with your shoulders sagging.

“Ain’t gonna ask you nothin’,” he said stubbornly.

“Okay, then it’ll be one-sided truth.” You had as much enthusiasm as a little girl at a sleepover as you asked, “Truth or da…”

“Fine.”

“Okay, when was the last time you got drunk?” you started him off easy.

“Uh… CDC.”

“Wait, the CDC? Like the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta? How have I not heard about this before?” You asked. If this was the easy question,then this game may be more fun than you had previously thought.

“Yeah, stopped there, it’s gone now though,” he said nonchalantly.

“It’s gone? You would think it’d be better guarded or something.” You were astonished by the first question, and immediately got excited for the night to come.

“Blew up. My turn,” he said and pondered for a second, resting his chin on his palms like a winsome child. “What was his name?”

“Who’s name?” You wondered if this was what he was wasting his first question on.

“Coffee date guy,” he raised his eyebrows ever so slightly.

“I don’t remember,” you shrugged.

“That ain’t how this game works,” he argued back with a pout.

“Okay fine, I think his name was Bryce,” you gave up.

“‘S a douchey name.”

“He was a douche… probably dead now.” You looked down at the weeds growing, plucking a few and tying them together, waiting for someone to speak. You looked over at Daryl, who was patiently waiting for his question. He actually looked like he wasn't completely hating this game.

You thought for a minute, wondering how you could crack the boy in front of you. After some thought you said, “What was your first date like?” It was the perfect question, because really you could not imagine what he’d say.

“I told you, never did that type of thing.” He brought his thumb up to his mouth and started rubbing his lip as he talked.

“Okay then, who was the first person you ever did anything romantic with?” you asked.

“‘S not romantic, but there was this one girl that Merle’d bring out drinking with us sometimes. Name was Candy or something.” He mumbled around his thumb.

“Aww, little 20 something Daryl going out with a girl named Candy,” you teased.

“Wasn’t 20, I musta been ‘bout 13 or 14,” he recalled.

“I thought you said you’d go out drinking together?”

“Yeah, we’d go to this bowling alley, ‘cause they don’t card, and they had a pool table and a back room, I used to pay Merle t’ get me drinks.”

“He have to buy her drinks too?” You questioned.

“Nah, she was ‘bout his age I think, and he’d never buy something for someone else,'' he looked off.

“Wait, she was his age, and they let you drink when you were just a kid?” You tried not to chide.

“Hey, ain’t it supposed to be my turn?”

“Sorry,” you stopped.

“You said you were in a psych class, was that what you were gonna be?” He looked interested, as he inquired, studying your face as he awaited your response.

You explained “That’s what I went to school for, but who knows, I minored in fine arts. Truth is I hated psychology, but my parents needed me to make money for myself, otherwise I could have lived happily as a broke artist. Doesn’t really matter now though,” you trailed off. “Speaking of, what were your parents like?”

“Mean, drunk, dead.” He put it bluntly.

"I'm sorry, I didn’t know. How old were you?"

"With my mom, I’s 9. I was out playing with kids from around where I lived. They were all on bikes and wanted to chase this fire engine trying to see somethin’ exciting. I ran behind, and when I caught up I realized it was my house that was on fire. My mom had been smoking in bed."

"I'm really sorry about that, I didn't know about your mom or anything." You looked at him genuinely, giving a sympathetic smile.

"Was a long time ago,” he shrugged off. “Now for you. What art did you do?"

“I drew, painted, took pictures, everything really.” You added kindly.

He tilted his head back until it hit the wall, he stretched out his legs, and looked up at the stars as he said, “I’ll have to see that sometime.” “It’s not like I still have any of them,” you said, perplexed at his interest.

“Oooh, who was your celebrity crush as a kid,” you asked, “like who did you have posters of above your bed?” “Ya’ know Blondie,” he looked over to get your reaction. As he saw you nod, he said “Yeah, had a Debbie Harry poster, ripped out from a magazine.”

You laughed, and the questions continued; some questions resulted in stories others sat in stillness. The morning was short to come as the warm glow of the sun peered over the trees, and chirping birds made themselves present.

“Okay, what was your first time like?” you pestered.

You were met with a second of awkward silence, before he stumbled over the phrases “ I never, I mean… I did, it wasn’t like that though.” He brought his thumb up to his mouth again.

“Are you trying to tell me that you’re a…” he dipped his head down, and looked up at you through his hair. A sickly puppy could make your heart hurt any more, so you danced around your initial wording and asked “uhh, inexperienced?”

“Morning!” sang through the fields, and Daryl had been saved by the bell. Carol stood alongside Carl to take over for the morning shift, and relieve Daryl of his painted flush. She extended her hand out first to you, helping you up. Then to Daryl, letting the hand holding linger as she instructed for you guys to go get some rest.

The walk up was silent, but just before parting you joked with him “If you ever need some more experience, you know where my cell is.” You had said it quiet enough where he could ignore it, but you knew he heard it, because he silently split, seconds after you said it.

#the walking dead #twd #daryl x reader #daryl dixon #carol peletier #the walking dead fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd fanfic #there will be more parts #I am almost done writing it #get ready for some awkward daryl

[novembers-ghost]

what is up with the goddamn power-balancing in obey me?

this is a rant so it's a little messy but i have to talk about this (this is long but i'm currently not able to add a read more button,, i'll add one later when i can)

so i've finally made it to lesson 25 after so much struggle and i'm at the point of giving up

my cards are decently leveled (i have a couple at lv80-90 and some others at lv60) but it's never enough. i constantly have to use glowsticks (rainbow glowsticks specifically, the regular ones don't give the power boost i need) and even then sometimes it's only a 1 or 2 star clear

now i wouldn't mind this too much if only i could read the story another way but i fucking can't (there's only short clips on youtube and i really want to read the full story, at this point i'd hate to spoil myself)

i've put so much time and effort into this game and it's so sad to see that it hasn't payed off

whenever i ask for help people are like "just level up your cards" i fucking HAVE. but they're still not strong enough

it's not just me, too. i've seen tons of people on twitter, instagram, etc talking about how they can't win battles without using ridiculous amounts of glowsticks. it's a glaring problem in the community that the devs don't seem to acknowledge

the artists, writers and seiyuus put their heart and soul into this game and it's a shame that no one gets to see that because they're stuck on a specific lesson they can't get past

i really hope that they make battles easier because i doubt most players are ever going to make it to lesson 54

this is a rampant issue and i really want people to talk about it more seriously but i have such a small platform and i doubt anyone's gonna listen to me

and i know i shouldn't be so upset about this but i am. i so badly want to catch up with the main story but i'm unable to due to how hard the battles are (my team is roughly at 280k power without boosts. that should be more than enough to at least make it to lesson 40 but it isn't)

sorry for the rant but i really wanted to vent my frustrations about this. i know the devs will probably never change the difficulty but i at least had to try and talk about it

#obey me #shall we date obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me beelzebub #beelzebub #obey me lucifer #lucifer #obey me mammon #mammon #obey me satan #satan #obey me leviathan #leviathan #obey me asmodeus #asmodeus #obey me belphegor #belphegor #sorry for all the tags i just want to get this out there #ramblings of a gay clown

[hoodie-2]

Hours had passed since the "math duel" and the sun had began its descent, setting the town ablaze with a warm orange glow. Krel had spent a portion of the evening exploring, or rather wandering, throughout more of the town, observing it's people. Many of the humans were out in pairs at this hour, some of the pairs had included smaller versions of themselves in whatever activities they were partaking in. He had spied a young pair of, well, human girls at the park, almost identical except in the tones of their skin and the color of their hair, and a pair of adults he assumed were their parents seated on a bench not far away, sitting at polar ends from each other on the bench conversing on their communication devices, otherwise leaving the two children on their own.

The girls themselves didn't appear perturbed or at all bothered by their parents behavior, more entertained by the images on the platform they made with the unusual writing untensils in their tiny hands. Well, all Earthly untensils were unusual in Krel's perspective; pencils, pens, markers, but ones that the two girls used were different even from those. These were maybe the length of an unused pencil but far thicker than a marker and... powdery? His head tipped as he watched one blow away part of her line, the colorful powder pushed into the air in one big gust, as she redrew the line. Her fairer toned sibling patted a hand on her clothes, a blue colored handprint left behind on the green fabric. Both girls took notice of the mark and giggled, the first girl Krel was watching pressed a hand to her own clothes and left a pink handprint similar to the other's blue. The action brought a smile to his face, it has been a while since that happened.

He eyed the girls' parents again. Would it be rude if he just started talking to the children? Their parents didn't seem to be very attentive at the moment. Doesn't that sound familiar? But he was curious about their weird, colorful writing tools. Hm, maybe if he just kept a decent distance as he spoke to them. He didn't want to come off as strange.

"Excuse me," he approached the girls, kneeling to their height at what he believed was a respectable distance. Both girls looked at him, shifting as if they were preparing to run at the first opportunity, Krel wasn't exactly surprised by the reaction seeing as a lot of the commercials on the picture box involved something called 'stranger danger' and he was, afterall, a stranger to them. But he pointed at their drawings, from a closer examination the colorful etchings turned out to be crude imitations of other Earth creatures, a lot of them with long ears and roundish tails and a few like clouds with legs. "What is that you are writing with?"

The wariness in their eyes wavered as they looked down at the drawings around them and then at the untensils in their hands.

"You mean chalk?" The yellow-haired one asked, pointing her free hand to the blue powdery stick she held.

"Chalk," Krel echoed thoughtfully. "And you, ah, draw with it?"

"Yea, dummy," her sister answered. "Haven't you used chalk before?" They gave him identical looks of confusion only someone their age could.

"No, actually, I haven't." Krel answered back quietly. "We don't have anything like 'chalk' where I am from." He looked down at their drawings again, noticing colors other than pink and blue, there was a yellow circle he figured was the sun judging by the green landscape below it and many other colorful dots he supposed were plants. His head tilted so the image wasn't completely upside down in his perspective. "You have some very pretty drawings."

"Do you want to try?" The yellow-haired girl asked, holding out her chalk stick to him.

He eyed the shrunken piece of blue in her open palm. "A- are you sure?"

"Sure!" The girl chirped, a smile spreading over her features, a matching one on her sister's as well. "We do this all the time, its fun."

Krel took the chalk from her, rolling it and turning it in his hand, blue powder stuck to his palm wherever it touched. He looked up to see the girl reach behind her sister and pull out another stick of chalk, purple this time. They went back to scribbling on the bricks around them. He watched as their creativity grew and spread, narrowly crossing over each other's work and somehow still blending together.

Looking down at the emptiness around him where their chalk hadn't yet touched. What would he draw, he wondered. Things considered artistic escaped him, even on his planet; he couldn't understand poetry, the closest he gets to crafting is inventing gadgets, even basic drawing on a telepad wasn't something he had much skill in. What could he draw? Well, shapes are pretty simple.

He started with a triangle, Earth's history was full of them according to Kubritz and her research teams. Ancient tombs and monuments to societies that have long since passed, the triangle was acknowledged as the strongest structure, those words rang true clearly. A square, the basic form of most present day structures; there wasn't anything too spectacular about it, a little more space than a triangle, sure but meh. Then a circle, a shape Krel was most familiar with, there wasn't a screen or viewing monitor in Akiridion-5 that did not have circles, and even then there were links that connected them to more circles. On Earth, circles meant unity to some and a means of 'alien' communication to others - Kubritz.

"Can't you draw?" The brown-haired girl asked as she crawled over to look at his work.

"I am not very talented." Krel admitted. "But drawing with chalk is fun."

"Try drawing your family." Her sister suggested as she joined them. "That helps me sometimes."

Krel hummed at that logic. It was sound enough, even if he was currently at odds with his family and it was an extremely delicate situation. But they are human children, it was probably best to go along with it.

He started with Aja, forcing himself to recall her human form; it wasn't perfect, especially since he was limited to one color but he knew. Next his mother, whose disguise he's only seen a handful of times so this may be a little more difficult. That was nothing to drawing his father. How does one draw face fur?

The girls giggled at the etching.

"That one looks like a monkey." The yellow-haired one pointed to his etching. His gaze roamed over the attempted drawing and felt laughter bubbling in his chest.

"It seems you are right." Oh, how was Krel going to look at his father's face without laughing now?

He looked around them, seeing that the sky was gradually getting darker, getting closer to the time that younglings would be taken back to their homes. The girls' parents were still occupied with their own priorities, poor girls.

"I suppose I should go," he sighed, giving back the chalk he was given, "you will be going home soon." Krel did not expect such saddened expressions at his words.

"Do you have to?" The brown-haired girl asked, watching him stand up.

"I'm afraid so." He dusted the blue powder on to his jeans. "But I'm sure we will see each other again."

"Really?" The yellow-haired girl asked excitedly.

"Of course," Krel chuckled. "I wander around when I have free time." He watched as they shared a look, tipping his head as they stood as well, the yellow-haired one picking up the blue chalk and holding it out to him again.

"My name's Abby," she said, bouncing a little on her heels as she shook the chalk at him.

"And I'm Gabby." Her sister added proudly. "You can have the blue one, then we can draw again next time. Right?"

A smile pulled at his lips again. It would be a shame to see their faces fall again in sadness. He took the chalk from Abby. "That sounds fun. My name is Krel, it was nice to meet you both."

They waved at him as he walked away, pocketing the chalk he was gifted. Maybe he can find out where they get it next time so he can obtain more himself. He admired the blue powder that tainted his palm, opening and closing his hand, it was somehow amusing how the color clung to his flesh. It was almost as if his real body was peering through, if only.

After a bit of wandering, the sky growing darker, and some of the street lights were blinking to life Krel found himself at a back alley behind some stores that surrounded the park, if his memory of the town map was correct. It was empty of any lifeform that was human as he stepped in, looking around at his surroundings carefully; four-legged creatures that he was told were cats saw his approach and ran off into hiding; even smaller creatures scurried away behind them, leaving Krel alone with the garbage bins of two different sizes, the walls of the buildings were clean aside from the occasional stain near the bins or moss that grew more toward the ground.

He wasn't sure what compelled him to do so but he pulled the piece of chalk from his pocket and wrote the equation from the math duel, following it with his correct work and answer. Satisfaction washed over him as he wrote his answer, the right answer, his original answer. He was still a bit stuck on his why's during the duel, he knew he did a good thing for Seamus so what did it matter anymore. Why did Seamus stare at him when it was over?

Krel's hand moved to write another equation, it was more complex but watching the letters and numbers come into being it made sense to him, it always made sense to him, similar to cataloging past events and his planning for the future. It was comforting as he continued the equation, spreading it further along the wall, blue clear against the red brick but still convoluted. Had he been less taken in with his work he probably would have felt more guilty about how much of the chalk he was using up. He didn't notice the approaching person behind him until they addressed him.

"Kubritz?"

Krel whipped around, instinctively taking up a defensive battle stance startling the newcomer. That was... Seamus? And was holding an item in each hand, they didnt seem to be weapons though so he could relax somewhat. Not completely though, he has noticed around the education prison that some human males in their age group tended to be, well, boorish and found amusement in harassing other males they perceived as weak, and Krel's human form unfortunately suited that perception. Primitive. He'll be sure to correct that.

"Uh... hey," Seamus waved one of the things he held, the action stiff. His eyes flicked beyond Krel, looking over the equations behind him. "What're you working on?" His gaze followed the equation to the start, lingering on the work shown. "Looks complicated."

"You have no idea." Krel wasn't trusting this interaction, not that there was any reason to.

"Hey- Look, you can relax, uh, whatever move that is," Seamus gestured to Krel's posture with whatever it was he held. "What is that anyway? Judo? Jujitsu?"

Krel eased his stance but kept a leery eye still on the human. "Nothing you have ever seen, I assure you." He answered in little more than a monotone.

"Ookay...?" The human coughed, taking a few meeger steps toward him with a hand extended outward. "You want a burrito? I dunno if you've eaten yet or anything but it's an idea right?" He gave a pitiful laugh as he stopped only a few feet away, the thing in his hand slumping over his fingers like it was trying to slip out of his grip.

As a being of energy, Krel had no need to consume organic materials, but he has been curious. On another hand Earth has a history in poisoning consumables for enemies, again not that it should affect him, maybe.

A sigh escaped Seamus, seeming to notice Krel's reluctance. "I just want to apologize for my behavior." He said, "You didn't deserve it. You earned the grade fair and square."

"I suppose I should say that I'm relieved you've gained some sense." Krel retorted, not completely convinced.

"Okay... I earned that." Krel saw Seamus' grip tighten around the 'burrito', his restraint was admirable. "But you didn't have to let me win, so why did you?"

Krel finally took the burrito, examining it for a moment before tearing the aluminum wrapping like he's seen other humans do and bite into it. The texture was strange, soft, soggy; the taste was savory, it was weird feeling the crunch of vegetables but overall it wasn't bad but he didn't have much in expectations, so, another point for Earth.

"Wanna sit?" Seamus gestured to the the sidewalk. Krel didn't object, taking another bite of his burrito and joining him on the cold cement just a yard or so from a flickering lamppost.

"I had nothing to gain," he answered finally, getting a startled look, "from winning the math duel. Nothing to lose either, unlike you."

The human's head ducked almost sheepishly. He must have recalled how loud his father was in bellowing their agreement. If it could have been called that.

"Again, I'm sorry," he declared. "My dad just has high expectations. Very high."

"Understandable."

"Is it really?"

Krel frowned at him. "Just because my parents are not present does not mean I don't have my own problems with them."

Seamus' face turned even more guilt ridden. "R-right, sorry," he stammered, a red hue spreading over his features. He was quiet for a moment, taking large distracting bites of his own burrito. The silence allowed Krel a moment to gather his thoughts about the present situation, and possibly plan for what could happen next. Maybe he could somehow make Seamus an ally, like Aja had with the majority of their peers, to keep his disguise here. It certainly would make things easier than researching every tidbit about this mudball to blend in while Morando outsources the search for Gaylen's core. The question was how to do so.

"You," Seamus spoke up again, breaking the silence between them, "you came from a warring country, right, like Aja Tarron and her family?"

The words brought a bitter curl to his lips. Her family, may as well be, ironic, consider she used to run away from her family at every opportunity.

"Yes," Krel answered softly. "Maybe even the same country, if luck would have it." Some luck that would be.

"What happened? I-if you don't mind me asking."

The expression on Seamus' face was different from before; softer, solemn, perhaps even sympathetic. It's been a clear background to his class that Krel escaped from a war torn country with no family besides Morando who was discharged due to injury during the fight. Could this be the opportunity he needed to make Seamus his ally? To make a 'friend'? In one quote Krel had heard, he now understood. When opportunity knocks, it would be wise to open the door.

"I-it all happened so fast," Krel began, quickly coming up with details to twist the story from the traumatic reality. "It happened on the coronation day for the royal heirs; my parents both had high political and military positions so my sister and I were allowed good seats to see the crowning," he kept his voice low, allowing some of the emotion he kept at bay to fill his words, "everyone was excited, we all had high hopes. The princess hadn't made her appearance yet when the attack happened." Krel swallowed thickly as the real memory came to mind. The running, his parents ordering him and Zadra to find Aja, falling behind, and being left behind. "It was chaos; people were running everywhere, trying to find each other and to find shelter, soldiers and their weapons, the cannon fire..." his eyes were leaking again, it was too much already with so little spoken. What was wrong with him? "I- I was too slow, my... my parents- my sister, gah, what is wrong with me?" He took the fabric of his shirt, quickly trying to wipe away the streaming liquid, his chest felt heavy, his core ached. Krel hadn't felt like this since he first found Aja and their parents on Earth. His head hurt.

A hand touched his shoulder making him freeze up. "It's okay." Seamus' voice was calm, relaxing even. "You've been through a lot, huh?"

Krel sniffed, trying to regain some composure before answering. "You have no idea."

#tales of arcadia #3below #krel tarron #aja tarron #general morando #morandos prodigy au #king failkov #queen coranda #seamus johnson #trollhunters #space camp #this is getting so long so imma make a part 3

[enigmainvestigations]

AO3 post: ???    Series link: ???

Some of the paint was chipping off the mural. Its massive length spanned almost the entire wall of the walkway, making it almost fifteen feet long. The painting was rather crude in its depiction of the island, juvenile, as if it was created by an unskilled artist. Most of it was large blue strokes to represent water, with a large slab of green floating in the middle in an attempt to resemble the island. Blots of green brush strokes depicted trees, with blue four-leafed flowers speckling the landscape. The island was void of any buildings, except for a tiny mansion perched on the top of the green blob. At least the artist hadn’t taken too much liberty with the scale and hadn’t tried to make the mansion appear much larger than it should. There was tiny writing next to the mansion. It read: "Gotham House of Madness and Ill Humors"

Edward Nigma took a step back from the mural and concluded that perhaps it wasn’t supposed to be some beautiful depiction of a rich family’s property. But it did seem odd. What was the point of the mural if it was only going to be a slab of green painted over a slab of blue? And that begged the question: why was it painted at all? He tilted his head to look down the walkway to the mural’s end and heard someone call his last name from the hall behind him. They were far away, and he decided he didn’t need to hurry with his examination. Looking down to the other end of the mural, he saw there was a tiny blotch in the water, and Edward assumed it was supposed to be a boat. Strange to paint only one, he thought.

“Nigma.” The voice called again. This time it was much closer, and followed by the sounds of heavy footsteps advancing in his direction. They slowed as the orderly drew nearer and came to a stop at his side. “I know you heard me calling you. If ya wanna know what I think, that’s not the best way to start your first day in the wing.”

Edward ignored him and lifted a finger to point at the mural. “I’ve never seen this before.”

The orderly looked at the mural and shrugged. “Welp, you’ve never been in this wing before.”

“Doesn’t it seem strange to you?” Edward asked.

“Out of all the strange things I see in this building, it’s probably on the least strange side a’ things.” The orderly shifted his feet and waved a hand in front of Edward’s face to break his concentration on the painting. “You can stare at this later, alright? Dr. Leland wants ta see you.”

Edward found that odd. He had spoken to her yesterday morning, and she had implied it’d be a while before they’d speak again. A chime broke out over the loudspeakers, signifying the guard shift change. Edward let out a deep sigh and turned toward the orderly, noting the slight show of fear in his eyes. “Alright then, ready when you are.”

The man looked suspicious, yet grateful of Edward’s compliance. “Thanks, Edward. I’ll escort you over there.”

Normally, that suggestion would get on Edward’s nerves. It was understandable that a patient might need supervision, but it always felt like they were implying he needed babysitting, as if he’d fall down the elevator shaft if he was left on his own. Currently, though, he didn’t mind the offer. Not all of the guards were aware of his transfer, and the last thing he needed was for one to spot him and sound the alarm in fear of his attempted escape. That was the last thing he wanted, he didn’t feel like being tackled to the ground today.

As the two men proceeded down the hallway, the vapid sound of speech hit Edward’s ears. He was coming to the decision he didn’t like this ward as much as the Rutan Wing. Initially, he’d found the more populated wing to be more exciting. The groups of people were a welcome change after his previous surroundings outside the asylum, but those feelings were wearing off quickly. At least the Rutan Wing was quiet and mostly empty. It wasn’t entirely a “Wing” of the asylum, just a smaller ward, but his room had a decent view of the Trigate Bridge. The dayroom was typically empty, and he’d spent most of his time reading or listening to the guard’s radio at the security station. At the time, he felt that the lack of activity was dull, and he was itching for a change in the environment.

But, last night the orderlies and guards had come to his room and said he was being transferred. He’d assumed they were taking him to a more secure area of the asylum. But they’d brought him here, the wing at the front; the least secure wing in the whole building. At first, he’d seen this as an achievement. If Dr. Leland was moving him to the front wing, it must be a statement about his progress. That he could be trusted with less supervision, and that he was getting better. He’d never even seen these wards before, and it was fascinating to see how the non-threatening patients experienced the asylum. They were allowed to wander around the halls freely -- well, mostly freely. But, it was certainly much more freedom than Edward was used to on this island.

The issues that arose became clear rather fast. Since the other patients had more freedom, it meant he had to interact with them more than usual, and they interacted with him with much curiosity. He started to find the chatter, noise, and hectic energy of the ward unsettling. So unsettling that he found himself wandering the halls until he found a spot where the echoing voices were much quieter. His tiny room in Rutan was starting to sound like paradise compared to this.

The orderly motioned Edward down the hall that led to the main clerical offices. He’d been there a few times during his frequent lock-ups in the facility. Usually, it was during his multiple escapes from his cell -- either breaking into offices to snoop for information, or for stealing certain supplies to aid in a more dramatic escape from the asylum. He’d always enjoyed watching the police and guards try to figure out how he’d disappeared, or how he’d gathered the supplies to enact his theatrical exit. It had always been an exciting experience being here, until the Bat had designed him a new cell. Then he began to understand why the others disliked their confinement in Arkham so deeply.

The two men stopped at Dr. Leland’s office door, and Edward watched as the orderly knocked and opened the door for him to enter. “Nigma is here for his appointment, doctor.”

Dr. Leland thanked the orderly and motioned for Edward to sit in the guest seat in front of her desk. Sitting down, he made himself comfortable, though it was mostly for appearances. Dr. Joan Leland wasn’t an unintelligent woman, regardless of her sense of morality that certainly made her do stupid things. She was one of the “good ones,” believing that the patients in this asylum were capable of rehabilitation and living normal lives. This belief had remained firm, even after the magnitude of evidence she’d witnessed that proved she might be wrong.

Edward watched the doctor finish filing some paperwork, and he resisted the urge to fidget his fingers. Dr. Leland was smart and observant; she would certainly notice his unease. But Edward knew that she also didn’t do things without reason, and there were too many odd occurrences to indicate something was going on with his situation. Putting a file away in her desk drawer, the doctor finally looked at him -- right in the eye, as she usually did.

“Hello, Dr. Leland,” Edward said, trying to sound casual.

“Hello, Edward. How are you liking the Thayer Wing?” Dr. Leland asked with her typical direct approach.

“It's okay.”

“Just okay?” Dr. Leland arched her brow.

It looked like she found that in conflict with what she’d assumed, so Edward adjusted. “I'm enjoying the broader freedoms. I spent all morning in the library, that was enjoyable.”

Dr. Leland eyed him closely. She did this quite often, and it was obvious she did so when she was trying to decipher if Edward was lying. “That's good, I had a feeling you'd take advantage of that amenity immediately.” She scribbled down a few notes, then gave him a calm smile. “How are you adjusting to the people? The wing is much more populated than what you’re used to, has that been a concern?”

“No.” Edward lied.

Dr. Leland didn’t catch the deception and began writing down a few more notes in his file. “I see. I know it's just been one day, but how do you feel about the new schedule?”

Edward found that a bit strange. He hadn’t been told of any schedule changes, but he decided not to dwell on it. “It's alright.”

The doctor nodded and flipped through a few pages in his patient logs. “I see your stitches were removed… you have a clean bill of health.” Signing off on some of the papers, she finally looked him in the eye again. “Are you still in communication with Ms. Quinzell?”

“No,” Edward said, a slight chuckle in his voice.

“Really?” Dr. Leland’s brow arched again.

Edward sighed. “You monitor everything I do, doc. You'd know before I would if she was trying to get in contact with me.”

The doctor leaned back in her seat, tapping her pen between her fingers as she examined him and Edward examined her in return. It seemed strange that she was more concerned about his contact with Harley than his adjustment to the new wing. He was starting to feel like she was going down some kind of checklist, but for what, he couldn’t imagine.

“If she does try to contact you, what would you do?”

Edward huffed. “I doubt she would, but I would just tell her to leave me alone.”

“You would?”

“Yes,” Edward answered, annoyance showing in his voice. “I'm sorry, doc, but what is going on here?”

“What makes you think something is?” After the words left her mouth, she appeared to catch herself and waved an apologetic hand in his direction. “I'm sorry, Edward. Sometimes it’s difficult to get my mind to drop old habits with you.” Dr. Leland set her pen down and rested her elbows on the desktop. “Edward, we had our meeting with the superintendents today. When Dr. Young heard about your progress, she was very impressed.”

That wasn’t the answer he was expecting, and he found himself confused on how best to respond. “Is that a good thing for me?”

Dr. Leland paused, and her eyes averted from Edward’s for a brief moment. “Things are being run differently here now. With new head doctors, new procedures --”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Edward cut her off. “Jerry is dead, and now things are different. I’ve heard all of that enough since I’ve been back. Can I ask you to please skip the public relations speech and just get to the point? Or would that request be considered part of my unproductive personality traits?”

“You're being released, Edward.” The doctor said flatly.

“I'm what, now?”

Dr. Leland paused again and folded her fingers together in an attempt to seem more forthcoming. “The head doctors think that, since you've progressed in your treatment, and you aren't exhibiting any aggressive tenancies -- they think you're a good candidate for the supervised release program.”

Edward stared at her, his disbelief apparent on his face. He let out a small chuckle. “This is a joke. This has got to be a joke, right?”

“No, it's not a joke.”

His eyes narrowed and his mouth was slightly agape as the weight of what she’d said set in. “Have you all gone insane? Has everyone in this building lost their minds? You can't release me.”

Dr. Leland jumped on that statement, quickly adding, “Why is that, Edward?”

“I can't go out there! I'm me!” he exclaimed, though tightly gripped the armrests of his chair to control his temper. Dr. Leland was watching him closely, her eyes searching for something as if she was looking for a clarification of some sort. Edward could feel his pulse rising and a tremble beginning in his hands. He leaned forward and spoke calmly, yet directly. “Look me in the eye, doc, and tell me you think I'm ready to be a part of society.”

The doctor contemplated that question for a moment before averting her eyes again. “You are no longer a danger to yourself or to others. That is the major reason you were the property of the state.”

Edward scoffed. “Oh, so now that I'm not dangerous I'm suddenly not "crazy" anymore, and I get kicked out?”

Dr. Leland’s eye very subtly twitched. “That's the way the rules work.”

Edward’s grip tightened on the armrests, his eyes darting around as his mind tried to come up with a solution. “Can I re-admit myself?”

“We're an asylum for the criminally insane, Edward, so, no. But you can admit yourself to a different hospital.”

“I can't believe this,” he said as he threw his hands up in exasperation.

Dr. Leland leaned forward, and lowered her voice in an attempt to calm him. “Edward, I know this is frightening. But you will have another doctor to continue to help you adjust --”

“I don’t want another doctor, I want you to be my doctor!” He noticed a somber realization flicker in her eyes, and he tried to slow his breathing. She had been his most frequently appointed doctor whenever he was at the asylum, and, once he’d made the decision to reach out, she’d been willing to listen to him. But that had taken years of sessions, years of him playing with her mind and refusing to speak. He’d had time to observe her, and he knew she would honestly provide assistance. The thought of talking with someone new was inconceivable.  

Edward released his grip on the chair and rested his elbows on the desktop in front of him. “Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to just -- to start taking this seriously, and start letting my guard down?”

Dr. Leland leaned in more as well. “I know that was very hard for you, and I know that you can do it again.” Her expression was strong, as if she was trying to show him how much she believed those words. “Your new doctor won’t have as many patients, they’ll be able to give you more personalized care. It will be better for you.”

“Who are they?” Edward asked in a huff, “Who is my new doctor?”

A hint of sadness flared in Dr. Leland’s eye, and she tried to cover it up with a small smile. “I’m not sure, yet.”

“Wonderful.” He sighed and flopped back in his chair.

“Edward, you can do this,” she said, and her strong expression returned. “You need to keep reminding yourself why you wanted to make a change in your life. Keep that as your cornerstone, and try not to lose focus.”

He shook his head, still in disbelief, “I don’t… have anywhere to go.”

Dr. Leland gave him another sad smile. “You’ll be put on an assistance program. They’ll help you find a place to live, a place to work, and you’ll have some money to help you pay your bills.”

Edward chuckled at that. Yeah, I bet plenty of landlords in this city will be jumping at the chance to have you as a tenant, his thoughts chimed in, and he immediately tried to ignore them.

“How long?” He asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“How long until you all kick me out of here?”

“It takes about a week to get all the paperwork in order.” Noticing the cynical look on his face, Dr. Leland continued, “You can spend that time wisely. You should be thinking about what profession you’d like to go into.”

“What?” That statement yanked him from his internal thoughts.

“Well, you won’t be a criminal, and you’ll have a stamp of approval from the asylum. You should start considering what you’d like to do for employment. You’re very good at gathering information, perhaps you could be a journalist, or a researcher for one of the papers.”

Edward began fidgeting in his chair, and the trembling in his hands started to die down. That was a thought, but completely out of the question. If he was going to be out on the streets, the news of his release was going to spread like a wildfire in the underworld. And working for any news outlet would put him too close to the criminal activity in the city. That line of work would be unreasonably dangerous for him at the moment, but the suggestion had triggered his thoughts to wander. There were other professions he could get involved in, especially if he wanted to stay off of everyone’s radar.

Despite what the state might intend, he was sure they were going to have difficulty finding even a grocer that would allow him to mop their floors for a few measly cents a week. He could already see the hurdles they would have to jump through to find him employment, and something he’d heard on the guard’s radio in Rutan snuck into his memory. The city was desperate for new business owners after all the carnage on the streets the last few months. Many people had had to close down, and migration into the city had trickled down to nothing. The newscaster on the radio often mentioned the officials’ constant complaining about the dwindling funds in the budget.

His doctor shifted in her seat, and the movement pulled him out of his thoughts. She was staring at him, still examining him with those searching eyes. Dr. Leland normally would allow him to get lost in his thoughts, and she rarely interrupted him when he did. But, this time, she looked more curious than usual.

“Did that help calm you down, Edward?” She asked.

He slowly let out a breath, “Yeah.”

“Good. Just remember, you have more possibilities now than you did before, and many more options at your disposal. You don’t have to leave here and get lost again.”

Edward looked her in the eye, “Can I ask for something?”

“That depends on what it is.”

“Can I have some reading material?” Seeing her apprehension, he swiftly explained. “I just want to refresh my memory on the laws, and the current services available for opening a business.”

Dr. Leland tilted her head. “I don’t see why we couldn’t get you some books on the requirements. However, you’re going to have a lot of paperwork to go through the next few days. There is a lot of information you’ll need to get familiar with concerning the current services available to the survivors.” She picked up her pen and scribbled down something on one of her notepads. “I’d suggest you read through all of it, no matter how daunting the volume might be. Those conditions and services apply to you, too, remember.”

He gave a weak shrug. “I’ve never been intimidated by large volumes of information, doctor.”

She attempted to hide a smirk, and gave him a stern look. “Read through all of it, Edward.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll read through it.”

She nodded her approval, then turned her attention down to her notes. She pretended to contemplate them for a moment, and then looked back up at him and fixed her gaze with his. “I know we already went over this, but I’d like to go back to the subject of Ms. Quinzell.” She ignored Edward’s eye roll and set his large patient file aside. “It is a source of concern for me, Edward. I want to ensure that I have explained my position fully before you leave this facility.”

“What else is there --” Edward stopped himself, and his lips thinned. Taking a deep breath, he let it out and motioned for her to continue. “I’m sorry, doc. Go ahead, what is your concern?”

Dr. Leland seemed pleased with his composure. “I know you said you aren’t going to be in communication with her, but you haven’t ever fully explained why you two were in such close communication while she was here. The two of you haven’t ever been hostile toward each other, but you two also never paid much attention to one another. My concern is that something is going on.” She set her pen back down, and her shoulders slumped. “I’m not trying to pry into your personal business, but I’m afraid that if she contacts you then you will talk to her. I don’t think that is a good idea.”

Edward nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but Dr. Leland beat him to it.

“You are doing the hard work to try to live a better life. Ms. Quinzell spent her time here exhibiting her usual behavior, and then escaped from the facility. In my opinion, she is not on the same path that you are, and any communication with her would be detrimental to your rehabilitation.”

Edward fidgeted in his seat and nodded again. “I know, doctor. I think my reluctance to talk about this situation might have given you the wrong idea. Harley and I just -- we had very different experiences during the lockdown. I know it will sound cruel of me to say so, but I was genuinely really surprised that she survived. I was just curious how she did, that’s all. Honestly, doc, that’s it.”

Dr. Leland wasn’t buying that explanation, Edward could see it on her face, so he kept going. “And, I felt like I could talk to her about our experiences. It was easier to discuss it with her, since she was there, albeit under different circumstances, considering her side.”

Dr. Leland perked up, but she did a decent job of not letting her eagerness show too much, “You spoke to Ms. Quinzell about your time on the island?”

“Yeah. As I said, it was easier to talk to someone who already knew a lot of the circumstances.”

“Did it help to talk to her?”

“Kind of. Not really, actually.” Edward ruffled his hair, mentally kicking himself for bringing up the subject. “She understood some things, but -- I mean, it helped at first, but, now, I don’t know.” Edward adjusted his glasses and looked his doctor in the eye. “You don’t have to worry about me talking to her. Harley made her position quite clear, she has no intentions of quitting her criminal behavior. I don’t even see why she’d contact me, since I made my position clear as well.”

Dr. Leland stared at him in silence. She wasn’t showing any tells, but Edward could see it: she was still suspicious. Eventually, she stood from her seat and gave him a final look, “If she contacts you--”

“I won’t speak to her,” Edward confirmed.

The doctor nodded and picked up his patient file, setting it on the filing cabinet behind her. “I apologize for having to cut this discussion short, but I have a patient to assess. I’ll see to it that we get you those legal texts. If you need anything from me, just tell one of the nurses or the orderlies that you’d like to speak with me.”  

Edward agreed and stood from his chair. The doctor stepped around her desk, and Edward moved backward toward the wall to keep a safe distance between them. Watching him, a smile crept across Dr. Leland’s lips. “You don’t need to keep your distance from me, Edward. You’re not in Intensive anymore.”

Hearing her words, he felt a bit foolish. He nodded to her to show that he understood, but remained standing by the wall. Dr. Leland took a step toward him, her smile shifting to a calmer one. “You’ll be alright. Just try not to let your negative thoughts hold you back, and stay on course. If you need me --”

“Yeah, don’t worry. I know where you work, I’m sure I can find you if I need you.” Edward said, triggering a small chuckle from Dr. Leland.

He walked with her out of the office, and she motioned for one of the guards to get Edward an escort. “So, thinking of making your own business. What line of work were you thinking of going into?”

Edward gave her a weak smile, “Finance.”

Dr. Leland gave him a suspicious look, but returned the smile. “Not a bad idea. Lots of money to be had in the world of taxes.”

“Yeah, that’s why I decided I should brush up on the laws.” Despite his honesty, she still looked concerned, though she didn’t voice it. She bid him good day, instructed him to follow the rules, and he watched as she hurried off down the hall to her next appointment. It took a few moments before an orderly showed up to take him back to his wing in the asylum, and he found himself bewildered again. He wasn’t used to being treated with so much lack of concern, and it was beginning to make him feel nervous.

As the two walked back to the Thayer wing, the orderly tried to make some small talk, though his choice in subjects made Edward quickly lose what little interest he’d had in the discussion. As they arrived at the heavy dividing door, the orderly motioned for Edward to go ahead of him and locked the security door behind him with a loud clang. The wandering patients took note of Edward’s return, and he hurried back to the empty hall to avoid the curious stares. His eyes landed on the mural immediately, and he slowed his pace as he walked up to it.

He found himself staring at the tiny, lone boat in the water, and a different sensation hit him. As he looked over the painting, he found that it had a charm to it he hadn’t noticed the first time. The starkness of the island felt calming, and the little blue flowers didn’t look so juvenile now. The blue void of the water was serene, as if it was a protective barrier surrounding the land. He was starting to feel like he understood what the artist was trying to convey. It was something that didn’t require masterful artistic skills to explain, which was probably why they didn’t bother. The island was a sanctuary from the outside world, a tiny home locked away by a river of water. Somewhere where the struggles on the lands surrounding it couldn’t touch. Though the mansion at the top still looked creepy.

Oh, so you’re happy being locked away on islands now? The thought came from nowhere, and he willed it to stop, but his mind persisted. The outside world is too frightening for you, so now you want to be like whatever patient painted this? Locked away in a cage where you’re safe, so the scary bad men can’t hurt you anymore?

His eyes narrowed as his temper began to rise. That wasn’t it, he just wasn’t ready to leave yet. Despite what the doctors said, he knew he hadn’t made enough progress. There were too many issues he was dealing with. He kept telling himself to keep things simple. To keep his world small, and not worry about the larger issues at hand. It wasn’t an emotional decision, it was a logical one. He wasn’t being a coward.

But he couldn’t shake the feelings, now that the thoughts had pointed them out. It could be that he was scared. That he was wasting valuable time sitting around in this cold building. The doctors didn’t want him here, and he’d lost his sanctuary of isolation from the other patients. He wondered why he felt so desperate to stay.

It’s because you’re afraid of what waits outside these walls, his thoughts concluded.

All at once, the mural in front of him had lost its appeal, and he had the impression of being right back where he’d started.

#writing post #Extra episodes #Prequel episode #canon post #Season 1 episodes #eddie post

[misterbitches]

hi! this is long as shit i’m sorry. i hope it makes sense. i ahve adhd and like 5 million learning disorders so this is just word vomit cos there’s so many words in my brain. my b.

i’ve had such a tough day so thank you for replying and sharing! @yeedak​ 

i was thinking about what i wrote and i meant to clarify that as well. some cases are fine for both parties and it’s not like you weren’t consenting and it seems like you were happy! same with my friend who was dating a 20 yr old. if they’re happy you know i’ll clown on ‘em but yea. so for anyone that sees these posts your relationship with your partner who is older or whatever. i’m some dumb girl on the internet okay. ill side eye older ppl tho

i think a lot of people feel the same way you do now (me included.) it feels really good at the time but alter we can see the dynamics playing out. i’m 29 now and i think aging is just such a huge process. it’s wild how you at 31 are a totally different person, right?

and the US racism is probably some of the worst ever in its iteration because of slavery which started from europe etc but USA is so fucking unique bc of columbus bringing slaves here and displacing indigenous peoples or hispanola and because america is so influential the way it views race, particularly with black people as objects, has so deeply permeated into the current historical psyche globally. it’s fascinating to track how necessary anti blackness is to the flourishing of america but also the world at this point. also want to point out how fuckign scary sinophobia is here especially for covid. one is a straight historical line (black ppl + the US) and the other had to be manufactured and to continue to exploit the non-white americans and keep antiblackness in tact.i could go on about this all day. the pain of this place is immense.yet as bad as it is here, this is still the only place i truly feel safe as a black person. because of the unique experience we have in america and through the diaspora especially because we are veyr much ocncentrated here. it would be nice to like move to norway and have some alleviation financially or get free healthcare it’s just not feasible if no one looks like me. it’s fucking tough. 

i hope you don’t hate it here though and people treat you with respect. but as you know being a woman and jewish and an immigrant....shit is tough. the USA is a hellhole. :( america is so deeply tainted and desperately bad because it was founded on strife and blood and there’s no way to reverse that and what this country did in turn when it gained enough power and could capitalize off of the colonial forefathers. this is why we hsould all luv revolution!!!

HOWMEVERRRR 

boy oh boy oh BOY OH BOYYYYYYYY. well wlecome to the world of BL lmao especially as an adult with some obviously deep perspective just given your background. it is a fucking mess and it’s a hard mess to like but it pulls you in. i approach it like i do with soap operas since these are essentially telenovelas, you know? just like the drama at a billion. but the tricky part of that is like....what parts of it do we understand for critiquing? because so many of the shows are so bad at being like good pieces of things to look at just production wise and story wise. but i feel like these shows ask us to take them seriously, so why shouldn’t we take the content seriously? and this is being primarily peddled to young girls. 

i bring this up often but i read this thing about yaoi and the interest younger women/girls have in BL and its fascination with pederasty essentially. this component i think is key when we talk about who gets affected by these things the most. society in general is bad 4 girls bla bla we know lmao but in “more sexually conservative” societies it may be harder for these girls to feel safe even expressing normal emotions romantically and sexually and particularly with guys. some people hypothesized, and i think i agree with this hypothesis, that they can live through the casualness of BL. they don’t feel threatened because they can put themselves into the shoes of the other character. oftentimes, the more feminine or the younger. this was in conjunction with the age gap aspect (they say pederasty as well because there’s unethical age gaps that r gross and that is indeed what we would at least call a touch of sexual abuse if people dont feel like calling it an obsession with youth and power and uhhh young ppl and perhaps kids) where maybe girls could see themselves in these situations as the person being saved, loved, taken care of, and sadly also sexually active and penetrated. 

i think that’s just one aspect of it but i do think there’s validity in who gravitates towards it. i cannot imagine seeing this stuff and not getting enough information as a young kid, i sure as fuck know i didn’t!, and seeing these things and you look at it with 0 critique because you’re young and you may have no interest in it or you simply cannot understand what is wrong. no one is teaching you these things and these shows confirm it. and it is wild how intrinsic patriarchy is to BL although in its existence it also can’t be in line with patriarchy given the nature of two [cis] men!

it begs the question about the replacement aspect. is it just so girls can put themselves in these characters shoes? if so then that means we believe that gender is so interchangeable within our relationships and interactions and that doesn’t seem right. there’s more to lgbtq+ than just existing; it’s finding ways to communicate, finding a family, safety, your people, being a free person. there’s a lot to gain and a lot a lot to lose. and a gay man is also not a woman because those are also two distinct experiences.  especially in societies that have a more hidden aspect to sexuality (idk how to word this bc the BL industry would NEVER survive in america but in a way there’s a more “progressive” look at homosexuality but it’s still fucked up because we live in a Society, you know? at the same time look at what we are doing to trans kids. literally waging war so it’s bonkers how we all collectively have some real progress happening but at the same time not at all. the concept of ‘ladyboys’ and the frequency we see trans people in thai shows is wild and something that we absolutely do not see here in the US. still, none of these groups feel safe or are getting better material conditions in either place. we just show the ways we can try and tolerate oppression witout eliminating it imo)

to me it is clear: it’s money. which most things exist to make money so. but also who is the audience for these shows? and they have to market towards them. all that said all hope is not lost there are some decent shows. it’s just like regular media on TV though where it’s so fucking saturated as an industry that it’s literally sifting through garbage. and there are some days when you can handle the trash and others where it really fucking hurts to watch the violence, the rape, the manipulation, the violations, the stupid messaging. i have never seen more people trying to do mental gymnastics and seeing if things were “technically rape” than in teh BL fandom and that is so fucking sad.

i came into these shows at 28 with almost 0 clue of what as media BL was like esp as media that countries can use as soft power with the revenue. but i realize like...i’m 29 now and so many people don’t have a sizeable, though not huge, amount of life experience. and i wonder for people on the internet who are usually searching for something if they spend so much time on it like what a 15 year old girl thinks. what a 20 year old girl thinks. 

it is incredibly problematic and so awful but there’s also some rewards. if you haven’t i would definitely watch i told sunsset about you which i don’t think i’m going to finish and i doubt i’ll watch the second installment (watch this be a lie) but when i say some fucking impeccable storytelling and art? phew. now that is a fucking piece of media that works. it takes from moonlight heavily and you can see like...the artistic dedication is there and the story makes its world and sets up its stakes extremely well. 

i think because this is marketed towards much younger people too they know they dont have to try as hard. but they SHOULD because then you can have a fucking masterpiece like that. i think even this prolific gay thai filmmaker (who is like solidly against the government) who is so respected (and who i like a lot! if u wanna know i can tell u lmao but the films are very uhhhhhhhh “artsy”) would like i told sunset about you. i wish more people had budget like that and also just cared about the stories. it’s the fucking magic of art to figure out what you can do but there is very little incentive honestly. idk i am very pessimistic. there are days when it’s really a great pick me up and distraction but it is never a place i would love for to feel seen or heard but i’m more of the mind of i never trust the mainstream until they prove me wrong ;) 

or i never trust the mainstream and i still buy into it anyway and then cry when i don’t like what i see adn i yell “BOO GET OFF THE STAGE!” when an old man won’t leave a teenager alone

[eak8753]

Billionaire’s Makeup Artist

He had first seen her when Cass was doing her makeup. Damian had somehow been stuck to take Cassandra to a halloween party, and she was running late. Barging into her room he was assaulted by the pigments on his adopted sister’s face. She was supposed to be a...clown? He really couldn’t tell, not until he looked towards her laptop on her vanity.

There was a small girl, around his age with black hair in a sleek ponytail, reds and black adorning her face. She looked kinda scary, but Damian assumed that was the goal. So Cass was trying to be a clown, a scary clown. She however, looked nothing like the girl. Fed up, she took a makeup wipe and removed her makeup, then applied red lipstick to her lips and on her nose. Sighing as she looked up at him, this was the best it would get. Standing up they left and Damian drove her to the party, all the while having an image of the clown girl in his mind.

That had almost been a year ago

He found the girl’s Youtube channel, finding that she was indeed, his age (17). Her name, at least on the channel, was Raven. She posted makeup look videos, some of her more popular ones were “Maleficent Inspired Makeup Look” and the clown video Cass had been watching. She posted on Friday’s around 4:00 pm. She had a decent amount of subscribers when he first started watching her, 650K, and he wanted nothing more than for her to blow up.

Seeing as he had quite a few sisters, and had lived with Dick Grayson (who was a bigger gossip than Vicky Vale) he knew the basics of the amount of drama and toxicity of the makeup community on YouTube. He doubted she would be involved with any of that, but it wasn’t like he knew her.

In fact all he knew was what she let on the internet, which wasn’t a whole lot. He had searched for her on other media platforms but either she didn’t have any, or they were photos of her looks from YouTube. His siblings always asked him why he would watch her, it’s not like he was into makeup and she didn’t talk about anything else in her videos.

To be honest, Damian didn’t know why he had started watching her, maybe it was in the way she looked like she was genuinely enjoying herself or how she had real talent, or maybe it was because she was so damn beautiful that he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

Getting the notification of her weekly upload, Damian made his way to his room and looked at the video title. “We hit 1 Million” with the thumbnail of her with balloons that read out 1,000,000. The video itself was her incorporating some of her “iconic” makeup looks into one, where she did the eyeshadow from her Maleficent video, and lips from her Clown one. Her hair was out in soft waves and had a purple ombré to it. Watching the video he was mesmerized with her voice, it was soft and soothing. At the end of the video the most wicked thought came to mind.

Now Wayne Industries didn’t need sponsors, everyone in Gotham (and all of America) knew who Bruce Wayne was. If it wasn’t for his parents murder when he was 18, or taking over the family business at 22, then it was by the fact that he had more adopted kids then an orphanage. So no, Damian’s father’s company didn’t need to have sponsors, but that didn’t mean that they couldn’t have any.

So he sent Raven an email, pretending to be his father, proposing the idea of a sponsorship. He didn’t know if she would accept, as he had never seen a video where she had done a sponsorship, but it was worth a try. He just hoped his father wouldn’t be too mad about him going behind his back and using the company as a front.

He had told Jon about the idea, who had encouraged him to reach out to her, but wasn’t too thrilled about him lying to his father. She replied to the email the next day saying she didn’t usually do sponsorship deals but was interested in why “Wayne Industries” would want to sponsor a makeup YouTuber and not “anyone else”. Damian had responded saying that “My kids love your channel”.

It wasn’t a complete lie, his sisters did like her channel and he said kids, not daughters.

She had told him that she was appreciative and would be a fool not to accept. So, they worked out the plans of the deal and a few weeks later she posted a video that included his sponsorship. He had never been more happy than when he received an email from her, he just had to make sure father didn’t find out, as the emails were sent using the company’s email. After a week of working together he had decided to ask for her number, as it would be easier to text then email, also making it easier to hide the messages from his father. He made sure to stay in touch with her, and it all seemed to go pretty well. Then the annual Wayne Gala happened.

His father had been pressuring him into bringing a date, the Mayor’s daughter more specifically, but Damian had other ideas in mind. As a “present” for his sisters, he reached out to Raven once more and asked her if she would do they’re makeup, which she had agreed to. He was happy, or at least as happy as Damian Wayne could be. He told his sisters about it, who squealed in excitement and they all waited for the day with baited breath.

Finally the day arrived, and so had she. Bruce had been too busy with getting everything set up to even notice that she was there, Pennyworth however, was firmly displeased with not knowing of the young girl’s arrival, therefore being unprepared.

Damian had told him that he tried doing something nice for his family members and that he should be happy. After he had dealt with the butler he ran out of the kitchen to go greet her, but before he could even walk up to her, she was whisked away by his sisters. It wasn’t until hours later when they were all done that he managed to get some time with her.

She was in his room, which usually would have irked him but for some reason he was fine with it. She was looking at the knives on his wall, completely focused on them. He stared at her for a while until he realized that he should probably say something.

“I got them from the Middle East” he spoke, breaking the trance she was in. She didn’t seem startled nor did she turn around. “They’re very beautiful,” she breathed. Slowly walking up to her, he pulled one from the wall and looked at the inscription on it. “What does it say?” she asked. “Take Care” he mumbled, reading the flowing Arabic on the knife. Sighing, he put it back on the wall and faced her.

Her skin was bare, which was an unusual but not unwelcome sight. How did she manage to be just as beautiful without makeup as she did with makeup? She smirked slightly, cocking her head a bit. Suddenly feeling very conscious, Damian raised an eyebrow, asking what.

“Or nothing, I just didn’t think you’d be into the content I make” she said softly with a small smile. His eyes widened, and he swallowed. “I- I am not” he stammered, defending himself. She motioned to his laptop, which had one of her videos on it. Then she held up his phone, which had the messages he sent her on them.

If it was possible his eyes went even wider before narrowing down. “How did you- how did you do that” he asked her accusingly, taking his phone and slipping it into his pocket. What else was he gonna do, he couldn’t let her put him in a corner. “I stumbled into your room by accident when I saw your laptop. Then I saw your phone, left open to our messages, may I add” inwardly Damian cursed himself, whenever he would feel lonely he’d go back and read their messages, he must have forgotten to close his phone before he left for a snack.

“I-“ he tried to speak, to say anything that could save his face or his father’s company. He couldn’t believe what he had done, using his father’s company to talk to a girl so he could what? Go out with her? Get to know her? Just because he liked her didn’t mean that she would like him, and now all of his planning was ruined because he couldn’t remember to turn off his damn electronics.

He was broken out of his mental scolding by a pair of soft, warm lips pressed against his cheek. Looking down to the shorter girl, he blushed furiously. “I usually don’t do anything after I upload if you, maybe want to hang out?” She wasn’t looking at him but he could see a light pink dust her cheeks.

Before he could say anything, Cass had come into his room dragging Raven out telling her about what makeup look she wanted and asking if Raven could show her a few tricks. It took him a moment after they left that she had just asked him out. Grinning to himself he pulled his phone out. “So, Friday?” He texted, the only answer he got was the light laughter he heard from down the hallway.

—

A/N: I don’t really like this but oh well. So my laptop charger broke meaning I am unable to write using my laptop, and I hate using my phone to write. So expect more one-shot like these :(

#damian x raven #fanfiction #damirae #raven #damian #demon birds #damian wayne #raven roth #i really need to get a new charger #sorry :((((

[hannjunkyu]

hello! i’m peyton  &  i’m going to be writing for han junkyu aka the cookie skeleton aka the cringiest man on either of the islands, probably (but he doesn’t believe in cringe culture so it’s okay!) go ahead and leave a  ♡  if you’re interested in plotting with us and i’ll send you an im!

𝐃𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐑.   𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓.

twenty-one and clueless. do not ask him about his future.

very artistically-inclined. his parents (especially his mom) placed greater emphasis on self-expression and creativity than education while he was growing up, which greatly shaped the man he is now. he’s been painting for longer than he’s been reading, so you could say it’s his most ~refined~ skill

but he’s also been dancing and acting for a while, too. initially trained in contemporary dance, but he’s more interested in hiphop now! also super into singing... i’ll just say this: if it’s creative/artistic, he’s into it! does have a tendency to spread himself too thin and has always been this way, so while he has various skills, he lacks a specialization.

used to be really promising. claimed that he was going to be a star and everyone believed it. unlike most kids, he had a very clear plan and was headed in the right direction. plus, he was well-known in the community, well-liked. very respectable kid

perhaps his parents gave him the wrong impression bc he ended up dropping out of high school and he was like “haha you told me education wasn’t that important” and they were like “we didn’t think you’d drop out??!?!”

and then things started going downhill because he kept traveling to auditions and participating in online auditions as well for all kinds of companies (modeling agencies, acting agencies, idol agencies bc mf didn’t know exactly what he wanted to do, still kind of doesn’t) and most of the time he was able to pass the blind round but every time agents found out he’s a hs dropout, they put a strike through his name.

ended up FINALLY getting an offer in early 2020-ish but was told he’d have to relocate to seoul and, as it turns out, junkyu’s a fuckin coward. didn’t want to leave his people so he turned it down much to..... Everyone’s dismay

now he’s working part-time as a cashier / sales associate / whatever at graciegrace! wants to work full-time, but atm he’s stuck begging his coworkers to give him some shifts and upselling like crazy to try to prove that he!!!! deserves to be a full-time employee!!!!

yes it’s the most expensive store on the island... yes he only works there because he needs that employee discount... yes he wears exclusively graciegrace clothes while he’s on shift and nonchalantly strikes poses like he’s a fuckin model while he’s supposed to be cleaning the shelfs and organizing displays... mind ur business!

his parents don’t really like him atm because he had Such A Bright Future and now he’s a retail worker, so he’s living on his own which means he needs money even more bc he doesn’t have his parents to leech off of. if not to feed himself, then to feed his trio of hamsters. so he sells artwork as a side hustle

mainly commissioned stuff bc if he just painted what he wants to, it would be anime girls sipping lemonade by the pool and no one would buy any of his pieces, so. gotta give the people what they want..... he likes to work in a ~dreamy~ kind of style with pastel color schemes, but he’ll rly do whatever if he’s getting that coin

junkyu’s obsessed with anime. started watching it shortly before he dropped out of hs, got really into it as a method of escapism after he dropped out and realized that life is hard. 9/10 times, if he’s meeting someone for the first time, he’s going to compare them to some background character from a niche anime that only nerds like him would know. i’m Personally not an anime fan so i can’t provide examples but jus take my word for it

kind of speaks japanese? he’s been studying it for a few years because he wants to watch anime without subtitles and he’s...... decent, but not fluent by any means

currently has hot pink hair because (1) he wants to and (2) he’s matching with an anime girl he likes atm.... guess who she is

obsessed with all things pretty/cute. buys a lot of sweets simply for the packaging which he REALLY needs to stop doing because he doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, so they usually go to waste. collects stuffed animals, not afraid to admit it. will go crazy any time he sees a cat, dog or any other soft animal that will let him pet it. 

his wardrobe’s full of pink, his home is full of pink, his phone case is pink, his favorite pair of sneakers is pink. kind of shocking to anyone who’s just getting to know him because who the fuck can see SO MUCH of one color and not get sick of it... junkyu! that’s who!

still wants to be involved in the entertainment business, kinda too scared to leave so these days he’s planning on opening up a theater in town. except apparently there are certain qualifications you have to have and..... Money’s Involved..... so he’s currently working towards a ged, don’t ask him about it

has a ton of random luggage and packed boxes in his house bc he’s lowkey always thinking about leaving, just doesn’t really have the guts to actually do it.

doesn’t believe in cringe culture, which on one hand is good for him but on the other hand, bad for everyone else. kinda hard to handle sometimes because you want to think he’s joking when he acts the way he does, but he never is.

seems like an ~elegant artist~ when you see him from a distance, which is admittedly very intentional. dramatic, always thinking that people who might happen to spot him should fall in love with him immediately so he tries to be Oddly Mesmerizing in everything he does. the illusion always breaks when he opens his mouth.

goes for a run every single morning! if you live on starden island and happen to be an early bird, you’ve probably seen him far more often than you’d ever want to.

aesthetics:  rose petals on the floor, exaggerated confessions of love to distant acquaintances, muted cartoons in the middle of the night, strawberry icecream, sunny days, the feeling of a stranger’s dog coming over to greet you, clicking immediately with new people, the smell of fresh laundry, sunrises, 90′s anime, knowing you’re going to regret something and doing it anyway, neon shutter sunglasses.

#intro.

[bibliofiles-in-a-greenhouse]

Mad, Bad, & Dangerous to Know: A Review

Today I will be reviewing Mad, Bad and Dangerous to Know by Samira Ahmed. As always, there will be spoilers ahead, so read at your own risk.

~~SPOILERS AHEAD~~

Khayyam Maquet should love her holiday with her studious parents in Paris. But instead she finds herself at a crossroads - her sometimes kind-of boyfriend is ghosting, she may have blown her chance of getting into her dream college, and all she wants is to go back home to Chicago to figure out her life. 

But things change when she meets Alexandre Dumas, a descendant of her favorite writer. On top of that she finds letters to a mysterious woman, who just might give Khayyam another chance. 

Meanwhile, centuries before, Leila is trying to hide her love from the pasha, and survive as she is ‘gifted’ a position of favor in said pasha’s harem. As Khayyam begins to trace the threads of Leila’s life, the lives of these two women will intertwine as both lives are changed forever. 

~~TIME FOR MY THOUGHTS~~

I’m rather sad to say that I didn’t like this book. It felt like a chore to read, and my issues with the characters and the plot only made it worse. 

For starters, this book was presented as a feminist and poc narrative, but both protagonists spend the majority of the book bending to the will of men, and not even nice, respectful men. Being a feminist and hating all men do not go hand in hand, but these characters, and Khayyam especially,  are at the beck and call of the men in this story, above their own autonomy. Leila is not much better, making strong, well-grounded decisions and suddenly throwing them all away for a man despite the fact that it might very well get her killed. 

Another thing that wrankles with me is that, from what I can tell, this book has some good poc representation, especially in that of the two leading ladies. But Khayyam makes me feel like she’s ‘not racist towards the french’ in the way that Emily in Paris is a love letter to France instead of a bunch of Americans taking a shit on French culture. Khayyam is such a cool intersection of cultures, race, and religion (she’s French, Indian, American, and Muslim), and I think it would have been really cool and interesting to take a look at how all of these intersecting identities affect Khayyam, regardless of where she is*. 

Instead she spends so much time confused over which boy she should pick (she calls them ‘problematic faves’ - more on that later), that the story (these two women centuries apart coming together) that I came here for comes second. 

Back to Khayyam’s ‘problematic faves’, or more accurately, her use of that term. It makes sense that a seventeen-year-old would speak like most of gen z, however, sometimes the volume of gen-z buzzwords in what Khayyam is saying reminds me of Riverdale, and not in a good way (side note: is anything involving Riverdale good? I mean seriously, would anyone ever say ‘I beg your misogynistic pardon?’ unironically?). 

For a complete change of subject, where were Khayyam’s parents? Their few appearances are only to further the plot progression (and by plot I mean what should be the subplot of which boy Khayyam is going to pick), despite the fact that their daughter breaks and enters on multiple occasions. They let said daughter run around Paris with a guy that they met once (and the only thing they know about him is that he’s related to Alexandre Dumas), and though I appreciate that they are giving their daughter more independence, I’m a little concerned that they didn’t seem to fear for Khayyam’s safety at all. 

The story has such a cool premise, but I feel like so much of it is spent mooning over different men (almost entirely on Khayyam’s part by this point, since Leila’s major paramour died) that it takes a back seat, and could be lost entirely without really affecting Khayyam’s journey at all. I don’t see a lot of character development in Khayyam, and she sort of comes across like ‘i’m not like other girls’ in the way that Bella from Twilight isn’t like other girls. 

Later in the story, in an effort to prove that she really is feminist, and she doesn’t need men at all, her two love interests are demonized (which is fair, both of them are flawed, but given the fairly positive view that the reader has gathered of them from the previous 200-ish pages, it’s kind of out of nowhere), but that doesn’t erase the fact that Khayyam has been pining for the both of them throughout the book. I also think that Khayyam could have been a lot less damaging with how she handled the situation. She didn’t try to communicate sensibly and instead hurls insults at them until they both leave (In the case of Zaid, it kind of makes sense, he was not good to Khayyam, but Alexandre’s feels a bit less justified). I understand that given that she is 17, she may not be the most mature person in the world, but I think her outburst is kind of sudden and poorly handled. 

She chooses herself, yes, but at the cost of some, if not glowing relationships, then half-decent ones. I feel like the book fell into the common pitfall of ‘romantic relationships are the be all and end all of teen life’ which is simply not true. 

Khayyam is so focused on being feminist and defying the patriarchy in the present that she forgets that the whole point of this was to discover Leila’s story, and take down the patriarchy by telling it. The whole point of Alexandre appearing at all (his connections to the Dumas family helping discover Leila) is thrown out of the window when Zaid shows up, just like it has been for the last few hundred pages. Khayyam, and by extension Leila, are jerked around by men, the patriarchy, despite Khayyam’s whole deal supposedly being defying said patriarchy. 

Khayyam reminds me of how white cishet male authors write feminists - spewing all the relevant rhetoric until a man comes along and ‘fixes’ it. I guess the only reason that i’m so bothered by it is because this is presented as a masterful feminist story, but all Khayyam really does is say feminist things while she is a doormat for the male characters. It doesn’t even feel like quality observations, because she spews all of this hate towards famous men - not entirely without reason - but she doesn’t acknowledge the cultural influence that these men had. She does not separate art from artist from gender. 

Nevermind that these men are helping the plot move forward, and without them there would likely be no plot at all. Khayyam’s main personality trait is supposedly being feminist and not needing men, yet she consistently bends to the will of men for the sake of the plot or drama, both of which are in such contrast with how the reader has expected Khayyam to be that they feel almost physically painfully out of place. 

In short, I think that this book had a really amazing plot idea and a lot of things going for it, but the way is was executed in contrast with my expectations based on the synopsis and the author’s note make me feel massively let down. The book has pitfalls that while not always massive, are commonplace enough and reoccurring enough that I couldn’t ignore them, and subsequently couldn’t find myself enjoying the book, no matter how hard I wanted to. 

- Marigold

*note: I know that the race, religion, and/or cultural identity of a character, especially a poc character, should not be their only personality trait. However with Khayyam, I feel like it is not addressed in any way at all, despite the fact that within the first few sentences of the book it is put in a position to be a focal point. I just feel as though her saying vague things like ‘that lady was kind of rude to me’ leaving the insinuation that she (the woman) is racist, or ‘it’s paris so i probably won’t get shot by a cop’ (which is a fair thing to say, I just think that if you’re going to mention that you might as well add something to make me invested in that idea with regards to the character personally. That didn’t happen, therefore it feels very abstract; since she’s not in America, where such a comment would be most relevant it falls flat) really leaves out the audience and makes it hard for them to relate or sympathize with Khayyam’s struggles against racism. It feels performative, obligatory and perfunctory when it would have been such an effective device to get readers invested in Khayyam’s life, regardless of whether she was in the US or not. There are no flashbacks to help ground the things that Khayyam references, so it’s far too easy to forget that she said them at all, and that in her hometown she has a very good reason to be concerned for her safety (in special regards to the cop thing).

#book review #new books #book #bibliophile #Bibliofilia #library #mad bad and dangerous to know

[can-i-stay-awake]

Flower Bouquet: Moonflowers (Seonghwa x Reader) Part 1

Warnings: Insomnia? We’re not far into that boat yet, my angels

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Slow burn

Word Count: 2k

Series Masterlist

Spring’s warm breeze caresses your cheeks as you make your way to your school. You adjust the short sleeves of your summer uniform. You quite liked it. Crisp white school blouse with the very end of the sleeves lines with the same red tartan as your skirt and black tie. Though many of the female students chose to wear white knee highs, you couldn’t be bothered to shave this week so you wore black tights. To be honest, no one actually cared whether you shaved them or not but to you, it’s a matter of confidence. For such a rich school with rich or smart students gifted with scholarships, the people there aren’t as bad as you thought they would be. Of course there are the populars and whatnot but if ignored they ignore you. It’s really not your forte, speaking with people. You can’t say you’re introverted, but there’s no one who really connects to you.

It hasn’t been long since you’ve transferred here. Being a scholarship student is hard when all people care about it your money and looks… Or so you thought. After standing up for yourself to many various people and even publicly humiliating one of the most feared bullies in school, Kang Yeosang, you are neither glorified nor bullied. Though your classmates in English particularly enjoy your company to the point where you think you should just rename yourself, “Hey, what did you get for question six?”. You’ve only made friends with Yuna, a cute little (extremely tall) bespectacled girl whose potty mouth could possibly give sailors a run for their money.

“Y/n! Do you know what happened last weekend?” Yuna’s blonde hair dances in the light summer breeze. Her loud voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

“What happened, Yuna? Did a goat break through your garden fence?” You reply sarcastically, linking your arms together. Her warmth gives you a little comfort.

“No, I wish. I want a pet goat. My brother’s getting married!” Yuna’s gorgeous amber eyes have drops of sunlight swimming in them and you can’t help but smile.

“Oh? Tell him I said congratulations”

“Will do. I’ll also ask if he wants a goat” She flashes a cheeky grin.

“I don’t think he wants anymore goats in the house. You’re good enough” You snicker, squeezing her arm tighter after she punches you in the arm playfully. Your feet clatter against the pavement and you two cross the polished school entrance.

For you, school is more of a place to learn rather than a place to socialise. Unlike others, who use this school as a place for their popularity to thrive, you are among those who keep their heads down and only have a select few to mingle with. You met the bubbly blonde on your first day as she showed you the way to biology, her sassy sweet dual personality humoured you and you two immediately clicked. Sadly, Yuna is more of an artistic person and you only have English together. So instead of sticking together, you are forced to part.

The low hum of the biology teacher’s voice just barely reaches you, your hands scribble at your paper like you’re trying to win a war as you frantically note everything he says down. The scent of oranges fills the classroom. In a way, it’s how you feel at home in biology. Today the teacher is going especially fast with her notes. Pain ebbs at your wrists and you let your eyes wander around the classroom. They travel to the windows, the glass pane reflecting the light of the sun, then they travel to the colourful diagrams made by other classes and they finally fell on the neat, colour coded notes of your desk mate, Park Seonghwa.

His handwriting isn’t very special, but the way the letters are spaced out makes it look mature and refined. The dark haired boy even has a blue colour scheme: azure, cobalt and cyan dotted across the page framed by drawn on silver stars.

Truth be told, both you and Seonghwa are quite shy so the only conversation you’ve actually shared this week was when he didn’t have a pencil because he let Hongjoong borrow his. But you two know each other well and even have a few inside jokes. You two tried to hold a conversation about you two signing up to tutor struggling students but Wooyoung burst in screeching about god knows what. It’s not like you to blurt random things out but before you can stop yourself, you whisper in awe.

“Wow, your notes are super neat. You could put that on study gram…”

Seonghwa’s face visibly brightens from the praise, a smile briefly on his face before returning to his textbook. You never notice the faint rings under his eyes once his stops smiling. “Oh, thanks Y/n”

You were always a little curious about Park Seonghwa, but you never realised how intriguing he is. Little things like the way he acts all cute with Hongjoong to get his attention, and how he has nearly a motherly impact on even the outcasts like Kang Yeosang by letting him keep the black raincoat he was forced to borrow when you can see from the dark haired boy’s shoes that they are a little beaten up. Of course, since he’s so organised, no one even notices the way he secretly calculates his lunch money instead of just pressing his card on the scanner. You too, are practically broke but you can afford decent shoes without worrying about the price. These little things that tend to slip other’s minds are tattooed into your eyesight, highlighted in fluorescent colours.

A few days later, once again in biology, his complexion looks seedy and tired. His skin is dull and the charismatic glow in his voice is jaded. Throughout the week, he becomes progressively more scatterbrained. Like that time in computing science when he dropped his earphones and bashed his head on the upside of his computing desk while trying to retrieve it, and the time he literally forgot his pencil case. The teachers look concerned and it’s quite evident they’ve already checked up on him only to be faced with a half assed reassuring smile.

“Jesus, Seonghwa looks like a mess… I feel bad for the poor guy.” Yuna exclaims, “He’s running for student council president but if he’s like this, he’ll faint dead away. Should I check up on him?” You two watch him practically sleepwalking to his form room, his footsteps dragging and hands rubbing at his eyes. Yuna has an eye for these things too, perhaps she’s not as attentive as you, but definitely more than most.

“Yeah, I’m thinking of doing just that. He’s a zombie.”

Two days pass and Seonghwa looks a little better after Hongjoong practically forced him to sleep, threatening to throw confetti at him which he had brought from the art room. You’ve been trying to find the right time since you can’t just go, “Oh hi, you look like shit. Are you good?” And biology seems too far away for you to communicate, but you decide to wait until then. But somehow, it’s like the gods placed the keys right in your hands and shoved you towards him when you meet him in the supermarket. You buy two packets of strawberries, one for yourself and another for Seonghwa. He smiles at you but his face is now painted over with thick coats of fatigue and the concern probably shows on your face because he stifles a yawn.

“Hey” You greet him, queuing behind him in the long ass line you wish would just move already.

“Hi, Y/n. How have you been doing?”

“Good, you?”

“Good” It’s hard to continue a conversation like this, but you stubbornly press on. Seonghwa looks tired but he’s not facing away from you either and you’ve got his full attention. “Really? You’ve been looking rough nowadays. You should take care of your health. Don’t you always nag Wooyoung, Hongjoong and Jongho about the exact same thing?”

“Oh, how do you know that?” He fakes surprise, trying to steer the topic away from him. You can’t pressure him to say he’s not fine, but you sigh.

“Yuna and Hongjoong are friends. You did hear what I said, right? Take care of your health” You nag and he pouts.

“I am, Y/n. It’s just the election is stressing me out a little.” His eyes swerve to the bottom left, an obvious lie.

“Alright, but I can help you with it. Okay? You’re a literal zombie nowadays. Even our English teacher realised that you’re not in good spirits, and she’s more oblivious and air headed than a four year old”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry for worrying you, I’ll take care of myself” He giggles, you can see the colour rising in his cheeks after a light hearted conversation. You’re not really that good with words, but if it makes him feel better, you’ll gladly do so.

The line progresses, and he lets you go first. Scanning the two boxes of strawberries and placing one in your schoolbag. You wait outside for the boy to scan various groceries and sweets and as he approaches the doorway you stop him.

“Seonghwa”

He turns around, the orange light of the evening sun blazing in his eyes. His dark hair dances in the wind.

“Take this” You hand him the box of strawberries and he’s lost for words, blushing and stammering.

It’s cute.

Very cute.

“Y/n, I r-really can’t take this! It’s yours!” He tries to hand it back to you but you firmly press the transparent container to his chest.

“Yeah, well I accidentally took two. This one’s for Yuna” You shake the bag you’re holding in your right hand. “I don’t like strawberries anyway”

His gaze is skeptical but he smiles sweetly and thanks you profusely. “Sure… Thank you so much Y/n! I’ll pay you back somehow, kay?”

“Park Seonghwa, you pay me back I break your back” You bark, but you let out a small laugh and he does too.

“Gosh, I ought to hire bodyguards” The light that Seonghwa’s eyes hold is so vibrant not even the milky way could hold a candle to the sparkles swimming in his warm gaze. “Thank you again, Y/n” He yells as he walks away from you.

“No problem, have a nice day and make sure to get some sleep” You holler back. As you make your way back home, your heart bubbles and fizzes like the drinks you see Mingi consume on a daily basis.

That night, you sleep well. No emptiness, no gaping void, no nightmares.

Just the comfort of your bed in the sea of your blankets.

It’s too bright this morning, too pretty with the flowers decorating the school entrance, too ethereal with the honey glow of the sun kissing your skin. Though it’s a little too hot, you keep a mini fan in your school bag and sunscreen to prevent anyone from dying.

“Hey, Yuna! I gave Seonghwa a box of strawberries after I met him in the grocery shop!”

“And good morning to you too” Yuna raises a brow, her eyes no longer framed by glasses but the faint outline of her contact lenses over her irises. She grins as you hand her a box. “For me?”

“For you” You smile as you two walk to school together.

“Hey! He looks better today!” You nudge her excitedly as you see the tall, handsome boy massaging red headed Hongjoong’s shoulders, exclaiming about how stiff he is. Though his energy isn’t up to 100%, you’re happy that he’s improving.

Or so you think.

“Seonghwa! Your votes are nearly taking the lead!” Yunho exclaims as they check the little website Wooyoung composed for the student council election.

“Oh? That’s nice” Yunho furrows his brow at Seonghwa’s nonchalant attitude.

“Are you okay? You look like you’re about to faint…” Yunho steadies the smaller of the two in his chair. Seonghwa giggles.

“You don’t need to worry about me, Yunho. I’ll go to the nurse’s if I’m not feeling great” He smiles, exhausted.

The brunet narrows his eyes, “Sure… I’m getting someone to check up on you, I have a meeting in the art club. Don’t move” Yunho rushes out the doorway only to meet you, on your phone checking your emails.

“Y/n, Seonghwa looks like he’s going to pass out. Could you keep an eye on him, please?”

“You don’t need to do that! I’m fine!” Seonghwa yells from the classroom but his voice is groggy, “and you definitely don’t need to do anything!” You look at Yunho, nodding and entering the classroom.

“Enjoy art club Yun-”

Thump.

You and Yunho pause to see an unconscious Seonghwa sliding sideways off of his chair and onto the floor. His hair flying to one side and his eyes fluttering shut. 

“Shit!” You dash to Seonghwa side and Yunho calls out his name. “We should get him to the nurses!”

Yunho nods and you raise his legs into Yunho’s arms until the brown haired boy stabilises his grip on Seonghwa, still knocked out. You open the doors for Yunho as he dashes to the nurses, you feel agony shoot through your heart like an arrow when you see the elder’s head lolling in Yunho’s embrace. The students around you clear a pathway, murmurs filling your ears and looks of concern covering your vision. 

The nurse, who everyone calls Minnie, puts Seonghwa in a comfortable position on entering, you realise Hongjoong already there gasping for breath. He probably caught wind of Seonghwa fainting and dashed to the office. 

“Sorry kids, only one of you can stay. It’s better not to startle Mr. Park.” Minnie’s soft voice soothes everyone’s panic. Even Hongjoong’s posture is slightly more relaxed, you've never seen him without his overly perfect stance and you're reminded that perhaps the redhead isn't as studious as he comes across. Yunho nods, rushing off to the art club, Hongjoong looks longingly over his shoulder as he leaves. 

”I’ll stay.” You announce. Nurse Minnie nods and pulls over a chair for you adjacent to Seonghwa’s freshly made bed. After opening a window and letting the breeze sway the curtains, you settle in and sit beside Seonghwa. His curls are splayed out on his pillow in such a disorganised but perfect way.

”Y/n..?” A voice deep with fatigue calls out to you and you have to restrain yourself from jumping up to the call. 

”Seonghwa...” Is all you can say as he groans and shuffles his pillows. You give him a glass of water and colour bleeds back into his face.

”Hey.” He smiles, rubbing at his eyes. 

”Is that all you can say when you've practically overworked yourself to the point of fainting?” You manage to keep your voice soft but you know he can hear the pout in your voice. ”Hwa...” Gently cupping one hand around his wrist, you see concealer on the finger he used to rub his eye with. You look back up at his face and a hint of dark circles are more evident on his porcelain face.

”I should get better concealer... Don't look at me like that, your expression looks like a cat eating a lemon, down to a cinch.” He chuckles but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. The aroma of citrus (with a hint of candy) fills the room. It reminds you of biology class and you realise the scent is coming from him. 

“What do you even do? And why does it get in the way of your sleep? Is it insomnia?” You try to coax an answer from him, but you know you can only go far. “You don’t need to tell me, but it might help to tell someone” Seonghwa grins, sinking further into his covers.

“You don’t need to worry about me” He whispers, and you see his legs adapt the fetal position.

“But I do, because you’re my friend.” 

“Am I?” Seonghwa’s dark eyes are once again all a-glimmer, his eyebrows are raised in surprise. It’s as if you’ve offered him a lifetimes supply of strawberries.

You stop yourself from doubling over and giggling, perhaps you understand why girls and boys alike look at Seonghwa the way they do. His calm and cool demeanour is alluring but those rare times where he opens up is what pulls you in. “Of course” You smile, and perhaps the blush dusted on Seonghwa cheeks isn’t a hallucination. 

“If you really want to know, I’m busy looking after my younger cousins, Jihyo and Daehyun. My siblings and parents are barely home.” 

“Seonghwa...” Concern once again bleeds into your face but the latter interjects before it settles. 

“They’re super adorable though! And well behaved! It’s nothing to worry about” But one look at the dark patches under his eyes tell you otherwise. 

“If you’re fainting due to exhaustion, it is a big deal” 

“It was super hot today though, it could have been because of that” His long fingers run through his hair and it falls perfectly back into place. You’re tempted to ask what shampoo he uses but you snap out of it. “Seonghwa. Do you want me to help?”

“Help? It’s not a big deal!” 

“If I bought Hongjoong here-“ You could see in his expression that he was awaiting Hongjoong’s nagging ever since you told him that Hongjoong and Yunho brought him here.

“No! Fine... He’ll nag my ear off” Red lips form a pout, his head drops. “He talks for so long that he ends up repeating everything he says and if you try and argue he starts all over again”

“I know. Remember when Jongho sprained his ankle playing basketball?” Hongjoong’s normally quiet and composed voice thundered throughout the hallways so loudly even the teachers dared not to intervene. 

“Exactly, I’ll die. You don’t want me to die, do you y/n?” Seonghwa looks up at you and uses the type of gaze you give teachers when you want to skip PE. He pouts even harder and when you grumble, he giggles. 

“I’m still coming over. If you’re not well rested by the time I’m finished playing with your cousin I’m moving in” Though these are jokes you usually pull with closer friends, something about your relationship with Seonghwa connects. You feel your presence calming him down and his soothing the creases on your brow. 

“I got it” He giggles and covers his mouth with his hand. ”When are you free? I'm free all week, including today”  

”Hmm, I have to help out Hongjoong with student council shit today... Is it alright if I come tomorrow?” 

”Sure! I'm positive Jihyo will enjoy some company. Daehyun is a little older and introverted, but she's tired looking after her younger sister too. We can look after them together” That’s not your plan, but you nod and smile. 

After school that next day, you wait for Seonghwa outside the gates. Unlike the cute, laid back persona he adapted in the nurse’s office the other day, his posture is perfect and his movements as elegant as a swan. It’s a facade, but a natural one that doesn’t stem from bad pasts. It’s just Seonghwa. 

You like ‘just Seonghwa’. 

”Y/n!” He waves and you wave back as his feet pick up the pace. ”Hey” He looks a little brazen, and you wonder if Hongjoong’s nagged him for returning to school beforehand.

”Hey Seonghwa! Did you stay in the nurse’s office or did you go to class yesterday? I didn’t see you leave”

”I had French. What do you think?” Seonghwa loathes his French teacher, who always makes loud noises and is way too animated and not focused enough on teaching. Seonghwa says that he seems like a nice person but he's not good enough of a teacher. You've yet to meet this man but you'd rather not if he ”has an attention span of a seven-year-old on a sugar high”. You two have some small talk until you reach his neighbourhood. ”Y/n, we need to be super careful. This isn't a good area.” He looks embarrassed and you try to wipe the anxious look on his face.

”I live pretty nearby, don’t worry. No fear! I have a death stare stronger than... I don’t know, who has really good death stare game?” 

“Medusa?” He chuckles.

“Medusa!” You giggle and you spot the tips of his ears flush. 

“I don’t have that much of an intimidating stare-“ Seonghwa is interrupted by a loud cat call in your direction, something about how your cute uniform would look cuter on the floor. “Fuck off!” He yells and the man is about to square up until you both shoot him a warning glare. You clutch the hockey stick in your hand you carry for PE and he leaves.

“I’ve never heard you curse before...” The Seonghwa you know is always poised and perfect, a gentle aura follows his wake as an ethereal glow does with an angel. He’s the one that whacks Wooyoung and San over the head with a rolled up chemistry booklet whenever they let a few foul words pass so you’d never imagine that kind of language. It was yet another side of Park Seonghwa you’ve just discovered.

“I’ve never seen you with such a face before...” You two both start laughing. He pulls out his phone and types frantically at his keyboard. Something motherly and caring lingers on his face as he picks up the phone and loving asks whom you presume is Daehyun, to be careful on the bus home.

 “Aww, what a caring brother”

Seonghwa flashes a painful smile your way. It’s one of the cutest things about him, you think. “She’s a scatterbrain. I can’t let her out of my sight! Little sisters are a handful I swear” 

You laugh at the overly exaggerated pout and huff that graces his features. 

“Oh, how’s the student council election going?” Seonghwa brushes his hair back with one hand and nervously chuckles. 

“I’m second place, but Hongjoong is pretty far ahead. I don’t actually mind very much. I just thought it would look good on my resume. Hongjoong is more the leader type, but if I’m being honest, I don’t think he wants to be elected” His eyes met yours and you admire the emotional intellect he holds to see past Hongjoong’s quiet and distant mask. He’s very extroverted when people come up to him, but whenever he’s alone you think that there’s a different world he sees through those starry eyes.

“Oh? Why so?” 

Seonghwa’s walking pace slows a little, “It’s a guess, but Hongjoong’s parents seem to pressure him a lot. His grades, to be exact. Maybe I’m wrong, and maybe he has super nice parents. But I don’t think that’s likely” His gaze is downcast and pity pangs at your heart.

“Oh no...” You look at your black polished shoes and the flutter of your skirt as the grey pavement moves along with your footfalls. 

“All families have at least something to deal with. Some problems bigger than others” The two of you exit the dark alleyway into a block of Tennant flats and he fumbles for his keys as you cross the third one. “Where are you going, Y/n?” He chuckles as you accidentally pass the red door to his house. 

“Ah! Whoops! I went to the direction of my house by mistake!” You chuckle and wait patiently for him to unlock the door. A pastel yellow chick key charm swings as the silver of his keys shine in the streetlights. ”Cute charm” 

Seonghwa blushes. ”Oh, Daehyun got matching ones for us at a school festival. It's totally unlike her too, she's kind of well... See for yourself, she's probably home by now” 

The creak of the doorway makes you want to oil it right away but you stay put. Seonghwa takes his somehow unscratched and polished shoes on the mat and you do. “Sorry, I tried to clean but it’s a bit messy” 

Pearly white sofas blessed your vision, not a single hair nor stain defacing it, the oak floor gleamed like water in the sunlight. The marble dining table sparkled, an equally clean vase where a single (artificial) pink rose sat. In baskets suspended by chains by the windows, there lay a few moonflowers nearly in bloom. The furniture isn’t very expensive, perhaps a little more than outside your budget, but the pristine perfect polishing made the place look like a palace. 

“Messy? What’s clean to you?” You gasp in astonishment as he leads you to the living room where a blonde girl and a dark haired toddler sat. 

“Hey, Daehyun. Hiya, Jihyo! How was school?” Seonghwa’s loving tone changes to a cooing, sweet one when addressing Jihyo. Jihyo runs into Seonghwa’s arms and he lifts her up, giggling. She replies with something about finger painting. 

Daehyun’s blank gaze turns to you, a hint of curiosity in her eye. She waves at you calmly and you return it. “Hey, Daehyun, isn’t it?”

“Yep. Hi, Y/n. Can I call you that?”

“You can call me anything unless it’s “lady hand me down”, I’ve heard that so many times I’m ready to go on a killing spree” You joke, and Daehyun smiles slightly. 

“Jihyo, this is Y/n. We can all play together!” Seonghwa giggles in his sing-song-y drawl. He puts her down and her brown eyes shift to you, assessing you in a little kid way before giggling. 

“Hiya! I’m Jihyo~” She lisps, her words slightly broken but adorable all the same. You coo and crouch down to give her a high five. 

“How was school, Dae?” Seonghwa turns to the middle child, who huffs in annoyance.

“They never serve the good food. If I die of food poisoning, I’m suing them. They ruined salmon for me” You expect Seonghwa to chuckle, but he looks dead serious as he rolls his white sleeves up.

“That’s abuse. Shouldn’t they give you good food so that you can learn better? What non edible junk do they give you? How bad does it taste that it ruined salmon for you?” Daehyun replies with a gagging noise and they chuckle. You stare at her for a little, Daehyun is a lot like Seonghwa. Cold exterior, warm interior. Perhaps even colder than him, but easy to thaw. 

Jihyo waddles up to you after retrieving something from her vibrant pink toy box in the corner. “Blocks?” 

“You wanna play with them, Jihyo?” Seonghwa asks, his lips are upturned in a huge dorky grin and you feel your heart melt at the sight. 

“Seonghwa, you are to rest” You order in what you hope is an authoritative tone. 

It isn’t. 

“Seonghwa, you are to rest” He mocks your high pitches tone and pinches your nose. “Heard this from Hongjoong, not from you, please!” He pouts but you, though it takes a lot of willpower, don’t give in. 

“Nope, go to bed” 

“Y/n, will I have to go to bed!?” Jihyo pouts, and you wonder if it runs in the family. 

“Not you, angel” You smile softly. 

Daehyun looks up from her chemistry textbook and sighs, “Go. To. Sleep. Seonghwa. Or. I’ll-” 

Seonghwa jolts and rushes across the room, the action reminding you of the Angry Birds slingshot animation and covers her mouth, face red and fuming. ”Daehyun, you better not blab” He squeaks and Daehyun blinks, his hand still over her mouth.

“Then sleep, dumbass. Take some rest, or else I’ll knock you out” Her muffled voice makes you laugh a little.

“Isn’t that normal sibling stuff? You know, dumb threats?”

Seonghwa’s eyes widen in seriousness, “No, I swear, she actually means it sometimes. She once put a sleeping pill in my milk, the snake” 

“I did” Daehyun’s comically monotone voice back him up, her eyes not once leaving her book.

“I should have you arrested” He jokes and she smirks, “But I shouldn’t leave a guest here alone. It’s bad manners”

“I came here so you could rest, Hwa. Please take some rest.” You tell him. Seonghwa looks troubled and he sighs. 

“I’ll still be in this room to check up on you guys. But thanks” His looks a little stressed but after you make Jihyo laugh. Perhaps it’s the wave of relief the he feels, but the atmosphere in the room brightens, the orange hue of the evening sunshine painting streaks across your faces.  

Jihyo is extremely energetic, but when she sees you try to stifle a yawn, she lets out a concerned squeak. “Are you tired? Do you want to take a nap?” She asks, and you find it amazing how such a young child can read your emotions so well. 

“I’m alright, Jihyo, angel”

“Why do you call me that?” She stutters in her cute drawl. 

“Yeah, have you seen the Biblical versions of them?” Daehyun jokes, somehow managing to hear you from her electric blue headphones.

“Well, angels are very cute. And they bring happiness to people!”

“My mommy says all I bring her is-“ Seonghwa, who you thought was asleep, suddenly sits up from the couch and coughs. Jihyo is silenced immediately. 

“Please, excuse us” The dark haired boy picks up his young cousin and leads her to the side room to your left. His expression isn’t angry, but worried. 

You have a gut feeling that perhaps Jihyo had no choice but to observe the emotions of the people surrounding her.

Daehyun’s growls under her breath. 

“Is everything alright? Y-you don’t need to tell me, I don’t mean to meddle-“

“No, it’s fine. It’s just that our Auntie isn’t very nice. Me and Seonghwa just have busy parents, but Jihyo’s mum isn’t... Fit to be a parent” Her voice his still expressionless, not a hint of pity. She sounded as if she were giving a presentation. But her fists are clenched by he side. “Poor kid. She doesn’t know that her mum’s an asshole. She just thinks it’s how people show love. She’s only been here for a month or so, so Seonghwa and I are trying to help her out”

“Family is... A sensitive subject, huh? Is there even such thing as a perfect family like in the movies?” You didn’t mean to say it out loud, but Daehyun nods.

“Nope, don’t think so”

You feel the happy, cheerful morale drop into the pit of the earth as Seonghwa and Jihyo exit the room. Seonghwa looks more shaken than the surprisingly cheerful girl holding his hand.

“Dae, you don’t mind watching her for a little bit right? Call me if you need anything” He suddenly pulls you up and takes an umbrella out of the store cupboard by the shoe rack of his doorway.

“Kay, go” Daehyun hops off of the couch to watch TV with Jihyo on the couch, cuddling her as if she were a glass ornament rather than a four year old girl.

The choir of raindrops hitting the pavement of Seonghwa’s street resonates with your footsteps. He coughs awkwardly to break the silence.

“It was weird for you, right? I’m sorry” He mutters. Green cloth shoots into the sky and spreads its wings like a butterfly. He holds the strongly viridescent coloured umbrella above your heads, inching closer in order to share.

“What? No! Never! It’s totally fine! These things happen, Seonghwa. They shouldn’t, but they do. I just hope she’s okay”

A trace of anger seeps into his deep brown pupils. “I try to tell her. To re-teach here that she’s not responsible for her mother’s behaviour, but she doesn’t get it. She think Auntie loves her”

“Oh dear” 

“Please... Don’t mention this to any-“

“No, no! I would never! But Seonghwa, you shouldn’t have the burden of unravelling Jihyo’s tangled threads. You’re tired already. You and Daehyun shouldn’t be the ones to do that”

Grief and pity washes upon him, and it trickles into his words like water from a slightly cracked glass bottle. “Dae shouldn’t, I agree. But if I don’t, who will?”

“Can’t you speak to your parents?” 

“They’re stressed and busy-“

“They’re family, Seonghwa. Their occupation doesn’t hold a candle to their own family, let alone children” Your stern voice makes him sigh, and you hold the oak handle of the umbrella with him.

“Not all families are like that, Y/n... But I can’t say my family is one of them. But should I stress them out? They don’t know my Aunt is like this. At all.” His warm hands slightly overlap with yours as he re-adjusts his grip on his umbrella. You feel heat creeping up your cheeks, and out of the corner of your eye, you see Seonghwa turn away but not fast enough to cover his pink dusted cheeks.

“Don’t you think it would be better for Jihyo if a therapist helped her out?” You feel his breath causing a ripple of movement in your hair. The sun bleeds through the cracks left by the grey clouds, but they are barely enough to let the city bask in its glory. 

“You’re right. I didn’t think about it that way. How idiotic am I?”

“You’re not” You stare him dead in the eye, the sincerity of your tone even taking you aback.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. We’re not supposed to know everything, you know? She’s only been here for a month, according to Daehyun, so it’s a lot to take in” Seonghwa’s pinky brushes against the back of palm, before positioning his hand over your own. He squeezes it.

“Thank you, Y/n. I think I really needed to hear that” 

You two go back inside. 

The choir of the rain is mixed with your footsteps and the thump of your heartbeat.

And as Seonghwa edges nearer to take his shoes off, you hear his own rapid thumps.

“Jihyo loves me so much, don’t you, cupcake?” Seonghwa cooes as she crawls onto Seonghwa lap. 

“D-Dae” She squeals, pushing Seonghwa’s head down so she can crawl over his head to get to Daehyun, who is sitting behind him. He looks betrayed and flashes a painful smile at you.

“Nah, you’re just a stepping stone to him. Isn’t he, Jihyo?” Jihyo giggles and snuggles up to Daehyun, who puts her phone aside and taps her nose.

“She’s a baby” You coo, pinching her cheeks.

“Yeah, a baby. I love babies... But this one thinks I’m a stepping stone” Seonghwa pouts playfully.  

“You both have a pouting tendency. Watch a bee doesn’t sting you on the lip” You tease and Seonghwa rolls his eyes.

“A bee would be honoured to die kissing my lips” He flips his hair in a nonchalant manner but then proceeds to cringe. “I’ve been hanging around San and Mingi for too long” 

Daehyun gags. “Never flirt with your crush like that, they’ll get so shook they’ll migrate planets” Jihyo chuckles along with everyone. “Oh, the results of the election are coming out next month, no?”

“Yeah, I kind of don’t want to win though. Too much trouble” Seonghwa ruffles Jihyo’s hair. 

“Y/n, why didn’t you run? You’re a model student, you could have won!”

Poor Seonghwa must be oblivious to the fangirls surrounding him and Hongjoong left and right. You wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Uhh, yeah no. Not my thing. I like receiving orders, not giving them. I’m not the leader type”

Seonghwa pulls a face, “Me neither. Hongjoong is though. Maybe if he stopped daydreaming once in a while, he’d realise that. Though if he doesn’t want to be a part of the Student Council, he can be leader of the Art club. The person currently running is leaving”

“Art club?” Hongjoong had never seemed like the artistic type to you. But then again, you didn’t go to the same classes as him except Maths.

“Yeah, Hongjoong is really good at art. He can do all these weird things with glass. He made that bird for me over there!” Seonghwa points to the display case beside the television, there sat a cerulean glass blue bird. It looks very well done, with the feathers etched in and the beak perfectly shaped. 

“Don’t pull my leg, really?” It looked good enough to sell for quite a lot on a website. Hongjoong could start a business. 

“Yes, really!” He laughs his signature laugh, airy and gentle, and you nearly burst. If you didn’t realise you liked Seonghwa, you sure did now. “Do you want anything to drink?” 

“Oh, no. It’s alright!” You say, but a hiccup follows. Seonghwa chuckles and gets up.

“Water it is then” He waddles into the kitchen, with Jihyo clinging to his leg. “Anything you want, Angel?” He struggles to deal with her weight. 

“C-cookies, Hwa” Seonghwa winces at the puppy eyes before him.

“Not now, angel. You need to have room for dinner” Jihyo grumbles but then points at a bunch of grapes. 

“Wow! What species of toddler is she?” You joke as she hugs a plastic bowl filled with green grapes and goes up on her tiptoes to place it on the marble table. You’ve never met such a pliant kid before and it shocks you to the core.

“An angel, aren’t you, Jihyo?” The taller of the two picks her up so she can push it further into the centre of the table. 

“Yay! Angel!” She giggles.

“Daehyun? Are you hungry?” Seonghwa turns to the blonde, she nods a simple no. 

“Should we watch a movie?” Daehyun asks. “We got that DVD set last week, didn’t we?”

“Oh, yeah! Your call, Y/n” Seonghwa flashes a charming smile at you and you fumble for words.

“S-sure! Jihyo can choose” Jihyo giggles in delight and hops to the box set as Daehyun sets it out. 

“Why is this so deep?” Seonghwa whines, trying to bat away the tears forming in his eyes. You feel your heart shattering even though he isn’t actually that affected by Piggy being killed by the rock.

“Oh no! Don’t cry, we’ll all start crying” You plead, fanning them away. You wonder why Jihyo chose something as morbid as “Lord of the Flies” but she seems rather content with the gore. 

“I won’t cry. I’ll laugh” Daehyun nudges Seonghwa playfully and Seonghwa gets up to chase her. 

“Brat!”

“Oh, boo hoo. Go cry about it”

The entire evening is spent giggling and joking. You think it’s been the best evening in your life. 

“Ah, Y/n!” 

It’s been a few weeks since Seonghwa hung out with you. Ever since then, you two have been talking to each other more often like during breaks and after school activities. Along with Hongjoong and Yunho, you two have been carrying out duties and solving problems together. 

“No, I didn’t get three for question five” You sigh and turn around, to Seonghwa, who pokes you in the cheek with the back of his pen. “Oh, sorry! I didn’t think you said that”

“I’ve been asked that too. I got 37”

“Me too!” That gave you the reassurance that you got the question right. 

“Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to have some bubble tea out in the city for lunch? Just a little thank you for looking after Jihyo again this weekend” He goes a little pink but on his face is a flirty smirk you’ve never seen before. It makes you want to sink under the table and squeal. 

“Sure, but I think I should thank you for intruding” 

“No, I should thank you for helping me out again this week” You reply. The sunlight bursting through the window paints Seonghwa’s complexion, making him look even more devilishly handsome, his dark hair threaded with locks of gold. 

“We’ll be here all day. Just say yes” He flicks at your forehead gently and you smack his shoulder. “Don’t skip PE, Y/n. Jihyo is stronger than you and she failed.” 

“Fine. And do you want me to show you real strength, Park Seonghwa?” You both laugh, and the teacher gives you two a warning glare. 

“No, I swear! Pigeons are FBI robots!” You exclaim, and Seonghwa sniggers.

“So you’re saying if I kill one pigeon’s friends and family it won’t die of depression?” Another shit eating grin forms on his face. It’s so hot you wonder why the ice in your drink hasn’t melted yet, let alone Antarctica thawing. 

“You monster” You playfully pout. A few friends have told you you’ve been hanging out with him too much because you’ve picked up his habits. 

Seonghwa bats his eyelashes, “Moi? I’m an angel”

“Sure...” Seonghwa’s eyes suddenly light up, pulsating with mischievous intent.

“Hongjoong managed to fall asleep in the changing room. Look, I took a picture” Seonghwa wheezes as he unlocks his phone and shows you a picture of the dark haired boy with his eyes fluttered shut and mouth slightly parted. 

“Jesus, no one should be allowed to look that pretty while sleeping” You blurt out in awe. The boy in front of you scoffs. 

“He was drooling, idiot. Anyhow, I’m way more charming than Hongjoong” Seonghwa tries to play it cool, raising his eyebrows and winking but you can sense the jealousy bubbling up within him.

“Jealous?” You snicker, taking a spoonful of the strawberry decorated cake. The sweetness melts in your mouth, along with the fruity tang of the strawberries. 

“No!” He laughs, a little too loudly that the cafe barista looks at him, her pretty doe eyes widened in shock. The boy then clears his throat and proceeds to continue his conversation. “I’m not jealous- Oh, hold on” Seonghwa moves in a little closer to brush off the whipped cream on the corner of you lips. The rough pads of his fingers gliding across the skin of your lips. He smoothly licks it off of his fingers and you both go red after the realisation of what he did. 

“Ah, thanks”

“No problem” He coughs awkwardly. You check the time and tell him that it’s probably a good idea that you two head back to classes. Seonghwa nods, and as you two walk down the road he gently pulls you in by the waist as a car goes by.

“Are you okay? Ugh, drivers” Seonghwa scoffs, and squeezes your waist and then releases you. 

“Hwa!” You dare say that he’s getting bolder nowadays as both of you have realised your feelings for each other. But instead of blowing the candle out directly, you’re both gently waving at the flickering flame. 

“Sorry” He giggles, and you know he doesn’t mean it. “Come to this side” He swaps places with you so that he is on the side of the road closer to cars zooming past.

“Thanks, Seonghwa”

“No problem. Oh goodness the election results are coming out in a few days and I really regret running for it now! I’m so nervous”

You squeeze his upper arm, “Relax. I’m sure you’ll do a great job even if you win. I’ll be here to help out and I’m sure Yunho and the others will be glad to as well”  Seonghwa’s eyes return to their normal, bright and sparkly sheen. 

“Really?” His voice holds the innocence of a four year old, despite his deep and elegant drawl.

“Really” 

That night, you can feel Seonghwa’s restlessness from blocks away. The silence of the night drives you up the wall and you pull out your phone. Is it the election? 

You: You awake?

You don’t expect an answer, you shouldn’t. But your face lights up at the sudden green bubble indicating that he’s online popping up immediately.

Hwa: No, I’m asleep ;p

You: Alright, well when you wake up remember that I’m cheering for you! <3

Hwa: shdufyyfipiueouriguu

You: ?

Hwa: Sorry my fongers were beingg dimb

Hwa: *Fingers

Hwa: *Being

Hwa: *Dumb

You: Lmao, go to sleep you nonce.

Hwa: Nonce? Meanie :(

You: I don’t trust people who use those weird keyboard emojis. Use your phone ones like a normal person lmao

Hwa: Hello, Childline? I would like to report a case of child abuse. This individual has called me a “nonce” and is now choosing to insult my emojis! Harry Potter and the Audacity of this Cutie 

Hwa: JHsudhsdyduyfisuyfuyfuyfuyufisu

You: Aww, thanks 😊 

Your heart accelerates. Of course, after you and Seonghwa started hanging out more, he was more flirty and bold but you’ve never seen him become flustered before. He’s called you a baby and addresses you very endearingly. But is this sleep deprived Seonghwa embarrassed? It’s adorably funny to you. 

Hwa: soodjjSOFFOJJFIJNFJJFI

Hwa: Damn it.

Hwa: I’m way too sleep deprived to play it cool

You: Should I send you an ASMR video? It helps me sleep sometimes

Hwa: Really? That would be great

Hwa: Excuse me, wait a second. Why are you awake?

You: Insomnia, ran out of pills.

Hwa: Poor thing :(

Hwa: Do you have a 24 hour pharmacy near you? I’m sure there’s one down the road and we don’t live far apart.

You: DKM STOP USING THOSE CURSED EMOJIS

You: And idk, it’s dangerous for me to walk at night. Even with my hockey stick lolol

Hwa: Where do you live? I’m coming

You: Seonghwa! No! It’s alright! I can stay awake

Hwa: Then I’ll stay awake with you <3

You: You don’t need to. 

Hwa: I would have forced you to sleep, but Joong has insomnia and I kinda get that it’s hard

Hwa: So if you can’t sleep, ping me~

You: “Ping me” lmao

You: Thank you though.

You: You do so much for me. You know that? Like, whenever I feel like shit, you’re there. 

You: Do you read my mind, Seonghwa?

Hwa: I’m glad I’m able to be here for you. At first I felt like I was had to so I could pay you back. But now it comes naturally. I don’t really click with people, but I can with you. 

Hwa: Don’t get me wrong, I’m only here because I want to be. I like taking care of you and I’m thankful you do the same. 

Hwa: Just seeing you makes me happy 

You: I feel the exact same way, Hwa.

You: You make everything so warm and happy. It’s your presence and I get along with you so well! 

You: I know you said it already, but please don’t feel indebted to take care of me, Seonghwa. I too, do it because I sincerely care about you. 

You: I love yo| 

Your fingers dash across the screen, but another sky blue text bubble makes your heart drop, the adrenaline building up in you blowing out in a sad puff. 

Hwa: I’m sorry, I’ll be right back. Getting a call.

“Seonghwa... I don’t want to do this anymore” The latter’s stomach and heart hurl up and down at the chocked voice, probably crying through the phone.

“Hongjoong? Talk to me” Seonghwa tries to keep his voice steady and attempts to clear his mind and analyse the rise and fall of his voice and the tone. He wants to see Hongjoong face to face. That’s the best way he can read people, with their expressions. But he knows that Hongjoong doesn’t dare show his face while he’s crying, a rarity.

“The... The election... It was my parents who made me do it. Seonghwa... Seonghwa I can’t do this anymore” Hongjoong sobs, his clear voice murky with sleep and sadness. Seonghwa feels his own eyes fill up but he swipes them away.

“Focus on Hongjoong” He hisses to himself mentally. 

“Hongjoong, your parents can’t dictate what you do or not. If you feel pressured and they don’t listen, you have to do something”

“I know! But what? Who’s going to help me? What if I get kicked out? My parents might still love me if I rebel, but I don’t want to take that gamble. Seonghwa... What do I do?” 

Seonghwa bites his nail. For once, Seonghwa doesn’t know what to do. It makes him feel helpless that someone is hurting, especially if that someone is a friend. Hongjoong isn’t the type of person to be very in touch with his emotions, and seeing his glass mask shatter breaks him apart too. 

“Hongjoong, you do what you think is right. And if you don’t know what is, then ask someone who knows. I’m sorry, Hongjoong, but I don’t know what to do. But you can always talk to me. I’ll always be here for you, Hongjoong” 

“Really?”

“Yeah. If they kick you out, I’ll find you a place to stay” 

Seonghwa hears Hongjoong crumpling down, “I don’t want to be abandoned” It feels like a spear through the chest hearing his torn voice. 

“I know, sweetheart. No one does. But if you feel like that’s what you have to do, you have to remember that there are people who will always accept you. I will, Yunho will, Y/n will, Wooyoung will. Forever” 

“But they’re my parents. They’re supposed to be here for me!”

“Joong...”

“Can’t I ever please them?”

“I’m sorry, Hongjoong, I don’t think I can answer that” Seonghwa whimpers quietly, trying to reply tactfully. 

“Seonghwa, I need to go. I hear footsteps-“

“Hongjoong!” Seonghwa groans as the jingle of the phone cut sound effect goes off. Blinking back his tears, he opens the chatroom you two share, now blurred lines of black and white and blue bubbles. 

Hwa: Sorry.

You: It’s okay.

Something feels off in the discreet way that he types. Seonghwa is quiet but he’s not a man of few words when opened up to. 

You: Are you okay?

Hwa: Yeah.

Hwa: Why?

You: Are you sure? Instinct.

Hwa: Lol that’s sharp

You: Do you want to talk about it?

Hwa: There’s nothing wrong, dove. I’m just tired.

You: Try get a glass of warm milk.

You: You can talk to me if you feel crappy, okay? Whenever you need it.

Hwa: Thank you, Y/n. But I think that I can only take you up on that offer when it’s my issue to talk about, I don’t think I can tell you this time. 

Hwa: We started giving Jihyo therapy, by the way. 

Hwa: So thank you, for everything you’ve done.

You: Alright, I understand. But if you need help with anything, you don’t have to tell me who it is, but maybe I can help.

Hwa: Thanks, but I’ll try to figure this one out on my own <3 

Hwa: Hey, I think I should try and sleep. 

Hwa: Goodnight, cutie

You: Goodnight, Hwa 

“Congratulations, Hongjoong! You won!!!” Yunho claps the smaller man on the back, who then flinches. Seonghwa looks concerned and pulls Hongjoong into his chest for a brief moment, quickly enough to allow a window of time to brush tears away.

“Thanks, guys!” He giggles, and a dazzling smile blinds everyone in the room. “I’ll do my best to impress all of you, so don’t abandon me!” He laughs at his little joke and so does everyone else. But Seonghwa is not laughing. 

“Tough luck, Hwa! It was so close!” You pat his shoulder, and he grins at you. 

“I’m free from burden, what’s this about?” He chuckles, his baritone voice a sweet melody. The sunlight is dim and the shades of the afternoon haze are bright and pastel blues. 

“Really?”  The smile on his lips seems forced, not reaching his eyes as per usual. Heat from the atmosphere scorches you and the rising tension in the room doesn’t cool it down either.

“Yeah”

You leave it at that. 

As you’re about to ask him if Jihyo needs babysitting, Hongjoong clasps onto the dark haired boy’s sleeve. “Can we talk?” You hear the short man’s voice and how it dangerously wobbles. 

“Sure” Seonghwa turns away and you don’t fail to notice the comforting hand around Hongjoong’s shoulder. 

“Hwa?” You’re surprised by two hands suddenly picking you up and lifting you to the air, an uncharacteristic squeal emerging from a pair of cherry red lips. “Are you okay?” You giggle, warm at the small laughs from the other. 

“Yeah! More than okay!” Seonghwa sighs and puts you down. “Sorry, I got too excited. It’s just that... I’m happy for a friend” Seonghwa would normally blush and lifting you up and perhaps even apologise for doing so but there’s something occupying his brain that makes him steer away from even you. 

“That’s great! I’m so proud of Hongjoong” You smile sweetly, the golden-orange hues of sunlight framing your face, Seonghwa looks a little taken aback. 

“You- you knew?” 

“I knew who it was, not what was going on” You correct him and Seonghwa looks admiringly at you.

“Are you psychic? You know everything about other people...” The gleaming stars in his eyes become more dim and melt into the sea of his eyes like cubes of sugar.

“Well... I’m observant?” 

Seonghwa nods. Like him, you’re in a world of your own but so alive and free in the real world too. It’s too beautiful too block out, so you walk along the fine line of the little flower filled bubble with Seonghwa and the world of the classrooms with the scent of vanilla and sunshine. 

“Hmm, Y/n...”

“Yeah?”

“Are you free this Saturday?” He hums, fiddling with a lock of black silky hair that keeps falling in his face.

“Yeah...” You reach up and pin back his hair with a pretty hairpin, decorated with a tiny plastic moonflower. The way Seonghwa’s cheeks become pink remind you of the purple hue of potassium permanganate bleeding into the water in the biology demonstration the teacher showed you.

With Seonghwa.

You realise you do a lot of things with Seonghwa.

You ate with him many many times (With Hongjoong and Yunho tagging along at times. You went to concert with Daehyun, Jihyo and him last month. The tickets decorate your wall, covered in doodles of little flowers. You helped him with his speeches for his election, often staying after school to fan him off and correct his grammar as his mental health spiralled downwards. 

It makes you feel all warm and butterflies gather, spreading their wings and flying about your body in a flurry of heartfelt affection. You look at him again, his eyes no longer tainted with dark circles and replaced with a rosy blush. 

You can’t beat around the bush anymore, or else it will grow into a forest. A forest where Seonghwa may no longer roam in.

“It’s going to be Saturday” You tell yourself as you thread baby blue ribbons into your hair, matching the light blue frock and pale yellowish white oversized cardigan. Blue butterflies adorn your ears as they hang down on silver earrings.

“It’s going to be today”

You’re surprised you haven’t passed away yet from the sheer beauty of Park Seonghwa. His blue silk blue blouse hangs down to reveal a little bit of his slightly bronze chest and you want to target the mole on it with a kiss attack. He gasps softly and pings your hanging earring. “We’re matching” 

The silk of his shirt and the blue of your dress are very similar in hue, and you make a sound of realisation. “Woah we are” Seonghwa chuckles and taps your nose. 

“On Saturdays, we wear blue” And he yelps as you gently smack him on the shoulder.

“Don’t clown Gretchen like that, she’s my baby” You nag him as you practically inhale the piece of cake no longer on your plate. You tried to by dainty at first but you thought of future dates and thought it would be alright if you loosened up before tightening them. 

Seonghwa chuckles shyly. “I really like this cafe, you know. It’s pretty” His eyes wander the cafe, scanning the blue walls and little artificial moonflowers in baskets. 

“Yeah! And the cake is amazing. Doesn’t Yunho work here?” You laugh. 

“Mhmm, he loves the aesthetic of it too. It’s partially why he wears so many of those clips” His lips suddenly part into an “o” shape. “Oh! I forgot to give you the clip!” Seonghwa pulls out the pretty moonflower hairpin, looking even smaller in his large hand. As you’re about to reach out for it he swipes it out of your reach, a little grin playing on his face. “Hold still, Y/n” And you feel his fingers swipe through your hair along with the metal of the clip. “You look better in it than I do. Daehyun bullied me about it all night” He pulls a face and you chuckle. 

As you two walk out of the cafe and into the park behind it, you see the hues of sunset bleeding into the horizon. You sift through your phone as you wait for Seonghwa to come back from the bathroom. 

“Boo!” 

“SWEET JESUS” You yelp and you’re about to smack him in the chest but you see the pink wrapping of the florist beside the cafe. He gently places them in your hands. White moonflowers pop out and the calming husky scent makes you sigh.

“Hehe, scared you” He ruffles your hair and you look into his eyes. You expect the mischievous glint in his eyes but they are replaced with a warm loving stare. The light of the sun flickers in his eyes and the breeze kisses your skin. 

“Hwa?”

“Y/n, hear me out” He goes a little pink, playing with a strand of his hair.

“I really like you. A lot. I mean, I love you. It’s- I don’t know why. It’s not because you’re just so beautiful and adorable- which you are! I’m not denying it! But you’re so... Thoughtful and sincere. And I was thinking that maybe you could be my girlfriend?” His voice is deeper but laced with awkward tension. You look at his face, growing redder at the second and you smile. 

“Me too”

“Pardon?!”

“I love you too” 

“R-really? You’re not just saying that-“ Seonghwa excitedly grasps your hands in his. 

“Yes, really. Hwa, I really respect how you’re so caring and kind. With Jihyo, Daehyun and Hongjoong. You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met”

Seonghwa’s eyes shine, perhaps with happy tears or the light of shimmering sky.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yep” 

Seonghwa tries to lean in and pinches your cheeks, “Pucker up”

“I can’t stop smiling”

The dark haired boy doubles down with laughter before squishing your cheeks, “Better?”

“Better” You say, but it comes out muffled. 

His lips gently brush against yours, his hand doesn’t leave your face and you gently lace your fingers through his dark locks and he sighs into the kiss, leaning further into you and supporting your figure against the wall behind you. 

“You know why I gave you moonflowers?”

“Why?”

“The clip, it was really pretty” He taps it, re-adjusting it and planting a kiss on your forehead. “But moonflowers are my favourite too, so I thought they would look prettier with you holding them” He giggles a little bit at the cheesy words. “I love you”

“I love you too, Seonghwa” You capture his lips in another kiss. 

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez fluff #ateez san #ateez smut #ateez yunho #jeong yunho #ateez seonghwa #seonghwa imagines #park seonghwa #seonghwa

[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.”

#namjoon fanfiction #rm fanfiction #bts fanfiction #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon angst #rm smut #reader insert #rm angst #rm x reader #namjoon fanfic #rm fanfic #bts fanfic #love yourself collab #ghost reader #clumsy namjoon #unspecified gender reader #bts angst #major character death #fic: forever rain #ddaenggtan

[himbowelsh]

valentines day alphabet  ( no longer accepting )

literally no one asked for this, i’m just doing this one to treat myself

A   :   AFFECTION.   how does your muse show affection?

He’s such an affectionate guy that it’s hard to pin down one way. Skip is physically affectionate with the people he cares for, giving it out almost absently; he’s generous with his time and with his money, putting effort into finding gifts for people he cares for. His primary love language, though, has got to be gestures. Skip loves being able to show people how much he cares. He’ll run errands, do favors, rearrange his schedule just so his friend doesn’t have to go to a party alone...  what really sets Skip apart from the crowd is the sheer lengths he’s willing to go to for other people.

B   :   BOUQUET.   does your muse like flowers? which ones are their favourite?

He doesn’t know the first thing about flowers, but damn him if he’s not going to try. Skip has a fixed idea of what “the perfect boyfriend” looks like, and chases that ideal constantly. It’s romantic to show up to your date’s house with flowers, so of course he’s going to do that! Except he got them for $5 at the grocery store, they’re bright purple and leaking dye everywhere, now it’s all over his suit, damn it  ----   he puts in the effort. That’s what counts.

C   :   CHOCOLATE.   does your muse like chocolate? which one is their favourite?

Like...  he’s not obsessive about it, but would he tackle his buddies for a pack of M&Ms? Absolutely. Without hesitation. Eating chocolate is great, but all the fun lies in obtaining it.

D   :   DATE.   what is your muse’s ideal date? where / who with / etc?

It needs to be something fun. Skip...  gets bored easily, and on dates he must keep himself entertained. He’d love to go out dancing, or to do something fun  ---  in the modern era, he’d love laser tag and carnival dates, just because of the raucous atmosphere. Skip can have a good time with pretty much anyone, but he loves doing fun things with his partner the most.

E   :   EMBRACE.   does your muse like hugs? what are their hugs like?

He’s such a great hugger. Skip gives big brother hugs  ---  the kind that seem to wrap you up, like they’re determined to protect you from the world, fierce and fond all at once. He pulls someone in close, pressing his chin against their head or shoulder, and rubs their back until they settle down. His hugs can be enthusiastic when the mood calls for it, but also really, really tender. 

F   :   FLIRT.   is your muse good at flirting? how do they flirt?

He’s such a friendly flirt. Which isn’t to say he’s bad, but, like...  half the time you can’t tell if he’s actually flirting or just being nice. He doesn’t have a lot of game, but Skip’s got the personality to make up for it. He’s just charming. A well-delivered pick-up line can make anybody laugh, whether it’s good or not. That’s his go-to move when flirting  ---  get someone laughing, start up a conversation, and get a feel of who they are from there.

G   :   GIFT.   is your muse good at gift - giving or do they struggle to get it right?

He’s very good at getting gifts for the people closest to him; people always drop hints, and he’s learned how to pick him up. If his sister wants a new makeup kit, he’ll get it for her; if his mother’s been needing new music to play, he’ll buy her a record. Skip likes giving gifts, regardless of the occasion...  but for casual friends, on birthdays and the like, he’s prone to giving gag gifts. If he can’t be certain it’s something they’ll love, he’d at least like it to be something they’ll laugh at.

H   :   HEART.   is your muse quick or slow to give their heart away?

Quicker than he means to be. Skip’s never been good at guarding his heart; he lets people in too easily, and is always quick to see the best in others. Yeah, he’s been stung by people he cared about before, so he should really know better...  but he’d rather have a hundred friends than five enemies. When he feels himself falling in love, he falls fast.

I    :   I LOVE YOU.   does your muse find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

Honestly, it’s not something he gives much thought to. Once he’s fallen in love, it’s the easiest thing to say in the world. Yes, he loves them! Yes, he wants the world to know it! He’ll tell his friends. He’ll tell his grandma. He’ll tell the old guy at the convenience store who smells like socks. He’s in love with the most amazing person in the world! (He talks about his partner so much that his friends half-feel like they’re dating them too.) It’s just as easy for Skip to say it to their face as it is to say it behind the back. He says it so often that his partner becomes desensitized to it after a while...  but it sure is nice to hear.

J   :   JEALOUSY.   does your muse get jealous in a relationship?

He’s actually really decent about jealousy. While he’ll get protective if he sees his little sister talking to a man, he isn’t weird when it comes to his own relationships. So long as he trusts the guy, he doesn’t think they’d move in on his partner; and, of course, he trusts his partner to the moon and back.  If an interaction seems too friendly, he’ll keep an eye on it, but he’d never dream of snooping or interrogating his partner over it.

K   :   KISS.   is your muse a good kisser? why / why not?

Skip is a very gentle kisser. He’s careful in his actions, in the tender movements of lips against lips, because he’s so conscientious of his partner; any sign that they’re not enjoying it, and he’ll lose his nerve. It’s not that he lacks confidence, but Skip needs encouragement from his partner, egging him on and fueling into his passion; with it, he burns a steady flame. He’s playful with his kisses, making sure his partner isn’t holding onto any anxiety. Intimate moments like this, in Skip’s mind, should be fun, not overwhelming. He loves to trail kisses along his partner’s jaw and neck, murmuring praise between each breath as his hands explore their body as much as he’s allowed to.

L   :   LOVE.   who does your muse love?

Skip feels a very intense bond with his family. He and his siblings couldn’t be closer, and he’s felt responsible for his mother since he was a kid; she’s always looked after him, but he also looks after her. Skip also adores his friends more than it’s possible to say  ---  and the sheer amount of friends he has speaks to how much love he’s got to give.

M   :   MOONLIGHT.   is morning or night a more romantic setting?

He’s more in-the-mood at night, because Skip and mornings don’t really get along. Anytime before 8am, he’s just going through the motions of existing. His partner could tie him to the bed and shower him with rose petals, and he’d have trouble remembering it come afternoon. (He might fall asleep in the middle of the show.) Nights are a way better time for romance.

N   :   NAUGHTY.   what is your muse like in bed?

Skip’s got an adventurous streak. There’s not much he’s afraid to try once  ---  that includes positions, places, and kinks. While he doesn’t have a depth of experience behind him, he’s got a keen sense of movement  ---  the way his partner’s body shifts against his own, the way he grinds against them, the way their chest heaves and their limbs slide under his palms...   sensation is a big thing for him, and he can’t help noting each one during the act. They taste sweet, and smell like summer rainstorms, and when they moan his name it sounds like a prayer...  honestly, he gets riled up on the sensations alone. He’s an energetic partner, but will match his pace to suit his companion’s. While he can’t help being loud, he’s love a partner who could match him, or at least be a little verbal in bed  (again, he needs encouragement).  He’s a pretty firm switch, but is thrilled when his partner takes control. Getting a little rough drives him wild.

O   :   ODE.   does your muse have a way with words?

Well, he isn’t Shakespeare in love. He tries his best. Skip knows better than to write love poetry, and he’s got no talent with a pen, but...  he’s achingly sincere with his words. When he tells someone he loves them, there’s not a hint of artifice  ---  he just means it, with every cell in his body, and the truth radiates through his words.

P   :   PARTNER.   what does your muse look for in a partner? looks / personality?

Skip needs someone he can connect to. Someone warm, emotional, who someone with understanding and empathy. He’s drawn to...  very bright people. He’s definitely want someone with a good sense of humor; he’d never be happy in a relationship with someone he couldn’t laugh with. Having fun, going on adventures, being a little stupid at times...  these are all things Skip values in a relationship, and his partner would have to be able to roll with that. He’d probably love an artist, someone creative, who has passions and isn’t afraid to talk about them. Somebody who can keep up a conversation  ---  communication is a huge thing for him in relationships, so he’d need a partner open to doing that. Someone who values family highly, with a deep capacity for love and a firm sense of self. And, of course, they have to have a great laugh.

Q   :   QUESTION.   would your muse ask the big question or expect their partner to?

He’d absolutely ask the question  ---   the real question is, how. Knowing Skip, he’s not going to settle for something conventional. Dinner-date proposals are played out, and he doesn’t want to put his partner on the spot with something too public. He might enlist his best friends to help plan, just to have people to brainstorm with; in the meantime, Skip would sow his seeds. He’s not a huge planner, and has all the subtlety of a drunk duck, so if he makes a plan, his partner will be able to tell something’s up. He finally concocts some wild plan with Penkala and Malarkey, springing it on his partner last minute...  and once they’ve finished doing a scavenger hunt or chasing squirrels in the park with messages around their necks, whatever the boys have come up with, he’ll drop to one knee with a look of extreme hope on his face. “I’ve wanted to ask this for a long time  ---  hell, probably since the minute I met you  ---  but now just feels right. Do you...  feel the same way?”

R   :   ROMANCE.   is your muse a romantic or a cynic?

He’s got a very strong romantic side that really only comes out once he’s “in love” with someone. Like...  he’s not always successful, but he’s very creative about it, and very enthusiastic. Yes, he did knock over the candles and accidentally set the food on fire, but wasn’t a romantic dinner a great idea? He likes being romantic, because doing things like that, putting on a show, feels like giving to his partner.

S   :   SWEETHEART.   did your muse have a childhood sweetheart?

He definitely had a few girls in the neighborhood with crushes on him, cause Skip was an absolute sunbeam as a kid...  but his true loves were both at home. Skip’s mom and his little sister both got the lion’s share of his attention growing up; he loved them both so much that romance never crossed his mind.  (That changed when he got to high school don’t worry, but it was fun while it lasted.)

T   :   TRUE LOVE.   does your muse believe in true love?

Sure he does. Okay, it’s not for everyone  ---  his parents sure didn’t have it, and he learned the rough way that high school romances are usually too flighty to be called love  ---  but it’s a thing, no doubt. It’s real for the people who want it, and who’re lucky enough to find it. That’s gonna be him...  one day, he’ll fall in love too.

U   :   UNREQUITED.   has your muse had their heart broken?

He had a few nasty breakups in high school. They never knocked him out for long, but definitely hurt, and he still carries the scars from them. Let’s just say, the words “we need to talk” set off some Kill Bill sirens in his head.

V   :   VALENTINE.   how does your muse feel about valentine’s day?

He gets weirdly enthusiastic about it. For Skip, Valentine’s Day is an opportunity to impress. He’s always got plans  ---  as a kid, he made a point of being both his mom and his little sister’s Valentine every year. As he got older, he never lost the habit of double-Valentining. Now, he usually goes on double-dates with his sister. Does his V-day date really want to be hanging out with Ruth and her boyfriend of the week while Skip argues with the maître d' about dinner reservations he absolutely didn’t book last minute? Probably not, but he didn’t consider doing it any other way. Skip always wants to give his partner a good time, but he’s usually...  just a bit too much on Valentine’s Day. He’d be better off relaxing and just letting his partner plan something.

W  :   WEDDING.   would your muse get married? why / why not?

Absolutely! He doesn’t have to think about that one. Skip’s got a ring picked out in his head and is ready to walk down the aisle by, maybe...  the sixth-month mark? It’s not that he moves fast, he’s just very confident in his own heart. When he knows, he’s sure. Getting married has always been something he wants  ---   not having grown up with a stable family unit, he craves his own little slice of domestic bliss  ---  and as long as it’s to the right person, he’s ready to go.

X   :   XOXO.   does your muse use / like pet names?

With extreme glee. He loves throwing out goofy ones, just to see how his partner reacts, and will lay it on thick in front of their friends just to make people groan...  but in private, he’s fond of “baby”, “doll”, “sweetie”, and the very cheesy “lovebug”, which earns him well-deserves eyerolls.

Y   :   YOURS.   does your muse get protective easily?

Very. Skip doesn’t seem like a serious guy at first glance  ---  but he’s got an intensely protective side, cultivated from looking after his family since he was a little kid. He’ll lay it all on the line for the people he loves. No one messes with them. No one hurts them. Skip will take care of it, and he’s not afraid to get physical to do it. His go-to, of course, will always be to try and make nice first, see if a little friendliness can diffuse a tense situation...  but if someone lays hands on his loved one, all bets are off. No one would take Skip for a fighter until he throws that first punch.

Z   :   ZZZ.   how many people has your muse slept with?

Oh no, his Mama raised him right  ---   these lips don’t kiss and tell! (That’s a lie. He spent a full hour talking Malarkey’s ear off about an amazing kiss he had on a date once, until Malarkey wanted to smother him.) Honestly...  not many. He’s always been a popular guy, but that doesn’t automatically translate into “people want to take him to bed”. Skip’s been with three people. He’s not the type for sleeping around  ---   he takes sex personally, more than he really means to.

#skip muck #headcanons #okay this is the last one and i am... super impressed with myself

[phantastictragedy]

Brighter Than The Stars

I impulsively wrote this so it’s not very good.

Pairing: Intrulogical (Main) there’s like some Moxiety and Roceit but only if you squint and it’s only implied.

Uhhhhh basically soulmate AU where when you meet ur soulmate u see the world in color but until then u see in black and white. Also like human AU. ALSO Remus is a painter/artist and logan is a broke college student tyvm

Logan did not mind that he couldn’t see the color in the world, it did not affect the way he lived his life from day to day. As long as he could get his work done and pull all-nighters studying for tests in black and white then that was really all that mattered to him. Of course, he could not deny that he wasn’t sometimes bothered seeing his friends around him bragging about how ‘this color would fit nice’ or ‘oh isn’t this just so pretty??’ Yeah, sure, maybe he’d wonder about how the world looked and how the stars may look with a different colored background behind them-- but he didn’t let it be a thing that distracted him from his studies. 

Chewing on the eraser of the pencil he had in his hand, and keeping his other hand holding his head annoyed, he stared at his first draft of an essay that was nowhere near being done. “How can I possibly write 20 pages for this?” He mumbled under his breath frustratedly. 

“Talking to yourself, again?” A hand was placed on Logan’s shoulder for a brief second before it was off and his taller friend Virgil was standing in front of him. He had his backpack on and a large cup of coffee in his hand, so Logan knew he had either woken up late or was about to finish some work he had procrastinated on. 

Logan glanced up at the boy who stood above him and shot him a slightly annoyed look on his face at the comment, “Huh-- doesn’t coffee make your anxiety worst?” Then he went back to writing a random sentence that he had thought of, not really necessary to his essay, but it would probably take some space away from the page. 

“Alright, alright I see now that you aren’t in the mood to joke around, but listen. Remember that time I went to that party alone because you agreed to go it and wanted to bring me, but then canceled last second and I couldn’t escape it and then YOU said that you were sorry and would make it up to me one day when I needed it?” Virgil said suspiciously, he ended it off with a smile in hopes Logan would not go back on his word. 

“Ah, yes. How could I forget when it is something you always bring up when you need something?” Logan sighed and placed his pencil down on the paper that was making him feel like he was losing his mind. “Go on, what is it you want me to do?”

Virgil rolled his eyes at the comment and let out a sigh, “Okay, Roman’s brother is having a little art gallery. We are all going, to support him. His art is super good-- he’s a little weird and loud and uh-- offensive. But-- Hey, don’t look away from me, Logan! Listen-- okay we know it’s hard for an independent artist to make it and we just want as many people to support him and be there if the night goes wrong. So, please go with us??” 

Logan groaned but pursed his lips and thought for a second. At least the favor wasn’t like the usual ones where it was just because of Virgil’s laziness, or his inability to communicate. This was a nice thing, and it seemed like a pretty easy task-- of course, he’d have to push some studies aside. “Alright, just give me a location and a time.” 

“Awesome! I’ll text you everything. Now I’ll let you get back to torturing yourself with trying to figure out how you’ll fill these empty pages.” Virgil grinned and nudged Logan before walking off. 

----

Logan was running a bit late, not super, unacceptable late; but a late that he would be embarrassed about. Despite his more fancy outfit of a black turtle neck with a dark blue suit jacket and matching pants (of course, the color isn’t something that actually mattered to him considering he couldn’t see it)-- his messy, dark brown hair was doing its own thing and was evidence of his lack of time to get dressed. Being late was the worst.

For how Virgil had spoken about the event, he had expected it to be empty-- but it was actually decently full. Logan pushed some messy strands of hair away from his face before he looked around to find his familiar group, which didn’t take to long when he heard...

“Nerd! Come over here, you were supposed to be the first one, aren’t you the responsible one?” Logan groaned and shot his head towards where an overly fancy-dressed Roman stood with all of his friends.

Logan made his way to the small group before speaking, “My apologies, I got a bit carried away with my studies. I hope I did not miss too much.” 

“Oh, don’t mind Roman, he’s just mad he wanted to be casually late, but ended up being the first,” Dee said shooting Logan a grin. 

Roman pursed his lips and let out a groan, “Ugh- you don’t have to tell everyone that I was first! It really is not that important, sure I wanted to show up and make a fancy entrance, sure I wanted everyone to shout my name, but I think we should take note of how much of a supportive brother I am.” 

“Ah, I’m sure that was your whole intention from the start, being supportive.” Before Roman could interrupt Logan’s sarcastic comment he went on, “So, where is the Artist anyways? I’d love to put a face to the artwork.” Logan said looking around to see the paintings hanging neatly on the wall-- well to say neat was generous. They were actually scattered, but somehow it had made them all the more appealing-- it was nice to look at everything. 

“Pftt-- he’s talking to that big crowd over there, if you want to meet him it seems like you’re going to be waiting for a while,” Virgil said before going back to his phone. 

“Or you could go back in time and arrive first, then you for sure would have met Remus.” Roman grinned at the nerdy boy. 

Logan rolled his eyes annoyed. 

“As I said, don’t pay attention to him. His pride is hurt right no-”

“I am a supportive brother, Dee!” Roman said placing a hand over Dee’s mouth, just noting from the taller boys’ eyes, it was noticeable that he was smiling. 

Most of the people had left seeing as though the art gallery was ending. Patton and Virgil were sat outside so Virgil could have some time away from people and Dee and Roman had gone to get the group some food. Logan was still staring at the paintings on the wall, most of them had been sold, according to Roman. That really surprised nobody after seeing the paintings. 

There was one thing that was on Logan’s mind and that was wondering how the paintings must look with color. He wondered if he’d missed any details, or if the meaning would change, maybe this paint depicted fear to him but was actually happy. He sighed, eyes glued on the painting. 

“You know? I think that one is sold, but I could always make you another one.” A voice he didn’t recognize said. He assumed it was from Remus. 

Still, Logan’s eyes barely moved from the painting, “I was just making sure I didn’t miss a detail. Although if you had any art that didn’t get sold, I’d be happy to  buy that.” 

A soft chuckle escaped his lips before he sighed contently, “I’m Remus.” 

The sound that escaped Remus’ lips made Logan’s heart do twirls in his chest, he’d never felt that before, he especially had never felt the weird tickling sensation in his stomach. “I’m Logan.” He eventually turned to look at Remus and smiled. 

Nobody ever tells you how it happens. It’s truly hard to explain and it’s said it happens differently to everyone. Some will say it happens in a snap and it’s like walking in on a surprise party just for you. Some say it very slowly starts, from the center of your view to the end. Some people say that they don’t even remember how or when it happened and they shock themselves when they realize it happens-- of course it takes a couple of seconds. 

For Logan-- the taller man standing before him was the only thing in color, he was pale, was not dressed super casual-- like black shirt sweatpants casual, and had his hair put up into a small messy bun, bangs holding a gray color. Then slowly after the world began to gain a tint, and then it’s full color. He stood in shock for a couple of seconds, staring at Remus completely confused and waiting for a just as confused reaction from him. 

“You alright?” Remus said slightly tilting his head. 

“I-- are you-- not seeing this too?” Logan said 100% losing his proper composure. 

“Yeah-- I see you look like you’re about to be sick at my art gallery. I hope you had nothing gross to eat because it will be a bad time for all of us. Not me though, don’t worry I don’t judge, be as gross as you want to be here.” Remus spoke so casually that Logan was sure he was losing his mind. 

“You-- you’re my soulmate.” Was all he managed to get out, as he ran his fingers through his messy hair.

“I’m your wha--” Remus squinted his eyes for a couple of seconds before the widened and he looked at Logan, “Oh my gosh-- wait a minute-” The taller boy whispered, he looked over at his paintings, not half bad. “God-- I hope that is the real color of blood.” 

The comment caused a small laugh to escape Logan’s lips. “You’re not what I imagined.” 

“Is that good?” Remus asked subtly moving a bit closer to the shorter boy. 

Logan thought for a second, he looked at Remus and examined his beautiful green eyes, they were so vibrant and held admiration in them. Never did he think that someone would be staring at him the way he was being stared at now..it made him feel-- warm.  

“Yes.” 

--

After a week of spending time with Remus, his soulmate, he had found that it was true what Virgil had said. He was, in fact, a little weird, definitely offensive, and for sure loud. Logan loved it. It was nice to have someone pull him away from his studies and have fun with him-- while also in some way keeping him from worrying about them. 

Today was no exception, Logan was sat at his desk when he heard knocking on his window and then the loud and quick sliding of it opened only to reveal Remus in all his glory. He truly looked like the cutest robber to Logan, with his black ripped jeans and green shirt that somehow perfectly matched his eyes-- Remus fully hopped in and fixed his hat that seemed to have fallen and completely covered his eyes, when his vision returned he was met to find his soulmate smiling up at him. 

“Oh, Hello! Hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Remus smiling widely. 

“You know, you’re allowed to use the door. There is nothing stopping you from using the door.” Logan said letting out a content sigh. 

“Oh what’s next, you’d like me to do pee in the bathroom?” 

“Yeah- I’ve been meaning to talk to you about th-” 

“ANYWAYS-- we should get going. I want to show you already!” Remus said leaning down and scooping his boyfriend up, adding in an extra swirl. 

Logan let out a semi loud noise of surprise, that was a new thing. “Wait-- I don’t know if I can tonight, Remus. We were out all yesterday and I--” 

“Hey.” Remus said calmly looking into his soulmates pretty blue eyes, he swore they looked like the night sky. “You’re going to be okay, you’re super smart and I think you deserve such a long break after constantly breaking your spine to do work. Please, tonight, come with me.” 

Logan knew from the second Remus came into sight through that window, he would leave with him. It was just a skill the taller boy had gained in the last week. “Fine, but can we please use the door.” 

The walk to the small park near where Logan lived was full of random questions that Remus would ask whenever he saw something around him. Logan, of course, would answer leaving his soulmate to making big impressed noises. The shorter boy was just glad he had agreed to this, the sky held a gorgeous color that he had never really thought he’d ever see, everything was so much more beautiful. By the time they had gotten there, it was dark. 

His thoughts and observations were interrupted when once again he was grabbed, but this time it felt like the arms had let go and he was falling-- which didn’t last long because then Remus grabbed the nerd before he fell and gently laid him against the soft blanket on the floor. “I set this up just for you. I know we haven’t gotten to stargaze and this is what you were looking most forward to doing now that you can see color.” 

Before Logan could say something, Remus threw himself next to Logan and wrapped his arm around the nerd, softly pressing his lips against the boy’s cheek and jawline, “You don’t have to thank me, I just want to make you happy.”

Logan turned his face and stared into his soulmate’s eyes, it had felt like time had completely stopped, suddenly looking at the stars wasn’t the most exciting thing. It’s hard to tell if they leaned in at the same time, or maybe it was Logan. One thing is for sure that they both had managed end up in the same place, with their lips gently pressed against each other. It was something that Remus had wanted ever since they’d met, but something Logan insisted they wait on. Suddenly, he wished he hadn’t, he’d wish he’d just did this first. 

Remus was, surprisingly, first to pull away, “Does this mean-- that I can start calling you my boyfriend?” 

Logan smiled, “Does this mean that’s what you’re asking me to be?” 

“If the answer is yes.” 

“Yes.” 

Silence had fallen over them as they both looked up at the start, fingers intertwined. The stars shined against them and it had truly felt like a spotlight hitting them, allowing them to know that this was real and this was perfect. 

The stars were a lot more stunning than he had thought they’d be in front of the dark blue sky, but he’d realized there was something so much better that he didn’t need to wait for night to see. 

His world.

#Intrulogical #logan sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides #Soulmate AU #patton sanders #lomus

[witchcraft-in-wonderland]

Cori's Tale (Pt.1)

-------------------------

I was never much for listening to the old stories they told us about monsters and humans fighting. It wasn't that I didn't care- I just had better things to do, like drawing. I had a black backpack with gold spikes for all my sketchbooks and drawing materials, I never leave home without it. The other kids at school think it's weird, I've never taken the thing off since I got it, but I like it! That's all that matters.

Oh, how rude of me, I haven't even introduced myself have I? Cori Sable, resident nonbinary disaster child. Not that it's of any consequence what my gender or lack thereof is, after all I'm only twelve years old aren't I.

But back to the important stuff! I live in a community of lots of people, it's fun, we get along pretty well when people aren't calling me names or telling me the backpack I wear is pointless and stupid and I should just get rid of it.

If I had to complain about anything, it would be the fact that no one seems to notice how many kids go missing at Mt. Ebbot every year. Every year some kid gets dared to climb it, and every year they don't come back. With the way the other kids look at each other sometimes, I worry they know exactly what they're doing when they send someone up there.

"And that's the story of how the humans were victorious in the Battle of Mt. Ebbot," the teacher closed her book, placing it on a shelf next to her. I hadnt heard a word of what she said, not that it mattered since I already had the whole thing memorized to begin with. I glared enviously at the back of the room, where teenagers sat on their phones, willingly able to ignore the story and not get in trouble. We werent allowed to get phones until we were fourteen, and even then we had to get jobs first, and recite the story of monsters vs humans. I don't think I'll ever get a phone, I'm terrible at doing work for one. For two the way everyone here tells the story of our fight seems very biased, it's almost like they didn't try to cooperate with the monsters at all, just maim and kill and lock away where no one else can find them. It's rather rude in my opinion, monsters just seem like weaker magical humans, they just look different and have a different culture, I don't see what's wrong with that.

Of course, bringing this up would be a detriment to my already tediously hanging reputation here. A kid who isn't well liked would be ill-advised to go spouting off about how monsters and humans aren't so different, about how maybe if we'd shown a little mercy we wouldn't be in this situation.

See, we used to be able to live in separate houses, used to be able to get stuff whenever we wanted. But it turns out a lot of that was because if decent trading with monsters, and of course, no monsters, no nice things. Not to mention, going through an entire war is hardly good for anyone involved, it's actually probably the worst possible event to go through. That's what led us to here, with so many orphans the human race decided "why not just make all children orphans" and took us away from our parents nearly as soon as we were born to be raised in these communities, only able to escape once we prove sufficient enough to survive on our own.

I'll probably never get out, they'll kick me out at twenty-one of course, but the problem with that is, I don't think I'll get the hang of life by then, or ever really. There's just to many things to learn! How to drive a car, how to use a phone, how to get a job, how to talk to people, it's all way to much. And with no one helping me out, I'm basically trying to operate a plane where all the buttons are the same color and the switches don't have labels.

Recess was my least favorite part of the day. I used to like it, but now I get pushed off of everything I try to use. On top of that, recess is when The Choosing happens. If you haven't figured it out yet, that's when someone gets dared to climb a giant mountain or risk being labelled a coward and ostracised, one time a kid refused and they got them kicked out entirely!

"Cori!" I heard a rough grumbling voice call my name. I turned to face the girl, her name was Ulana, and she was the one who decided what happened to all of us. Red hair braided behind her back, Jean's ripped in so many places it couldnt possibly be intentional, the only thing scarier than her was the twin brothers that always followed close behind. Sora and Pevril were oddities of their own, with Sora having black and blue eyes and Pevril being abnormally tall for a child. They were of course, only scary when around Ulana, other than that, I didn't see them as much of a threat, sometimes it even seemed like we could be friends.

"What is it, Lan," I said, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't call me Lan," growled the girl, she was nearly a foot taller than me, and almost old enough to age out of the community to. But she was looking for a reaction, and I learned long ago that I should never give one to a bully, not if I had any self-respect.

"Right, well what do you want then?" I tilted my head to the side, focusing more on the sound of children playing in the distance than Ulana.

"I bet you can't climb Mt. Ebbot and survive," I froze for a second. I was aware I wasn't well liked, but perhaps i should've paid attention to just how deep that disdain went.

"And if I don't accept?" I said, digging my feet into the ground.

"Then I'll take that nice backpack of yours and chuck it in with the next kid, and you'll get kicked out," I wrapped my hands around the backpack straps subconsciously.

"Fine, I'll play your game, but if I do make it back, you can't send anyone else down ever again," I said, looking her directly in the eyes. There was a glint there, one I that sent shivers down my spine.

Mountains were, of course, cold, but my legs had a weird relationship with temperature. I had a blue and indigo striped hoodie on, one with little grey horns at the top, and black shorts with black boots. The ever important backpack was still tossed over my shoulders, sketchbook and art materials jostling around inside.

I reached the top of the mountain soon after, there was a crater at the center. I thought to myself for a second, whether Ulana had mentioned anything about going into the mountain, or if I could go home saying I had climbed it myself. I was in fact, so caught up in this decision, that I was caught off guard by a light shove from behind, and sent hurtling down the crater, my backpack clutched to my chest.

I landed, miraculously, in a pile of soft flowers, that seemed to cushion my fall.

I couldn't tell where I was, just that I was really far down, and the sky was really far up. I made the decision to keep walking.

After a few mere seconds of this I came across a patch of grass, where an orange tree stood at the center. I paused for a second before realizing- the tree had a face.

"Howdy! I'm Orangey, Orangey the orange tree!" It spoke, in a voice that sounded cold and calculated.

"Uh- hi- I'm Cori- the not orange not tree-" I said, doing a sort of two-finger salute in return.

"You're new to the underground arentcha?" Said Orangey, I nodded in response.

"Let me help you," suddenly something jumped out in front of me. It was glowing, different shades of pink blue and yellow faded in and out of what looked like a heart.

"This is your SOUL, the very culmination of your being!" Said Orangey, he seemed unphased by the tri-color phenomenon of it.

"Your SOUL can get stronger when you gain LV, that stands for LOVE," he said. I wasnt sure that sounded right, Love didnt seem like the kind of word one would need to abbreviate.

"Down here, LOVE is shared through friendliness pellets," spinning orange shapes appeared on all sides, I eyed them suspiciously "Go on! Catch as many as you can!" Said the tree. I chose to go the opposite route, backing away as the shapes closed in on me.

The tree's expression changed, it was one of anger and hatred "Smart kid, aren't you," its voice was deeper, less calculated, more angry and bordering on psychopathic.

The pellets surrounded me on all sides, preparing to close in. The tree began to laugh, a cold and unfeeling cackle that sent a chill down my spine. The pellets were inches away from my skin, when suddenly they'd disappeared, the tree was gone. Something- no- someone- walked out if the shadows. He was tall, with white fur and horns, and a tossle of light brown hair at the top of his head, adorned with glasses, a blue shirt, khakis, and a grey cardigan.

"What a cruel creature, torturing such a poor innocent youth," he spoke in a softer voice, one that reminded me of how the guardians back at the community spoke to the younger children.

"I am Patton, caretaker of the ruins, come with me, I will keep you safe," Patton held a hand out, I accepted it after a few moments hesitation. Patton walked with me through an archway, into an elaborate structure, covered with vines and flowers. I felt something spark in me, I thought back to the sketchbooks in my backpack.

"Can I sit down for a second? That was a little scary," I said. Patton smiled and nodded, setting himself down in a pile of flowers between two sets of stairs. I sat down as well and pulled out a sketchbook, beginning to draw the things surrounding me.

"Oh! An artist!" Patton said excitedly.

I smiled and brushed it off slightly "Not so much artist as bored little kid with to much creativity," was my only reply as we sat there, trying to ignore the things my head was telling me.

----------------------------------------------

Tag list:

@nerosdayinhell

@that-artsy-gay

@official-lucifers-child

@spooky-scary-virgil

@youtuberswithalex

@misunderstoodshadowling

#cori writes #ts patton #ts orange side #cori sable #undertale cw #undertale #cw undertale #tw bullying #bullying tw #war mention tw #tw war mention #war mention #bullying #cori's tale