#feel like she posted more about the world lol
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isn't this more beautiful | knj x f!reader
summary: you meet namjoon by accident. you fall for him without noticing. he slips in and out of your life at will, and you let him. but as you get closer, you start to wonder if he’ll always feel lonely, even with you by his side. or, a small story told out of order about time, loneliness, and knowing (or not) what we deserve
pairing: namjoon x f!reader
rating: explicit (18+ please)
genre: smut, angst, a lil fluff/hopeful ending
au: this is idolverse
warnings/tags: this is told asynchronously, so please know these little vignettes are not in chronological order. namjoon is a mess, but so is reader. she's an artist so there's one cliche on board already. they probably should talk more about important things but neither of them like feelings. smoking, drinking, smut, including unprotected sex, oral sex, exhibitionism, maybe like… mention of belly bulge kink, cumplay (kind of)
word count: ~6700
a/n: this is for the bts x beatles across the btuniverse collab hosted by my dearest @ugh-yoongi who also checked this for vibes. so did @the-boy-meets-evil in its early stages - thank you both!! banner + borders from @hobeemin (thank you so much!!!!). my member was namjoon (obv) and my song was eleanor rigby. idk how it really shows up in here except through vibes lol
you can find everything i write on ao3
Namjoon talks in unanswerable questions. He calls you at hours the owls don’t even see, talks quietly even though you’re not sure who he’s afraid of disturbing.
“Do you remember Bageundae?”
“Of course I do.”
“If you pressed your body against one side of the rock, and I pressed mine to the other, could you feel me?”
What you want to say: go to sleep, Namjoonie.
What you say instead: “I can always feel you.”
“Always is a funny word,” he replies. “Maybe worse than never.”
“Maybe?”
“You never know,” he says, and you can hear the sad smile he wears even from your desk across the ocean.
Sometimes, when people give the retelling of how they meet their “person,” it’s all sparks and fireworks and floods and worlds being turned upside down.
That’s not how you met Namjoon.
You met him softly.
You met him in a lazy river current and not a waterfall.
You met him like Sunday morning sunshine sneaking through cracks in defeated curtains.
You met him and the woodwind orchestra blew a quiet processional before the brass joined in much later.
You met him with a whisper. Literally.
“This is one of my favorites,” he said, a stranger whispering beside you. He wasn’t even talking to you—you remember being pretty sure about that. Just announcing it as an affirmation to himself and you happened to be there to be the unintentional recipient.
Now, you know it’s probably a foreshadowing of your whole relationship.
Then, you said, “It’s a misconception that you have to whisper in a museum. It’s not a library.”
Namjoon didn’t even give you the sitcom satisfaction of arguing with you about it. Just gave you an affronted side eye and huffed under his breath. Crossed his arms over his chest and planted himself further into the floor, staring at the Chung Sang Hwa in front of you.
To yourself, you rolled your eyes. It was almost like he was determined to outwait you, that there would be some satisfaction in it for him if you left for the next work on the wall before he did.
He didn’t know (yet) that you were as or more stubborn than he was. So, you both waited. You didn’t even know what you were waiting for, just that neither of you wanted to lose.
(And now look at you.)
It was near closing time on a weekday, and all of the special exhibits were crowded earlier, but the permanent collections were easy to be alone in. You were almost wishing someone else would walk in. Minutes passed, neither of you moved. In your periphery, you saw Namjoon stealing glances at you when he (presumably) thought you wouldn’t notice.
Finally, “This isn’t going to be some naver post later, is it?”
You were annoyed, not blind. You knew exactly who he was (or did you, you wonder now)—everyone in this country knew, his picture plastered over billboards and bus stops.
“Which story? BTS RM, weirdly stubborn art jerk, won’t walk away from painting first? Or, BTS RM casually checked me out at a gallery when he thought I wasn’t looking?” You didn’t look over at him, just raised your eyebrow in a challenge.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“So, you prefer the ‘jerk’ narrative?”
“I prefer to be left alone.”
And you still don’t know why you said what you said after that, as you turned to face him for the first time since he walked up next to you. “You probably don’t get that very often. Alone time.”
Namjoon looked back at you then, and it still wasn’t butterflies or choruses of angels. Instead, he just looked surprised and a little sad. “I don’t.”
“I’m sorry,” you replied. And you found that you meant it.
“Do you ever wonder,” Namjoon said, and again, you didn’t know if it was to you or to himself, “how it is you can be surrounded by people and still feel profoundly lonely?”
You hadn’t. But you still thought you understood what he meant. “No, but it makes sense that you would.”
Namjoon laughed then, maybe a little bitter, maybe just nervous. “I shouldn’t be talking to you about this,” he said.
“And yet…”
“And yet,” he agreed with a small nod.
The two of you were quiet again then, but not in a stand-off anymore. Behind you, you knew his manager was fidgeting, worrying that something was off. That you’d reveal yourself to be some sort of wild stalker or obsessed fan.
“It’s not personal,” Namjoon offered, like he could already read your mind.
“I know,” you conceded.
You started to walk away, ready to see a different painting, ready to not feel like you were doing something wrong by incidentally being in the same room as someone famous, when Namjoon stopped you. “He wanted to paint heartbeats, to give them a language, to let people see what all the emotions that fuel our hearts would look like,” he said. “Do you think it worked?”
Next to this person that you didn’t know but somehow you thought you might understand anyway, you nodded.
Next to Namjoon in a room so quiet you were sure you could hear the steady thrum of your heartbeat (or his, or both beating at the same time), you nodded.
Next to him, who you didn’t yet know would become Him, you nodded.
“Yeah,” you said gracelessly.
“Can you see it?” Namjoon asked.
“Which one?” you countered.
He shrugged, not breaking eye contact. “Aren’t love and hate and pain and pleasure all the same at the end of the day?”
Eventually, he will teach you that they are.
It starts with phone calls.
(Sometimes it seems it might end with one, too.)
Namjoon speaks like the shallow pools of blended color on a painter’s well-loved palate. There is no certainty. He uses gray words like “sometimes,” and purple ones like “maybe,” and the soft peach “don’t you think?”
“Morning, Namjoon-ssi,” you hum into the air, hoping you’re close enough to the microphone that you don’t have to shout.
“What if we were in Florence?” he asks in return.
“Then I would still be asleep, or you would be getting smothered with a pillow for waking me up.”
He laughs, not the bright one you know he saves for when there’s an audience, but a small one that bubbles up from his chest with a deep timbre. “So, in Florence, you and I are in bed together?”
You sigh into your (not Italian) pillow.
“Good morning,” he adds. “Can we speak informally?”
Your sigh turns into a smile you hadn’t asked for. “Yeah.”
“Good.”
You’ve been speaking for weeks. Namjoon is busy, you are not (at least, not in the same way, not to the same magnitude). You make a space for him in your life with much less consideration than you usually use with others. Or, maybe he just takes it.
“What are your plans for the weekend?” he asks.
“Same thing as all the other weekends.”
“Can I watch this time?”
“It’s boring.”
Namjoon pauses. “Does it bore you?”
“No, it’s what I love.”
“Then,” he says, in what you think is probably his typical fashion (at least with you, it is), “I think I might find it easy to love, too.”
“Oh, Namjoonie,” you tease, “I’m starting to think you find everything easy to love.”
He doesn’t say anything for a long time. This is a thing you’ve noticed about him. He’s serious in a flash. He’s jokes and teasing and talking to you about what ifs and what nots until suddenly he is very determined that he should say something meaningful. Or very convinced that you have.
“I want to,” he says. “I want my heart to be more full than my mind. It’s hard.”
“I know,” you say, even though for you, it’s not.
“I’m glad you don’t,” he says earnestly.
“Come see me on Saturday,” you say, deflecting. You can do this for him, you think. You haven’t seen him since the museum, but you’ve seen the pastel splashes of his words, the geometric lines of his heart, the post-modern dilemma he thinks he carries down deep. You’ve seen the important things, so you know you can give him the distraction he doesn’t know he needs.
“I think I will.”
You hang up in black and white.
Namjoon fucks like a surrealist. Shifts your body until you’re still recognizable in the mirror, but fundamentally different, too.
Pulls your hips up too high: Ernst.
Makes butterflies soar out of your mouth, gusty with your labored breath: Magritte.
Fucks you cross-eyed, spit dripping hourglass slow from your lips: Dali.
You thought he would be a talker, like he is on the phone. Thought he’d try and work through the freightliner of thoughts steaming through his brain. But Namjoon is all breath and whispers and sighs and moans and fragments of the pretty words he used to get you like this: bent over your worktable, chest smeared into cadmium red and titanium white. He talks, but it's oil paint instead of watercolor this time: thick and precise.
“Fuck, you look perfect like this,” he says, voice a little dreamy, slapping another pink-paint handprint onto your ass. You’re never going to get it scrubbed off your skin.
It makes you laugh, breathy and high.
You came first (and second) on his tongue. Told you to keep painting while he got underneath you, pretty on his knees, honest and plain telling you he wanted you.
“Want to see what art tastes like,” he said, cotton soft breath on your thigh.
“Silly,” you replied. “Does anyone fall for lines like that?”
“Doesn’t matter, don’t want you to fall. I told you to keep standing.” He’s smug when he licks across your core, startling you.
It went like that until your hand was shaking and the thick outlines around nameless figures on the canvas shook with you.
“Pretty painter, taste as good as you look,” he paused to say. You moaned when he fucked his tongue into you, clenched around it, wanted to be greedy, wanted more, wanted everything. “Sound even better,” he added, chin slick, eyes sparkling.
After you came, he didn’t stop. When your paintbrush fell to the ground, he doubled his efforts, two fingers sliding inside of you while he sucked your sensitive clit between his lips. “Come on, baby,” he said, “I know you have another one for me.”
Your hand gripped his hair instead of your brush, you chased the overstimulation instead of wriggling away. It felt right, somehow, to just take what you want, and Namjoon didn’t seem to mind. Moaned into your cunt when you fucked his face, holding him in place while your hips moved. A muffled, “fuck, please baby,” into your skin when you pulled his hair just to see what it would feel like. Lips curved into a grin when you rocked against him through your second orgasm.
And now, he reaps the benefits of his efforts. You’re pliant beneath him, fucked out and pleased, easy and eager as he slides his thick cock in and out. You watch him carefully in the mirror, you see his focus on where he thrusts inside of you, his awe when you clench around him and pull him just a little farther in. You see him grin when he slaps you, telling you he knows you’re watching, asking if you want more. “A greedy little thing,” he breathes. “Think you want more? Think you want me to fuck you harder, want my cock in you so deep you can feel it in your stomach?”
You feel stupid with it, nodding in agreement, mouth open and drooling onto your worktable while he fucks you to a third orgasm.
“You fuck me so good. Such a big dick, gonna feel you all week, Namjoonah.”
“You should paint this,” he says, slowing his thrusts. “No one’s ever looked as good as you do taking my cock.”
“No one?” you ask, suddenly a little desperate for the praise.
Namjoon bends to kiss the back of your neck, lets his lips mark a pathway down your spine that his fingertips follow. He’s so deep inside of you, hips grinding slow against your skin. When he reaches your waist, he grips and pulls you into him even closer.
The space between you (barely there to begin with) bends to his will: Carrington.
“Nobody, baby,” he whispers his first certainty to you, fingertips teasing between your thighs now, careful where you’re still too sensitive, but wordlessly asking you to give in, to give more.
“I’ll give you anything,” you say in response to a question you don’t think he’ll ask as he starts to circle your clit, pulls almost all the way out of you and fucks back in harder than before.
“You’ll take even more,” he says, and he comes inside of you, hips stuttering unsure, a bassline under the clear melody of his words.
Lazy, you lie face up together on discarded canvas, forgotten starting points of ideas you hadn’t intended to complete. Unabashed, you have a knee up so your thighs don’t tack together with the mess you’ve made. Namjoon talks about nothing, blows smoke in halos above your heads and offers you the cigarette careful between his long fingers. You don’t smoke, but you hold it anyway, watching him, carding the fingers of your free hand through his hair as he stares at his cum leaking out of you, catches it on the tender part of your thigh and wipes swirls and squares onto the canvas around you.
He finishes the thoughts you began before you even knew him.
“Tell me a story,” you whisper roughly into the air, hoping he can hear you through your shitty phone microphone.
It’s early, that sacred pre-dawn you save for yourself (and now, somehow, for him) and you’ve woken up from a shitty sleep and a worse dream and couldn’t stop yourself from calling him back when you saw you’d already missed a call from him.
“It’s late, baby.”
You let out a puff of breath, Namjoon laughs almost silently at you.
“Please?”
“You don’t like books,” he says, almost a tease. It’s true. You like them conceptually, but you told him you don’t feel like you have the patience sometimes. That you want to give them energy you don’t have.
“But I like stories.”
“FIne.” Even his sigh is fond. You like him like this so much—easy, willing, teasing but still giving in eventually.
You fall asleep fast, the first words you hear are the last. “Once upon a time…”
When you wake up, you have messages from him. A whole lot of them, a whole story written out in your Katalk chat. A love story, sort of, one where they’re star-crossed and destined but always just a little too far apart. It ends with a “maybe” instead of a “happily ever after.” You don’t even let yourself think about that too much—it’s perfectly him—a little drama for the sake of it, a little sadness to make the joy feel better.
Your world is tiny. A firefly in a sky full of bold, bright stars. It is you, in your studio, alone. It is you with your friends, it is you getting a cat so you have someone to talk to when your friends aren’t around.
For Namjoon, it expands. A firefly to a star to a burning red giant.
Still, it feels small when you’re inside of it. It’s you with your friends, it’s you with Namjoon in your studio, it’s Namjoon gently stroking your cat’s fur while he talks to himself and you paint.
It’s difficult to describe, but when you’re with him, you either have his full attention to the extent it’s overwhelming, or he seemingly pays no attention to you or what you’re doing. Just works on whatever he’s working on while you paint, speaking to you because he knows you won’t answer.
On one of the nights when you’re together (but not at all), you finally ask. He’d let himself in around two in the morning and kissed the top of your head before he put headphones in and stuck his face into his notebook on the other side of the room. He likes to sit by the window so he can crack it open and blow his smoke out of it instead of into the room.
“Why’d you come tonight?”
“I wanted to be near you.”
“I don’t think you’ve even looked at me.” It’s not an accusation, just an observation. You like that Namjoon will know the difference, you like that he’s hard to offend, and doesn't mind when you speak plainly. Gives you plain answers in return (usually). You stick the small paint brush you’ve been using sideways in your mouth and grab a larger one.
“Baby, you’re all I can see lately,” he says, staring at the trails of smoke curling around the outside of the window pane.
You laugh around the red-tipped paint brush you’re biting down on, a pause for the cadmium to add a little white to the edges. Namjoon looks over then, snaps a picture of you with your eyes crinkled and your head thrown back, red oil threatening to drip like blood.
“Beautiful,” he says, looking at the picture before he goes back to writing.
There are more phone calls every time he travels for work. It’s the same routine. He texts you a photo of something he’s seen that he liked, and when you respond, whether it’s five minutes later or five hours, he asks if he can call you.
Sometimes they’re quiet, simple recountings of the things that have happened in his day or are about to happen in the next (timezone dependent), sometimes they’re ranting about the industry and the pressure and how he never thought about time until he realized he was running out of it. Sometimes he’s worked up in a different way, wants to see your face in pixelated halos while he comes on his own stomach, alone in a hotel room far away.
All of this, you let him take. It’s not completely sacrificial, by any means. You like to hear him talk, better than any podcast you’ve ever heard. You like to know what he sees—he’s touched parts of the globe you could only dream about seeing. You like that he never makes it complicated.
Never promises to take you there one day, never says he wishes you were with him.
You’ve been fucking in secret for a while when Namjoon wants you to meet his friends.
“Why?” you ask.
“Because I want you to see me, too,” he says. Simple and complicated at the same time. You’re afraid to ask why again, not sure if you want to know the answer. This is sex. It’s incredible sex that happens far more often than you thought he’d be able to make time for.
He shows up at your studio at odd hours of the morning (or is it still night?) and talks to you about all the frivolous things while you take each other apart. Rambles about Murakami while he fucks you, tells you about a Youngkuk he saw while you swallow his dick. Naked and sprawled amongst your paint and mess and half-done work leaning against the walls, he tells you a little about his work, too. Asks you about a painting he’d seen you working on—diligently adding splashes of blue, tells you about a song he wants to do the same thing to somehow. Asks you uselessly if color and sound are the same thing if you think about them too hard.
They are. It’s a thing you both know that you don’t think many others do. It’s one thing he’s sure about. You think he only likes you because you’re sure about it, too.
It’s incredible sex and pretty good conversations that happen at what most people probably think are strange times, but it’s not more than that. You can’t afford to get your heart confused, and he can’t afford to give you anything other than exactly what he’s giving.
(He can’t afford to give you what he does, but he tells you there’s no reward without risk.
“Am I the reward, then?” you tease.
Namjoon never answers you.)
But you don’t tell him no. You think this is a bargain you can make with your heart, you can ask it for temperance while you do this thing he wants, you can meet the people who are truly important to him without convincing yourself you’re counted amongst them. You can try, anyway.
So, on a rooftop in Hannam-dong, you sip whisky with a photographer friend of Namjoon’s while he stands behind you, an arm wrapped around your waist, and alternates between sucking bruises into your neck and smoke into his lungs.
“How’d you meet?” the photographer asks.
“Hoam,” Namjoon replies into your skin. “She picked a fight.”
You laugh, he laughs, the photographer laughs. It’s carefree and light—your laugh, your thoughts, your skin under Namjoon’s wandering lips. Your heart is holding up its end of the deal, you don’t feel anything but pleased to be there, pleased to have his attention again (still).
“Our Namjoonie likes a challenge,” his friend says.
“Our Namjoonie is a challenge,” you tease.
Namjoon nips at the thin skin between your neck and shoulder in retaliation (or to prove your point, you’re not sure). You yelp, turn in his arms, see him smirking before he goes to take another drag. Swiftly, you pluck the cigarette out from between his lips, stamping it out on the cement.
“Baby,” he whines, looking down where the cigarette is brown and white dust under your sneaker.
“Better things to do with your mouth,” you retort, pressing up onto your tiptoes and pulling his bottom lip between your teeth.
His mouth is ashy and yours tastes like peet, you’re sure. It’s filthy and a little cheap even though the cigarettes and the whisky and the lip balm he always wears were all expensive. Namjoon kisses like he does everything else: completely single-minded, treating the soft curves where your mouths meet as if they’re the edges of the world.
You walk him a step back until he’s flush against the wall and lean into him again, pressing your bodies together hard and your lips together plush. He’s hard in his joggers and it’s every last piece of self-control you have to not sneak your hand under his waistband and tease him until he’s leaking and begging to get inside you.
It wouldn’t take much.
Takes a lot out of you to not drop to your knees and choke on his cock where everyone can see, where everyone would know for sure for sure for certain that he’s chosen you for this for now for some reason. To not make him moan around your name while he comes down your throat, a different kind of concert.
Your hands stay in appropriate places while your lips beg for more.
He was right, something he said the first time you hooked up: you are greedy for him. But he’s just as bad for you, begging in your ear for you to let him take you home, for you to let him fuck you right here so everyone knows you’re his (right now, in only this way, for some reason that neither of you are willing to speak into existence).
You give in, no cares about who sees, it’s safe here with friends who would never betray him. You feel ever weightless against his body, whispering, “Yes, come on Joonie,” you say. “Need your cock. Need you.”
(Briefly, it occurs to you that those sentences mean two completely different things, that they’re both true, and that either it’s Namjoon choosing to ignore the odd, heavy weight of the second one or you both are.)
You’re halfway out the door before you remember you were in the middle of a conversation.
You don’t notice his friends whispering.
You don’t notice his manager rolling his eyes.
You don’t notice the way Namjoon looks at you when he knows you’re not looking back.
And you surely don’t let yourself notice that both of you want more than you’re willing to give in return.
“Can you come over?” he asks, but it doesn’t quite come out like a question.
“I’m working, maybe a different time?”
It’s abundantly clear he hadn’t expected you to say no. He’s silent on the other end of the line for a moment before he lets out an aborted sigh.
“You can work whenever you want.”
Before you realize he’s serious, you laugh. “Yeah, and now is when I want to. You know how it is to get inspired.”
Namjoon huffs. “I’d still make time for you.”
It’s almost more absurd than the sentence before it. First, you know from firsthand experience that he wouldn’t, not really. Your “relationship”—or whatever you’re (not) calling it—revolves almost entirely around his schedule. And that’s fine with you, usually. It was expected, anyway. You don’t exactly drop everything to see him, but you haven’t been the best at keeping plans with the other people in your life, either. You don’t blame him for it, it’s just how things are, and it’s your own fault (at least partially) for bailing on your friends to “chase dick” as they so delicately put it. The second point is that you wouldn’t ask him to. If you don’t ask him to change for you, if you don’t need him to bend, then you never have to stop to ask yourself what the two of you are even doing.
As the static of the connection is drawn out like a fermata with neither of you willing to break it, you wonder if this is your panoply, the armor you don, one of the ways you’ve been protecting your own heart without realizing it.
“I wouldn’t ask you to,” you say, repeating it to yourself, admitting it to him.
“I know,” Namjoon agrees, but he sounds disappointed instead of conciliatory.
“I have to go.”
“Sure,” he says quietly before he ends the call. “Let me know when you have time.”
Namjoon is obsessed with time.
How much is left.
How much has passed.
How much until the next thing.
How much he’s wasted.
You think this is because he puts a deadline to his regret, says things like, “It’s been a year, I can’t worry about it anymore.”
It’s hard not to wonder what schedule he’s given whatever this thing is between you. Are you still regrettable? Is there a space between regrettable and forgettable you can build shelter in?
It makes him fill his time. He’s always doing something, likes to feel productive. Holds himself to an unspoken standard that you’re not even sure he could articulate if he needed to. He gets antsy when he has to relax, twitches and fidgets and fills the space with words.
Sometimes, after sex when you’re quiet and lax and content to just sit with him, he uses the time to write. He sits tall up in your bed and holds his notebook above your head where it rests in his lap. He says you help him organize his thoughts, says having you to bounce things off of gives him clarity, says you think of words like colors like he does and you know how he likes to paint. Says he gets his best work done in this time in between pleasure and sleep.
He hums to himself while he writes—you don’t even know if he knows he does it. Sometimes, it wakes you up from where you didn’t know you’d fallen asleep on top of him.
“Is it morning yet?” you slur, still mostly asleep.
“Relax, baby,” he whispers when you stir. “We’ve got time.”
You don’t break up, because there’s nothing tangible to break. It’s a quiet thing, without dramatics, but oh how you grieve.
It’s not linear. You’re not in a predictable pattern of feeling. One morning he doesn’t call, and you don’t even notice, but another makes you sob quietly in the corner of your studio, curled up under the window where he used to sit, like you can fuse yourself with the ghost of him.
There are days when it’s easier, days when it’s difficult. When you mourn the way the curve of his bicep felt under your fingertips or the future you never considered until it wasn’t an option anymore.
(You still don’t know if it ever was an option, but that’s the tricky thing—you can grieve for the things you had and also for those you didn’t. No one can stop you, Namjoon’s not there to pull you back to reality. He was never very good at that anyway.)
Some days, you wonder if he grieves, too. It would be easy to read interviews and read into things, it would be easy to assume every word, look, gesture is a window into his mind, but you try not to do that to yourself, try not to do it to him.
At four in the morning on a Saturday, when days without him have long turned into weeks, you mindlessly scroll through your phone, idly wondering what he might be doing at this time when he used to be with you.
“The quiet hours are all for us,” he would whisper into your skin, no distractions, no demands.
Those hours are infinitely louder in your mind without him there. So, you distract yourself, you look at every app and you get lost in reels and tiktoks and tweets and then you go back to instagram to see his story is updated. And you think twice before you do it, but you still click on it, curious and heartbroken and a little bit hoping he’s not already found someone new to spend daybreak with.
It’s just a song, an old one, a sad one. Text he added in small font across the bottom:
“Grief is love persevering,” he says.
In your corner, under the window, you cry over the silly quote for the both of you.
“Do you know about alpine sunflowers?”
You laugh as you put your phone on speaker and set it down next to you. You’re not laughing at him, and he knows it—you’re full of a particular fondness you only feel for him, one you especially feel when he’s thousands of miles away, busier than busy and running on no sleep, but still calling you to bullshit.
“No, tell me about them.”
“Okay,” he says, voice pitched up, a little excited, like he’s sitting up straighter and getting ready to tell you something wonderful. “So, they only grow high up in the alpine tundra. The Swiss Alps, the Rockies, you know what I mean?”
“What about the French Alps?” you tease.
Namjoon huffs. “There too, jagiya, but you’re missing the point.”
“Okay, make me see it, then.”
“I will if you’ll stop teasing.”
You do stop, not because he’s making an impeccable argument, but because he’s always going somewhere with things like this, and without realizing it, you’ve stumbled into a reality where you’d follow him anywhere.
“They grow slowly. ‘Cause of the snow and the subzero temperatures and the fact that there’s just not much up there for them. They take their time, you see?”
You’re starting to, your paintbrush dipping into a dusty yellow to test in a small corner of your canvas. You nod, forgetting he’s not there in the room with you, that you should speak if you actually want to answer him. He doesn’t care if you do or not, you know, not until he gets to the punchline, and sometimes not even then.
On the other end of the line, you hear him suck in a breath before he continues. “They save up everything: the sunlight and the water and they hoard it all. They're selfish little things, baby. Just these spindly stalks of nothing sucking up everything good out of the Earth.”
“Hmm,” you murmur so he knows you’re with him.
“But then, and this is the best part, then one day, after ten fucking years if you can believe that—after ten years do you know what happens?”
“Climate change?”
Namjoon ignores you now in favor of finishing his story. It’s fair enough, you suppose. “They bloom. Big and beautiful, brighter than all the other sunflowers like an explosion of little suns across the mountains.”
“That sounds beautiful,” you reply.
And you know what Namjoon is thinking. That their beauty comes at a cost, that he hasn’t quite untangled yet whether he loves those stupid flowers for taking what they need and becoming something incredible or if he despises them for waiting so long to do it, for keeping something so lovely to themselves. It’s not what he says, though. As you paint something that might be tangling green vines of selfish sunflowers across gesso, he surprises you.
“I wonder if in all relationships, someone is the sunflower and someone is the mountain.”
You can’t help but pause, because he might be right. One of you might take something from the other to become more beautiful, one of you might give up everything to be made more whole by the other, if even for a moment.
“Maybe they are,” you agree.
“You know what happens after the alpine sunflower blooms?” he asks, voice softer now, more tired as night turns into morning where he is.
“What happens, Joon-ah?”
Namjoon sighs into the phone, the mood has changed since he called you—and this isn’t unusual. He can be ebullient and he’s gorgeous when he’s happy and carefree, but it changes quickly sometimes depending on the circumstances, depending on how much he’s let himself think, how much time he’s spent alone.
“They die. They do all of that and they work hard for so long, and then they’re gone.”
Carefully, you ask, “You want to be the mountain, then?”
In the background, you can hear the rustle of sheets and the careful clacking of his glasses hitting the bedside table. He yawns, and you can picture the way he’s rubbing his palms over his face, pulling his shirt off before he dives all the way under the duvet, probably taking advantage of being alone to take up all the space he possibly can in the big hotel bed. He sounds half-asleep and sad when he finally answers you.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” You put your brush down, stare at the small mess you’ve made.
“The mountain has it worse, she can only watch them go.”
He is everywhere, even when he’s not.
There are the obvious things: the ads with his face, the gum and coffee and candy with his picture on them, the music, his lyrics, playing in cafes and bars and pages and pages of his songs in every noraebang.
There are the private things, too. The reminders that are just for you.
You see him in the way the leaves change: reliable but not predictable.
You smell him after it rains, when you pass by cafes and smoking rooms and when you take the train to Yeosu just to remember the way the saltwater can make the air sting. You hear him every time you hear the train sail into the station at Yongsan and when you hear the river gently shove against its banks.
It’s a couple months after you meet him, and along that river, you walk a less-loved path. With all the words you know, you explain all that to a friend, one you’ve known a long time, who doesn’t know who you’re talking about as you try to describe the person who’s taken up all of your time and attention lately.
Because you can’t tell her anything about him, you tell her these things instead and you hope it’s enough for her to understand.
And maybe she does, maybe better than you do.
“Does that make sense?” you ask. “It’s hard to explain how much he is.”
“To you,” she says. “He’s that much to you.”
You hadn’t even considered that he wasn’t all of those things to everyone. It never even crossed your mind. It’s probably apparent that you’re mulling it over, trying to true it up with how you feel.
She shrugs with one shoulder and smiles, brings a finger up to smooth the wrinkle in your brow. “Don’t think about it too hard, yeah? Love is supposed to be simple.”
Those two words had always each seemed so big to you, to carry so much power on their own. It’s the first time you let yourself consider putting the words Namjoon and Love in the same sentence.
And in that moment, you know that if Namjoon is the changing leaf, you are the one that falls.
“Do you love me?” you ask—afraid to know the answer, more afraid of never knowing. You stare at unfinished bunches of sunflowers and handprints of pink and white borders that never got filled in. All of it undone, all of it paused. Abstracts in stop-motion waiting for… him to come back? You to get your shit together? Inspiration? What’s the difference, anyway, you think while you wait for him to speak.
He doesn’t answer right away, hums a little, clicks his tongue, things you can sense more than you can hear. It’s a rude way to start a phone call, especially when you haven’t spoken in a long time, especially when you’re not each other's to love.
Not anymore.
Not that you know if you ever were.
You need to know, you think. Questioning whether all of it even mattered is making you worse off than thinking it didn’t. Listening to him tell foreign interviewers he’s had a rough year, lost something great, was finding it hard to trust—himself, others—you, your brain supplies… it’s making you feel a little wild, a little reckless.
One drink past good decisions, you call, and when he answers unexpectedly, you forgo “hello” for “do you love me?”
You wait, expecting exasperation, complication, maybe a long and drawn out description of how maybe people can never know if they’re in love, if they have the capacity to love completely.
And then he surprises you.
“Of course I do,” he says, sounding soft and a little scared and more definitive than you’ve ever heard him. “You know that.”
“I didn’t,” you reply. Not to be argumentative, but because it’s true. Because you love him and you want him to be happy and you know he’ll never get it right if he thinks what he gave you was enough.
“I don’t think I knew then, either,” he concedes. “But I wish I had. I do now.”
“I miss you.”
“I know. But you did then, too.”
The laugh you let out is wry and wet with your tears, the ones you’re shedding for the you that did miss him even then, even when he was by your side, even when he was buried inside of you. “I’m lonely,” is what you say, too honest.
“I know. I am, too.”
There’s nothing to say to that, you think. Maybe this is where it really ends, a torn-open wound for both of you—you’ll paint it all in vivid acrylics, probably never finish it just to be ironic. And then Namjoon adds, “Can I come over?”
You reply quickly, a taste of his own medicine. “Maybe,” you say.
You should have never left, you mean.
He laughs then, watercolor yellow and orange joy dripping over the phone line. It’s bright and hopeful—you listen to him shrugging on a jacket and swearing out a curse when he runs into his dresser, rushing to get to you, scrambling for time—and it makes you decide that for once, with him by your side, you might finish the picture.
#bts x reader#namjoon x reader#rm x reader#namjoon smut#namjoon angst#namjoon fluff#rm smut#rm fluff#rm angst#bts imagines#namjoon imagine#rm imagine#kvanity#bts smut#bts angst#bts fanfic#namjoon fanfic#rm fanfic
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Meet Me At The Beach
A Supernatural Story
~ Texting and emails can feel so impersonal. There's nothing quite like exchanging tangible, handwritten letters with someone you love...~
Dean Winchester x F!Reader, Sam Winchester
4,025 Words
Warnings: Bittersweet Angst. SFW.
A/N: This is for @jacklesversebingo "Writing Letters To Each Other" was the prompt. I hope you enjoy...
June 2
Dear Dean,
This feels so weird. Do people really write letters anymore? Am I going to get strange looks at the post office when I go to buy a stamp? Will they even know what to do with this tiny envelope and folded piece of loose-leaf paper? I almost don’t know how to write anymore. My script looks kinda like chicken scratch, huh? Hopefully it’ll get better. It is weird not typing though. But emails just seem like work. Impersonal, ya know? Besides, it gives us something to look forward to when we hit the mailbox. Nice to open something that’s not a delinquent credit card bill, huh?
Speaking of which- how the fuck do you do it? I just got another card canceled. My credit is non-existent. Fuck, I need to get a job. Could you imagine me in an office? High heels and panty hose and my hair tucked into a neat, matronly bun? I shudder to think!
OK, this is weird. I just wanted to write “LOL” but it’s not an email. Or a text. Why are we doing this again? Oh, yeah, see above.
Anyhoo- - - - I don’t even know what to say! Umm… I’m in New Orleans for a bit. Not working, just hanging out. My friend Emily from high school tracked me down online and we’ve been chatty. She’s in a band. They’re not bad. Not great, but not bad. So yeah, I took a drive down to see a show and I’m just lingering. Drinking too much, sleeping past noon. It’s fun. Nice little vacation.
Which - ahem - you should be taking. When are you gonna get your ass out of that dusty old bunker and stick your toes in the sand? I already told you I’d meet you in Pensacola with sunscreen and a cooler of beer. You know you want to. Or are you just scared to show off your ugly toes in flip flops? Your boots might actually cry if you ever took them off, so I guess it’s just as well.
Hey, do you remember that night in Richmond when it started pouring and your boots sank into the mud puddle? God, that was a mess. We were soaked to the bone. Nice way to warm up, though - cuddled in the back of the Impala. I miss that car. Sometimes, I think I can hear it at night when the world is quiet and the wind is still. It’s like the engine roars in the back of my mind and I start thinking about all our adventures, all the time we spent driving into the sunset.
I miss you. Is that wrong? I probably shouldn’t. Or at least, I shouldn’t tell you that I do. But I do. I miss you so bad sometimes that it hurts. Like someone has punched me right in the chest. Maybe we can end up in the same town soon. Grab some tacos and sit on the hood. Make a mess. I’d like that.
OK, before I get too emotional and start asking you to run away with me, I think I’ll end this ranting scribble of horrid handwriting.
Write me back soon.
Love, Y/N
June 21
Y/N-
Your handwriting does not look like chicken scratch. I like it. Mine is like some toddler just learning his letters. Whatever. I never learned that fancy shit. I can sign my name and make a grocery list. That’s all I need.
This is weird, yeah. But it’s kinda nice. Feels more… like you’re here. Does that make sense? Like seeing your handwriting, the dents in the paper- I don’t know. Just feels more real. Like you’re not just some computer talking back at me. Also there’s something strange about answering questions weeks later. I meant to write this sooner, but I got a little distracted. There was a Kung Fu marathon on and I just lost track of time. Too much pizza, not enough Carradine. Ya know? You know.
Remember that horrible motel in Raleigh when we both caught that nasty stomach bug and stayed up all night watching old tv shows? Saltines and Little House. I’ll never forget it. You were so sick that day. Shit, I was sure I was gonna end up taking you to the hospital. Sure, I was puking too, but you looked like death. I hated that. Hated that I couldn’t help you, make you feel better. I did cook up a mean chicken noodle soup though, didn’t I? Not that it stayed down for long.
Thank god for that yellow Gatorade. And yes- it’s fucking yellow. Not green.
Anyway- I miss you too. I try not to, I really do. Not all the time, no offense, but sometimes I’m just fucking insane with shit going on. But at night, especially, I miss having you beside me. I miss rolling over and seeing you there, or hearing you snore. I miss feeling your freezing feet under the blanket. I don’t know, I just-
What can I say? I’m sorry. I’m an asshole. I’m the biggest piece of shit in the universe. I shouldn’t have pushed you away.
Can’t change the past. Just gotta move on.
Maybe someday you’ll forgive me. I hope so anyway.
I’m sorry. I shouldn’t dump that all out in a letter. I almost ripped this all up and started over. I actually let it sit for a day before I came back to it. But, fuck it- we said we were gonna write to each other and be honest, and here I am, being honest.
Fuck, I’m so tired. That kinda tired when sleeping for ten days wouldn’t even put a dent in it. Yeah, OK, so things are getting a little better. Chuck’s gone for good this time. Jack’s got things back in place, even made a few improvements. Sam’s- well, he’s Sam. He’s fine, doing his thing. The dog is- did I tell you we have a dog now? Yeah, I know. Me and a dog- yeah right. But we do. Miracle. He’s a good boy. I’ll send you a picture soon.
Never thought I could slow down like this. Feels like for the first time we can just - work. I mean, I’m never gonna give up hunting, not totally, but- feels like I could just ease back a bit. Been looking at some jobs in town- nothing crazy, fixing engines and stuff like that. Don’t know if you remember, but I’m pretty good with my hands.
Did you blush?
You did.
OK. I guess- that’s it for now. I have no fucking idea how to end this so - bye?
~ Dean
P.S. I’ll meet you at the beach soon. I promise.
Fifteenth of July
To Whom It May Concern:
Re: Beach Vacation
Dear Mr. Winchester,
I am very pleased to hear that you are agreeable to meeting me at the beach. It should be delightful fun to run through the surf and hunt for sea glass with you.
Oh shit! Do you remember that new age shop in… where the fuck was that? With the sea glass necklaces in the window that I said were so pretty and the witch inside said they were blessed to give the wearer riches or some shit like that. Where was that? Who knows.
Feels like we’ve been all over the world together. Well, this country at least. Lord knows I could never get you on an airplane. If only you could drive to Paris. Did I ever tell you about my trip to France? God, it was beautiful. Rained the whole time, but it was this beautiful, warm spring rain that made everything smell like dust and petals. Not rose petals, but those little white ones that grow on trees, ya know? It was so beautiful. Fuck it. I’m taking you one day. You need to see more than the dash of your car and the backroads of America. Time to travel!
Speaking of- I’m glad you’re slowing down a bit. I know that won’t be easy for you but if you think about it, you’ve spent the last forty years running from problem to problem like a damned bomb-sniffing dog.
A DOG?! Dean Winchester, I never thought the day would come. I can’t wait to see a picture. Don’t forget it next time.
I think you’d be a great mechanic. It was always very hot seeing you covered in sweat and grease especially if you had those damned coveralls on. I mean… what? I don’t think about you like that anymore, you know. It’s over and done with and we’re just friends. We are friends, aren’t we? Maybe something more than friends, I guess. Ex lovers? Ew. I hate that word. Lovers. So gross. Well, then what are we? Just two souls swimming in a fish bowl…
Year after year. Day after day. Do you know that I put nearly a hundred thousand miles on my poor truck this year? Back and forth, up and down the country. I don’t have to tell you how exhausting it is. Fun, but exhausting. Rewarding, but not. I wonder how many people remember me after I leave? Does that family in New Haven think about me whenever they go into the basement and it’s no longer haunted? Is there a photo of me on a fridge in Wilmington where I saved that guy’s fiance from the vamp nest? Probably not. I’m sure people remember you - The Great Dean Winchester. The sexy hunter with the green eyes and the giant black car. You’re hard to forget. Also, you hang out with a giant. Tell Sam I said hi.
I do remember that puke fest! And it’s green. It’s literally neon green. Fight me.
We could probably write a book, you and me. ‘Winchester & Y/L/N Do America’. It’s a coffee table book with pictures of random diner signs and gas station bathrooms. Maybe a list of the country’s best french fry places. Shit like that. Let’s do it. I’ll call my literary agent in the morning. Ha!
SPARTA!! That’s where that damned sea glass shop was. It just hit me! Stupid brain. I swear, I’ve been hit in the head way too many times. Broken too many bones. I’m getting too old for this shit. Did you know that my left knee pops whenever I stand up now? Like, how old am I?? I can’t stand it. I need a month at a spa somewhere in the desert. That’d be nice.
Damnit. I just got a call from Vinnie Alverez. Do you know him? Hunter out of Pittsburg. Anyway- he needs help on a job. Guess I’ll cut this letter short. Hopefully I’ll find a box to drop this in on the way to PA!
Miss you.
Sincerely yours,
Y/N
P.S. - I do forgive you, Dean. Of course I do. Things were just too hard back then. Life didn’t want to cooperate for us. It’s not your fault. Not my fault. It just was. Please don’t carry that guilt in your heart. You deserve better than that.
August 2
Dear Y/N-
You’re a real character, you know that? Love the corporate letter. I’m in for the book by the way. Could be awesome. We do need a full chapter on onion rings though. Make a note.
I heard about your hunt in Pittsburgh. Came through the grapevine that you kicked some serious wolf ass. Nice job, kid. Hope you’re being careful. I know how bullheaded and impulsive you can get when you’re in the zone. Just watch your back, OK? Promise me. Last thing I wanna hear is that you got your heart clawed out or you’re walking around with a demon in your ass.
Demons. Haven’t seen so many running around lately. Queen Rowena’s been keeping them in check. So fucking weird that she’s in charge now. Not that I’m surprised- she’s a badass bitch. If I had a nickel for every ruler of hell I was friends with, I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice. The kids still say that, don’t they? See, I’m not old. I keep up with pop culture and shit. Started watching the tik toks. I still don’t get it, but I like the woodturning stuff. Thinking about taking up whittling. Maybe carve you a keychain so you stop losing them.
I got a call for a job interview. Chickened out though. I don’t know if I’m ready to start all that, ya know? Start a real life in the real world- just seems- I don’t know, scary. Yeah, I’ve faced every deadly thing on this and other worlds but the idea of getting a 9 to 5 civilian job scares me. I’m some kinda fucked up, huh?
I think about it a lot though. Getting a job, finding a little house somewhere, settling down. A little fenced in yard so Miracle can run around and dig up dirt. Might put a rocking chair on the porch and watch the clouds, some shit like that. Would you come visit me in my Barbie dream house? I’ll cook you breakfast every morning and you can rub my feet at night. Real cozy couple stuff.
OK, so maybe I’m thinking about you more and more these days. Maybe I’m regretting leaving. Maybe I’m just an idiot daydreaming about meeting you somewhere in the middle and sweeping you off your feet. One of those running hugs that hurts when you collide but ends in a kiss that makes everything feel better. I’m a real romantic fuck, huh? I was digging through my drawers yesterday and I found a pair of your socks. Those tiny ones that barely covered your ankle. I don’t know why they were stuffed in the back of the dresser, but there they were. Dingy white socks with the pink threads on the toes. I’ll bring them to the beach when we meet up.
Oh, Sam says hi and he hopes you’re good and he wants you to shoot him a text when you can. You can do what you want, but you better not mail him a letter. That’s just for me. God, my hand is cramping up. I’m not used to this. Oh, and you’re not alone. My knee creaks like a haunted house when I go up stairs now. And my right wrist pops, and my neck makes this weird almost squeaking sound, and my ass- well, I could go on, but just know you’re not alone. Kinda weird to think that we lived long enough to be this old, ain’t it? I never thought I’d live to be thirty and here I am staring down 42. Forty Fucking Two. Can you believe that shit? Goddamnit I got old. Let’s go find a nursing home together. Maybe we can get a double room- or a king sized bed?
Think about it. We could be cranky old people together. Losing our memories and shuffling around with walkers and shit. You’d look cute with white hair. And fuck, my beard’s already going gray. Should I grow out my beard?
Write back soon. I really like seeing your letters in the box.
Dean x
My dearest Dean Winchester, it is with great happiness that I write this letter to you and I do hope that it finds you well and happy and all good things and I can’t keep this formal shit up. Ha!
Anyway- but yeah, things are good. I know it’s been a while since I’ve written, but I was on a little trip around the continent. Headed up to Montreal for a bit. Killed some nasties, salted some bones, generally fucked around. My beloved truck crapped out in Burlington, Vermont, so I had to hang out there for a while and gather my resources to get a new vehicle. I think you’d like her. Green Ford Explorer from ‘94. OK, she’s not as sexy as the Impala, but she gets me where I need to go. Which, apparently, was Maine! I met up with some friends in Greenville. Cute little town full of witchcraft. So much fun. Also had a lobster roll on a pier… I swear to god, they plucked this thing right out of the water and slapped it on a buttered roll. You’d LOVE it. I’m gonna take you there someday.
Speaking of- We need to make plans for Florida. I picked up a little bikini on my travels and I think I really need to show it off. Maybe you could be my bodyguard and keep the creeps away while I’m sunbathing? To repay you for your services, I’ll gladly let you take it off me at night…
Oh, and I’ve thought about this extensively, and I believe that you should, in fact, grow your beard out. Like, full on, bushy lumberjack beard. I can’t wait to see all that gray. You know I have a thing for older men… and you’ll always be older than me, Dean Winchester and don’t you forget it!
And for your information, I don’t lose my keys anymore! I got one of those… apple taggy things. Now I know where they are at all times. Can’t find my phone to find them sometimes, but that’s another issue.
Two weeks later, I’m picking up my pen again. Sorry this is taking forever. Things are stupid busy. I wish I could just… put this fucking gun down and go live with you on a farm somewhere. Not a working farm, we wouldn’t keep pigs or anything because gross, but a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. Big white house with a giant tree in the yard and a tire swing and a picket fence and a kid chasing the dog around and -
Shit. Do you ever think about it? I do. A lot. More than I’d like to and it fucking cuts me up inside every time. I know we could never have kept it, and life- I mean- it just wasn’t meant to be. But I do think about it sometimes. Imagine if we’d just walked away from the life and tried to be a family? Impossible, I know. Maybe in another life.
Shit, I’m sorry. Fuck. Ignore me. I haven’t slept in a while and I just
I want to see you. Can we meet somewhere? Wherever you want. I’ll come to you.
~ Y/N
Dear Dean,
This is my second attempt at writing this. Crumpled up the first one because I’m an idiot. Am I an idiot? Did I piss you off with the last letter? I honestly didn’t mean to. I just- we said we’d be honest, and you’ve been so open in your letters that I thought it was ok to talk about, but I guess not. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have dug that stuff up.
I’m so tired and stressed and I miss you so much. Since we’ve been writing back and forth it’s almost like I can’t stop thinking about you. I get so fucking excited to check the mail whenever I roll back into town. It’s like… I don’t know, it’s like Christmas every time I see your handwriting in my box. Remember the time you wrote your name on my thigh in Sharpie? That stayed on for like a week. I shoulda gotten it inked on. That’d be something, huh? Branded by a Winchester.
Fuck, Dean, I really hope you’re not mad at me. I really want to call you, but we said we wouldn’t. Just write me back, please.
I’ll be in your neck of the woods next week. Got turned onto a haunting up in Abilene. Maybe we can meet on the road somewhere? Please?
Hey, did you know there’s a Hunter, Kansas? Wonder why they didn’t build the bunker there. I don’t know, made me laugh when I was looking at the map.
Anyway- Please write me back. Or call. Or text. Or send a damned pigeon with a tiny letter taped to its foot. I don’t care, how, just do it please. Even if you’re mad at me and don’t want to talk anymore, I get it. But please. Just let me know, OK?
I’m sorry.
Love, Y/N
Dear Y/N,
I didn’t know you and my brother were writing to each other like this, but I found your last few letters to him in his private P.O. Box. I didn’t even know he had one of his own, but I guess we all keep secrets from those we love. I hope you don’t mind that I read your letters. Not all of them, but the last two that came through. Please know that Dean would have responded if he could have, I know he would have. He talked about you a lot recently. Said you two were in contact and that he was hoping to find some time to meet you for a vacation. I don’t know where you guys were planning on going, but I found a new Hawiian shirt in his closet with the tags still on it.
I know we spoke on the phone after he passed, but I wanted to send this to you. I was cleaning up his stuff and found his notepad. Looks like he’d started a letter before we left for Canton. I think he’d want you to have it.
I’m closing up the Bunker soon. I don’t really know where I’ll go, but I can’t be here right now. Not without my brother.
I’ll always be around if you need anything or want to talk. I’ll always answer the phone for you, Y/N.
Be well,
Sam Winchester
Y/N/N,
If I could take it back I would. Every fucking word. I think about it now and I know we made the wrong choice. I know we could have made it work if we tried. But we are both total fuck ups who can’t be normal. We just can’t.
Forgive me
That’s dog slobber up there, not tears. Just fyi. Definitely not tears. I think I might have been a little drunk when I started writing and then well-
Anyway- Maine sounds awesome. We were there once but no time for lobster rolls. Guess I missed out.
Not much to report since the last letter. Been kinda quiet here. But… I did apply for a job. Well, I filled out the application. Well, I started filling it out. It’s actually underneath this notepad right now. I’ll get to it. I will. I just need a good kick in the ass. Or maybe a pinch… wink wink
I absolutely think we need to get together. Pick some place stupid like the World’s Largest Frying Pan or South of The Border. I’ll meet you. Just say when.
Guess this letter will take a little longer to finish. We’re leaving for Ohio in a little bit. There’s a buncha vampire dicks making a mess. Gonna take ‘em to batting practice. Show them my machete swing. I’ll give a full report when we’re back home
Dean Dean,
I made it to the beach. It’s hot, like stupid hot. Had to stand in the water just to keep my toes from burning. I’ve been sitting here for hours trying to think of something to say, but all I can say is I love you. I miss you. I wish you were here with me. I wish things had been different. I wish and wish and wish.
If I throw this into the ocean will it get to you somehow or will my words just wash away like the sand?
I’ll see you again someday. I hope so, anyway. Let’s just pretend I’m destined for Heaven. I know you’re up there. You were too good not to be. You sacrificed so much, cared so much, saved so many people. I know you made it. If there’s any mercy in this universe, I’ll be up there someday too. Just don’t have too much fun without me.
I love you, Dean. Always.
Y/N
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been thinking about the sinnohtrio lately......plus misc other stuff
also, casual ko-fi drop!! get something in this sketchy style starting at $10 woop woop
#finally decided to do a commission test run u_u#pokemon#trainer lyra#trainer kris#trainer dawn#trainer lucas#rival barry#rival silver#ayalumi#hisuian zorua#luxio#timeskip tag#rkgk#anyway it's sinnoh time !!!#still figuring out their designs and lore but this works for now#god's specialest little guys & their very normal bestfriend who they would kill/die for. up to interpretation who is killing/dying#dawn is the platinum protag who meets giratina and becomes champion#distortion world affected her way more than compared to cynthia and cyrus since she's still a developing kid. but hey cool ghost hair!#4-5 yrs later lucas gets blasted to hisui..lost his memory for the three years he's there and when arceus sends him back he's just like Man#the entire time barry is CHILLING PLAYING HAVING FUN#and forever worried abt his friends ): dawn & lucas are soo nonchalant about what happened to them it's a bit concerning to everyone else#design comments umm the only thing that matters is that they still have their og scarves 👍#and i guesss these are spring/summer outfits. winter dawn gets leggings and big coat ok. she already has too much yin energy#btw i use the cleanse tag as the direct opposition to the spell tag even tho that's probably not a real thing LOL)#oh yea barry wears the tower master ribbon 24/7. tower tycoon in training and won't shut up about it (i love him)#character dynamics i will talk abt that in another post if i feel like it... these days i just want to go replay pla aughh
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the downfall and execution of a tudor queen (2023) / the boleyns: a scandalous family (2021) / the king's pearl: henry viii and his daughter mary (2017), melita thomas / anne boleyn (tv miniseries 2021) / the mirror and the light (2024) / elizabeth (1998)
#web weaving#sort of?#i never feel like my edits really fit#they're more like collages#anyway...me on my island with the one other tudor fan that liked AB 2021 lol#'our expectations were low but holy fuck' sounds like a lot of consternation about a pretty...solid script?#what i loved most about it was moments like the above#the ability to summarize really complex dynamics borne of circumstance#in such a way that you can believe in the world and it serves as its own 'previously on' that a miniseries inherently lacks#esp when it only covers five crucial months#tl; dr there's a lot of smugness evident in many books of this genre#when it comes to anne's attitude towards her stepdaughter#bcus she was quote proven wrong unquote; becaues mary got quote the last laugh unquote...#when really. as per the quotes i've been posting#it doesn't seem like mary's reconciliation with her father was the idyll many have made it#thus we have anne's letter#and offer. knowing that others are offering her better futures#but saying this is the best future you could have. limited time only.#and it seems the future proved her right; not wrong (at least the immediate future)#bcs while matters; had she accepted; might not've been substantially better than they were under the auspices of a 'more gentle' stepmother#it also doesn't really seem like they would have been substantially worse#anne was right that her enemy's supporters wanted her disgraced and/or dead. she was right in that they wanted elizabeth disgraced#and/or dead. she couldn't have predicted what happened to herself in the exact matter it did- mainly bcus it was unprecedented#but it seems she had a pretty clear view of what mary was doing: playing both sides. attempting to ingratiate herself to her father while#also conspiring against him. and she knew it would have been better to have her on side#(and in a more jaundiced view: have her where she could watch what she was doing; who she was seeing)#but perhaps underestimated how impossible it would be to get her there in the first place#('on side' ; that is. not at court. although probably not that either. with the conditions she demanded)#but her fears of mary were not paranoia. they seem to have been grounded in realism#and a clear view of the situation at home and abroad
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finding a character that grates against your nerves and eventually thinking, well, that's not fair, you haven't done anything; why do i dislike you? and then you dwell on this for a while and discover 'oh! you are like me when i was younger' and decide well, i'll simply learn how to love the both of you. power in this.
#N posts stuff#'what are you talking about?' fuck if i know.#but also i'm talking about penny from 'the 7' -- nosy little control freak determined to find Some foothold into Every conversation#it's interesting bc sometimes when i watch i'm like 'this character is played on the Border of metagaming' but the more i think abuot it#the less it Feels like metagaming bc penny Genuinely seems Exactly like the kind of person who just Is That Determined to be#some level of involved in Every situation; 'yeah i know that show you were in' 'Yeah i was listening into this scene from a different hall'#equal parts her being a Rogue character to her core AND her borderline pathological need for control in Every situation#w/ None of the social grace needed to temper this impulse into something more broadly 'palatable' -> very autistic to me in a way#'i don't Get It but if i'm Always Right then that's good bc it's Bad to be Wrong so i just have to Know Everything so that i'm Never Wrong'#or like 'no i don't understand the Rules right but if i can just Be In Charge of the Situation at all times then i'm the one domineering#where this is going and how it unfolds; like if i'm in charge i understand That at least so i will just Always be in charge'#and sometimes this starts fights with your friends and they call you a freak for it and you're like 'hm. i don't know what's going on#but if You said it and You Get People then you must be right so. i will alter this immediately' but penny doesn't have that interaction#because her friends are just like 'yeah i love you And that batshit way of interacting with the world that you embody' and there is a#temptation of sorts to be like 'penny you HAVE to stop that; you NEED to learn that lesson please' but then like. hm. does she?#much to think about. i don't interact w/ people enough anymore for this to impact my interactions with real people lol#but it Is interesting to peel apart a fictional character and find a Younger You in there. i can change how i think about Them at least
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Poll because I watched a youtube video and am an annoying elitist
#i feel liek some books actively erase people's ability to think critically AHHSDHFHGHG#and make them have annoying opinions#polls#slightly scared about not turning reblogs off but i'll just delete the original post if it gets out of hand xD#but yeah like. i think some books are the kind where reading them isnt going to challenge you or change your views in any meaningful way#or maybe its more a matter of how you engage with them#anyway i'm aware this is a loaded question and there is cultural baggage attached to conceptualising 'bad books' etc etc#but i swear to god#reading like. fantasy smut. isnt going to make you a more intelligent thoughtful person ajhhdgjkgjghk#reading fantasy smut is still ok!!! i write that shit!!! but it's a morally neutral activity lol like watching tv#it can be fun but for me the worth of reading books is understanding the world and human condition & seeing diff perspectives & developing#critical thinking skills....#i talked to a friend abt this and she said that someone who watches documentaries for a year & doesnt read books is going to get more smort#than someone who reads 12 terrible romance books in a row hahsdhgnghgj#which i agree with#so yeah
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hate when ppl talk about touko from bloom into you like she was pressuring yuu into having feelings for her when she was literally doing the opposite? she wanted yuu to NOT have feelings for her lmao
#touko is no saint but i swear some ppl read yagakimi with their eyes closed lol#i am a little too passionate about yagakimi cause it's very important to me#like yes their dynamic is not healthy at first but the whole story is about it becoming healthy#yuu stands her ground and is like actually no touko you can't go on pretending to be your dead sister and having me as stress relief#"learn to love yourself bitch#and touko is like shocked pikachu face and then does as she's told#and in turn yuu is like wait a second why do i even care i'm not in love with her because i haven't felt this grand world shattering feeling#and she's like hold up... just because my love doesn't manifest that way doesn't mean it's not love...#actually now that i think about it i've been choosing touko time and time again from the start#love is not only about circumstance but about making that choice to be with the person you love again and again#anyway i think that yagakimi is very neat#and i think some people see it through a way more malicious lense than it was intended to be#which is fine too like interpret it however you want#i understand this view especially if you went into via someone recommending it as completely wholesome girls falling in love story#but it does bug me a little#also i like having wlw romance that is not completely saccharine#bloom into you#yagakimi#my post
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#finally got three days off from work in a row and am happy to announce ill be making a return to my true passion -- moiraine posting !#directors cut commentary in the tags obvi lol#first off if there was any god in this world the fiona apple cover of whole of the moon would be on spotify#second need it on the official record that i am intentionally misinterpreting jig of life for the purposes of this playlist!!#i know on the album its part of a series of story songs abt a woman drowning and her future self going girl u have to swim or u wont have#your future family!!!#but. what if i made it about an alternate version of moiraine being like u are never going to be able to fully escape the heterosexual#horror saw trap of ur upbringing that haunts her upon return to cairhien...is this clicking with anyone else out there....#had to throw on heat lightning and unravel for a spot of (possibly uplifting ?) romance#and also bc the tumblr user previously known as loamvessel is so right and true for saying heat lightning is a siuraine/moiraine song#anywayyy this is a playlist abt moiraine suffering returning to her home town after graduating from college and failing to kill the devil#and all the weird feelings she must have about cairhien and her place in the pattern/more self reflection on her younger years#in the aftermath of season one#with little hints about how her dynamic might be shifting with siuan as she self isolates#enjoy lol love making playlists happy summer cant wait till september etc etc#moiraine damodred#wheel of time#wot on prime#playlist
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well I just finished konya sukiyaki dayo and I am openly weeping with joy
#I question the realism of Tomoko continuing to afford that apartment on her own but if she lived further away it would be sad#bc she'd really be living alone again. Unlike this same building situation where it kinda just feels like one family in two apartments#also we never did get more focus on shinta. It's perfectly fine without it but also c'mon give my guy an episode in the spotlight#I love him#love love LOVE Yuki getting into cooking!!!!!! I hope he and Tomoko start to cook together!!!#lol I hope Aiko never really learns to cook but she's surrounded by her family who can and so never has to#when they're really busy she'll make them onigiri. I imagine it will improve slightly and be a comfort food for Miyu one day#sorry I would've written this all in the main post if I realized I was gonna go on so long. Ah well too late now in the tags it shall stay#konya sukiyaki dayo#I still wonder about my '3 bedroom house' (or now with Miyu in an ideal world 4 but 3 would work) solution...#if that would be a good idea or not
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📑 (THOUGH I UNDERSTAND if youd rather not since they haven't talked a whole lot yet)
Kalim al-Asim - oasis-makcr
Kalim al-Asim is a student at Night Raven College, which is likely a prestigious school given Kalim's personal identity and further descriptions of it. He is the heir of a founding family, which is part of the Sultanate / government. Beyond the initial contact and some reply and answer interactions, we have not interacted all that much, though the stuff I do know is interesting.
I suppose that's what happens when we throw 5+ paragraph replies at each other.
Background:
It is unclear if Night Raven College is at the Scalding Sands (where his family is located) or a different location altogether. All I know is that the college sounds prestigious, for powerful folk simply do not send their heir to a second-class place.
Just the name of a single class of their school suggests to the degree of how much their Magic has been made into a Science: "Abbreviated Spellcasting in Ancient and Modern Magic: Changes and Comparisons." Most magic from what I've read on Tunglr is taught in terms of broad topics - Abjuration, Elementalism, etc. Something hyperspecific like that suggests that there's a genuine effort to understand how magic works. It's hard to determine how advanced the coursework is using my own world's education system, given I don't know Kamil's age, but the fact Kamil was in a class called Practical Magic at the time and his friend Jamil (assuming closeness in age) is in the earlier mentioned class suggests this AHA likely is closer to an elective class of the same grade level.
The fact that magic can be fused into technology also suggests advancements in turning magic into a science. He also mentions having a laptop and batteries, so the technological level is equivalently modern-age technology - whether they have microchips or a magic equivalent is hard to tell.
Part of this development may be related to the fact that magic seems to be relatively common when compared to the presence meta-humans of my world. Assuming Kamil's family is representative of the total population, 1 in 35 is close to 3% of the population.
The presence of Blot - some sort of corrupting force - is a strange factor when it comes to the usage of magic though. The name sounds like it stems from the presence of Ink. Which makes me wonder if the whole Magic being associated with language is related to the generation of Blot as Ink is like the written word. There's little data though - I can't be drawing conclusions from the name of a classroom and a cursory explanation of magic.
Description:
Kamil sounds like a kind kid?young adult?adult. It's hard to discern his age. There is an immaturity there, but there is also a core of steel hidden underneath it. He knows that indentured servitude is wrong but doesn't have the means right now to change it - and is willing to change it when he is finally at the family's head.
I doubt the power transition will be peaceful. He's too passive. One might argue too kind. I suspect his bad time in RSA - which likely is another academy - stems from those two things. Someone was likely causing trouble for him, and he didn't respond because he seems like the type to endure things when it comes to himself.
Assuming he is as open in his world as in Tumblr (bad assumption but you never know), the troublemakers were likely smart enough not to target other people or his friends because that would be counterproductive to showing Kamil as weak - since he will likely respond - and show what a great ally you get by befriending him. He probably got moved to Night Raven College, both as a way to keep him safe and to make connections.
He is not very confident. Or at the very least unwilling to accept compliments.
Writing style overall is casual with an emphasis on conveying his emotions through writing. There are plenty of variety in punctuation marks and ellipses.
Considerations:
The consideration here is to figure out how to keep him alive during the likely shaky transition in power. Given that I am not a magical spaghetti monster that has the power to cross worlds, what I can actually offer is limited.
Given that he's in the equivalent of a boarding school, he was likely given enough money to show off his wealth but not enough to actually make proper investments.
As for advice, I feel "you're too nice" or "you need to be more suspicious of people" is rarely wanted or even useful. It won't change his inherent nature, and frankly it's an unpalatable option for me.
The best thing to do is to increase his circle of friends, whether it be from his world or from Tunglr. More friends mean more options. Just as he can make up for what they lack, they can make up for what he does, especially since there are far more ruthless people in this world than there are kind.
He is likely in a way more valuable to his friends than his friends are to him in that regard.
Kindness is just as good a weapon as cruelty; that is because most people believe in reciprocation. You show me kindness, I'll show you kindness. You show me enmity, I'll show you enmity. Showing kindness to the right person can make you a loyal ally for life; showing cruelty to the wrong person can make you an eternal enemy. Starting off with kindness first also gives one the ability to take off the psychological breaks afterwards; this is why every organization that is trying to root out traitors will offer genuine mercy first - because once that offer is declined, they can kill any traitor on the basis that they gave them a chance.
Anyway, I digress. I do believe that making friends is likely the intent of his father sending him to school in the first place.
Negotiation Considerations:
Bullying tactics honestly. Show overwhelming confidence and power with a slightly raised voice. Aggressive body language such as leaning in, bared teeth grin, etc. If my read is correct, so long as the negotiation isn't for other people and just involves him personally, he'll probably won't be able to negotiate well, heir to a merchant family aside.
Of course, I could be smacked by a hidden depths scenario, but that's the sort of thing I'll probably be able to pick up by a meet-up in person.
Anyway, if the negotiation is for other people, bullying tactics will likely backfire badly. He likely will negotiate with someone else rather than deal with someone who threatens his friends. So instead, play the part of the ally.
Logical arguments will probably be a more potent weapon on him - I suspect he may be conditioned to accept them - I doubt I'm the only one he told his aspirations to help his indentured servants too, and those people would likely beat those ideas down with their so-called logic.
Strawman arguments - mischaracterizing his arguments - takes advantage of his inherent hesitation. Bandwagon arguments will likely do the same - the whole "this has been done for x amount of time, or do you have a solution then?" - if he's not doing anything right now while feeling so strongly about his beliefs, he's likely the type who wants to have a perfect solution first.
Maybe getting a proper list of logical fallacies may help him. At least give him a better idea of when someone argues in bad faith aka not intending to win through their argument but other means.
#oasis-makcr#not visible ic#feel like she posted more about the world lol //#headcanon ;;#sato's notes //
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ok so on one level i do think tim will hold damian trying to kill him against him like. for years and years if not for EVER. i am nothing if not a believer in tim drakes ability to hold a grudge. how ever it occurred to me today that my little sister used to like. attack me, right. unprompted. she didnt have any way to deal with her feelings other than anger & violence and she couldnt take it out on my parents so it was All directed at me until she was at least 10 and even then we werent close until she hit around 13 or 14 because we (and by we i mostly mean she) learned how to compromise and also because i had started figuring out how to get my Autism Needs met and had more energy to spend on improving that relationship. anyway the point im making is that and it never occurred to me until like today how unreasonable this is but i have never actually held any instance of physical violence (and i do mean physical violence like hitting kicking biting slapping-- i used to have a habit of turning my back to her any time she seemed upset because she Would come at me and it hurt less on my back like. neither of us knew how to fight but i didnt rlly want to hurt her (i did a few times but almost always in the form of like. "oh bee pushed me down the stairs when we were younger" <- girl you were attacking me i needed you out of the room so i could melt down and u were literally attacking me. it wasnt on purpose it was the natural consequence of you attacking me) anyway ive never held the physical violence against her longer than like a few hours (been nervous sure but not mad) because like shes my little sister and i love her and that was the case even when she hated me. its something my parents did an okay job of acknowledging at the time that like any time the lamented that we didnt get along where i could hear it came with a "we know youre trying, she's the problem" (and she was to be clear. i say this with love but she was very much the problem i was the only person she ever attacked and i never hit back except to try and put space between us). anyway. the point is i do think i would react to damian wayne the exact same way dick grayson does if put in a similar situation because if my sister had had assassin training she would have done serious damage and it wouldnt have changed a thing
#my thots#like i would give the world for her. she is my number fucking one thats my girl!!!#im so proud of her at all times and i love her so much and im so glad she knows she can come to me and that we're friends now#i get rlly sappy abt my sister actually there are not words in english to describe how much i love her. shes the reason i love older#sibling characters so much because theres no other feeling in the world like the way i feel about her#anyway. she described to me in detail one time how she was going to kill me. she was three and i was five#i kicked her out of my room bc she did this after we had a minor argument abt sleeping arrangements for the sleepover we were having in my#bedroom#looking back the image of three year old sister waiting with an axe to kill me is rlly funny but it was a lot less funny at the time lol#idk how much sense this makes but i do think part of the reason i love damian and dicks dynamic so much is bc it half reminds me of her#if she was younger and our parents were more overtly shitty than#yell at us about stupid things shitty#anyway i think its an oldest sibling thing like i dont think tim would ever come around because hes not been an older sibling for that long#he hasnt developed the Instincts. but i have as dick grayson very clearly has and the Instincts say small child attacking needs therapy#and patience#this post makes no sense but im not gonna try to fix that bc i need to write a speech#loveposting
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The thing with the Mari Lwyd, though, is that it's being... I don't know, 'appropriated' is the wrong word, but certainly turned into something it isn't.
Thing is, this is a folk tradition in the Welsh language, and that's the most important aspect of it. I feel partly responsible for this, because I accidentally became a bit of an expert on the topic of the Mari Lwyd in a post that escaped Tumblr containment, and I clearly didn't stress it strongly enough there (in my defence, I wrote that post for ten likes and some attention); but this is a Welsh language tradition, conducted in Welsh, using Welsh language poetic forms that are older than the entire English language, and also a very specific sung melody (with a very specific first verse; that's Cân y Fari). It is not actually a 'rap battle'. It's not a recited poem. It is not any old rhyme scheme however you want.
It is not in English.
Given the extensive and frankly ongoing attempts by England to wipe out Welsh, and its attendant cultural traditions, the Mari is being revived across Wales as an act of linguistic-cultural defiance. She's a symbol of Welsh language culture, specifically; an icon to remind that we are a distinct people, with our own culture and traditions, and in spite of everyone and everything, we're still here. Separating her from that by removing the Welsh is, to put it mildly, wildly disrespectful.
...but it IS what I'm increasingly seeing, both online and in real world Mari Lwyd festivals. She's gained enormous pop-culture popularity in recent years, which is fantastic; but she's also been reduced from the tradition to just an aesthetic now.
So many people are talking/drawing about her as though she's a cryptid or a mythological figure, rather than the folk practice of shoving a skull on a stick and pretending to be a naughty horse for cheese and drunken larks. And I get it! It's an intriguing visual! Some of the artwork is great! But this is not what she is. She's not a Krampus equivalent for your Dark Christmas aesthetic.
I see people writing their own version of the pwnco (though never called the pwnco; almost always called some variant on 'Mari Lwyd rap battle'), and as fun as these are, they are never even written in the meter and poetic rules of Cân y Fari, much less in Welsh, and they never conclude with the promise to behave before letting the Mari into the house. The pwnco is the central part to the tradition; this is the Welsh language part, the bit that's important and matters.
Mari Lwyd festivals are increasingly just English wassail festivals with a Mari or two present. The Swansea one last weekend didn't even include a Mari trying to break into a building (insert Shrek meme); there was no pwnco at all. Even in the Chepstow ones, they didn't do actual Cân y Fari; just a couple of recited verses. Instead, the Maris are just an aesthetic, a way to make it look a bit more Welsh, without having to commit to the unfashionable inconvenience of actually including Welsh.
And I don't really know what the answers are to these. I can tell you what I'd like - I'd like art to include the Welsh somewhere, maybe incorporating the first line of Cân y Fari like this one did, to keep it connected to the actual Welsh tradition (or other Welsh, if other phrases are preferred). I'd like people who want to write their version of the pwnco to respect the actual tradition of it by using Cân y Fari's meter and rhyme scheme, finishing with the promise to behave, and actually calling it the pwnco rather than a rap battle (and preferably in Welsh, though I do understand that's not always possible lol). I'd like to see the festivals actually observe the tradition, and include a link on the booking website to an audio clip of Cân y Fari and the words to the first verse, so attendees who want to can learn it ahead of time. I don't know how feasible any of that is, of course! But that's what I'd like to see.
I don't know. This is rambly. But it's something I've been thinking about - and increasingly nettled by - for a while. There's was something so affirming and wonderful at first about seeing the Mari's climb into international recognition, but it's very much turned to dismay by now, because she's important to my endangered culture and yet that's the part that everyone apparently wants to drop for being too awkward and ruining the aesthetic. It's very frustrating.
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finally found a place to read With the Light online and i'm thrilled; if you haven't read this manga i do Legitimately recommend it
#N posts stuff#like don't get it wrong it Is Not a series about being autistic it Is a series about raising an autistic kid#but also don't be put off by that because it's legitimately a series that I feel Loves autistic people with its whole being#it's kind of a teaching manga so it showcases a lot of different opinions/characters/conflicts/etc. but the Framing is very consistent#in that the manga is Extremely of the opinion that autistic people are People who deserve to be Valued and Accepted As They Are#the onus for change is never put on autistic individuals the framing is basically Universal in the 'the World needs to change#to be more accepting' -- it's a very Social Model depiction of autism that ALSO never veers too far into the#'autism isn't even Really a disability' fallacy; it's very much a 'A lot of autistic people will need constant support in a variety of ways#throughout their lives but that isn't the roadblock preventing them from having their own lives; ableism in society is the roadblock'#the first two chapters are the hardest to get through bc they take place before Sachiko has any real understanding of autism and#so she's isolated and stressed out and the ignorance makes it difficult for her to care for Hikaru properly (there's also a lot of#other characters Blaming her for what's going on which goes unchallenged at this point though that changes later); but after she#understands what autism is she's Firmly in Hikaru's corner for the rest of the series - you can skip right to ch 3 without a problem#if you're not interested in reading about that initial conflict#there's still a Lot of conflict ofc but by then the chapters have some of my favorite moments so i don't want to advocate skipping#them; like Hikaru's daycare teacher explaining how Hikaru's difficulty speaking is the same as other kids' troubles with#things like jump-roping/etc.; and then a mother who has An Issue with Hikaru's presence in her daughter's class realizing the#depth of the problematic opinion bc Her mother (who had a stroke) faces similar ableism from her peers#i'm cutting this post off b4 the tags get Too long but if you're curious but still hesitant man. send me an ask and i will Happily#write an insanely long essay about how much i love this series; i have all the books i'm not excited about the online availability#for Me i'm excited bc i've been wanting to rec this manga for like almost a full decade and i can finally give you a link instead of#saying 'well. you can find used copies sometimes' lol
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HANAMUSA (JESSIExDELIA) MASTER POST
I probably should have started doing this forever ago but I wasn’t sure how long I was gonna stick with drawing these comics. But I guess we’re in it now! This will be continually updated~ EVERYTHING UNDER THE CUT
BEFORE YOU START:
This post is required reading about Team Rocket’s ages since that’s usually a question that comes up a lot LOL. As for Delia’s age, she is said to be 29 in Takeshi Shudo’s (original writer on Pokémon) novel that built out the world and characters of the anime.
Next, I feel like this chart helps give the vibe of what these characters relationship is (all just headcanons except for their names and ages)!
WHERE TO START:
Here’s a post I made detailing how Jessie, James and Meowth initially start living with Delia. It also goes into what each character does in this AU. Before going into the post, you might enjoy this fanfic my girlfriend commissioned! It’s based off of said post and is a more enjoyable read.
Here’s also a list of headcanons!
COMICS:
Here’s all the comics I’ve done! The order of most of them are pretty ambiguous and up in the air but I put them in the order I kinda see in my head! There are some that do take place before Jessie and Delia start dating though! Also a few comics that have several parts but the “next” and “prev” links will be in each comic. So I’ll only link the first part of those ones in this masterpost.
Pre-Relationship
Fast Food
Ophidiophobia
Whipped
Making Eyes
Hairbrush
Inquiries
Separated
First Kiss
During Relationship
Big Bed
Tattoo
Crumbs
Pet Clown
I’d Like To
Jessica
Lipstick (not a comic but some fun extra dialogue for this)
Glow
Official
Stare Down
Shovel Talk
Invisible Walls
Date Night
Face Blind
One Motto Away
Babygirl
Snowgasboard
Delia’s Got a Cold
Mr. Jessie Ketchum
Peek-At-Chu
Hands Off Pikachu!
Wine Nights with James
Beauty and the Beach
Turning Point Arc
Sunscreen
Where Do Babies Come From
Head Scritches
Love Life
Ugly
Ace Trainers
Pikasitting
Mother’s Day
Father’s Day
Gift for Delia
Gift for Jessie
Jessilina Fan
Crossdressing
Type
Hickeys
Journey Arc
Tone
Cooking Twerp
Son
Cooking Advice
Serperior Facts
Cassidy’s Cabin Arc
Father/Son Bonding
Uniform
Hand-Me-Downs
Glasses
Study Help
Happy Valentine’s Day
Wrapped
Daddy Daughter Double Battle
Splinter
Married Life
Wedding
Arbok/Weezing Reunion
Snake Eyes
MISC DRAWINGS:
I’ll update this with links to my other miscellaneous drawings later!
FAQ:
What does "Hanamusa" mean?
Hanamusa is a combination of Delia and Jessie's Japanese names, Hanako and Musashi respectively.
When does this AU take place?
It takes place sometime after the Mezase Pokémon Master/To Be a Pokémon Master series. So all the events that happened in the series, unless retconned within the series, happened. Ash is 10 at the start of the comics.
What's the status between Jessie, James, Meowth and Giovanni/Team Rocket?
Not great terms since they were fired, but also not the worst terms. Giovanni just let the three of them go without any further issues.
I will say that I've always loved the theory that Giovanni keeps Jessie specifically around because of her parentage and he as a soft spot for her that he keeps a secret. I feel like Matori was the one that got the three of them fired and Giovanni wasn't able to make an excuse for them this time (without showing nepotism/special treatment) so he was forced to let them go.
If you headcanon Delia as a lesbian, how did Ash come to be?
Delia was young when she had Ash and I hc that she just didn’t really explore her sexuality much! I myself didn’t realized I liked women until I was 18 and didn’t know I liked ONLY women until like 2 years ago. She got married, had a baby and realized after her husband left that she liked women (trans people exist obviously but I’m also interpreting Ash’s father as a cis man).
Who do you think Ash’s dad is?
I don’t know and I don’t really care to explore it. I’m going off of the novel interpretation that he’s just a deadbeat that left to be a trainer, failed and never came back because of the shame. He’s not important.
Isn’t Giovanni Ash’s dad?
That’s a common misconception that people remember wrong from the Pokémon Live show. Delia mentions she dated Giovanni but then left him and his gang after meeting Ash’s father. I also don’t consider the live show canon personally! I follow The Birth of Mewtwo timeline where Madame Boss founded Team Rocket.
Do you think Delia and Giovanni dated at least?
Nah, I think he’s too old for her? I always got the vibe from The Birth of Mewtwo that he was quite a bit older than Jessie and it’d be sus if he was dating Delia when she was married to, and had a child with her husband at 18/19. He’s a bad guy but not a BAD guy.
You mentioned you still ship Jessie and James. Why not make a Jessie, James, Delia polycule?
I have a few reasons I’ve mentioned before! 1. I’m in super deep with this AU already and I feel it’d be very confusing for casual viewers of my stuff if James was added into the relationship haha. 2. I’ve drawn Jessie and James together since 2011 and took this AU as an opportunity to try my hand at writing them as queer, platonic besties bc I love that interpretation of them a lot as well. 3. I’m not poly myself and the way I write this ship is largely based off of my experiences with my girlfriend. I just know I’d favor the Jessie/Delia of it all which isn’t fair and not a good interpretation of a poly relationship. All that said, I DO super enjoy seeing peoples’ poly headcanons and art!
Who does James end up with in this AU?
No one. He's aroace and is happy to be single
Do Jessie and James have all their Pokémon in this AU
I think they have all the Pokémon that they did by the end of Mezase Pokémon Master (all their Pokémon that were left at HQ). Most of their released Pokémon have stayed released and the Alola Pokémon are still in Alola. I bring back Arbok and Weezing post-Jessie and Delia getting married. I may bring back Chimecho, Growlie and Cacnea if I think of an idea I like!
What are Meowth and James up to in this AU?
Hop back to the top of this post under the "Where to Start" section. All your questions will be answered.
Does Ash travel with anyone at this point of his life?
I don't have anyone in particular in mind! I could see him making new friends (Nemona???) or traveling with different combinations of old friends. Like him, Misty and Goh, him, Dawn and Cilan, him, Serena and Lillie etc.
Will Delia ever get over her phobia of snake Pokémon
Not fully! I think overcoming fears is fine and good but I think real PHOBIAS are much harder to get past and I don't want to cheapen it. She slowly gets used to Jessie's Seviper specifically and gets to the point where she can pet it comfortably with Jessie in the room. But otherwise, still scared and would need that same amount of time per Pokémon
Is Jessie gaining weight or is it just me?
Not just you! Jessie puts on a bit of relationship weight overtime as you'll see in the later comics in the timeline. Jessie grew in poverty, never knowing when her next meal would be and that continued into her life as a Team Rocket member. Once she was able to settle down (with a woman who runs her own restaurant no less) she's able to live a healthier lifestyle with regular meals and puts on some weight because of that.
Does Jessie ever feel self conscious about gaining weight?
Nope! She feels happier and healthier and hotter. She's also unreasonably excited to clear out her old clothes and get a new wardrobe.
Would Jessie and Delia ever have kids together or adopt?
Nah, Ash is enough for them! I have come up with hypothetical kids for them but they're not canon to this AU. Just a fun little thing for me.
Will you ever put this on webtoon?
Nah. People mostly ask me this because they want to read everything in the order of the timeline but to my knowledge, you can’t reorder chapters or installments which would defeat the purpose. I also don’t think nintendo fan stuff would fly there. Also, also it’s just extra work and another place to upload and I want to keep this all fun for myself~
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flirting via mitski songs on insta story this is so ahlshslsi
#yesterday she mentioned her favorite version of her favorite mitski song being taken off of spotify#so today i asked what was the song again cause i wanted to listen to it and she told me it was the piano only ver of square#and she asked what’s my favorite (pink in the night!)#later on i went on insta and saw that she had posted square on her story so i of course posted pink in the night in mine#(specifically the ‘i know i’ve kissed you before but i didn’t do it right can i try again’ part for maximum effect lmao#my post#okay i know i’ve been talking way too much about her on here but i get embarassed when talking to ppl i actually know about feelings#but i still wanna throw it out there for the world so tumblr it is#plus this shit is like my diary idc#and while i do actually have a notebook that i semi use as a diary i haven't written much about her there yet cause it feels more vulnerabl#and the last time that i wanted to write about her i only had colored pens on me#so it would 100% bring attention to that specific passage if someone were to flip through my notebook and i didn't want that lol
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I’ve gotten a WAVE of asks about this AU, so I decided to flesh it out some more and answer some of those questions!
I’ll probably polish this extended summary up at some point and submit it to AO3. But for now, here’s a rundown of my thoughts–please feel free to send more questions! I’ll update this post if I get any more. But if you’re someone who wanted to write fic for it, don’t worry, you don’t need to take my headcanons as gospel. It’s a pretty basic AU honestly lol
Summary:
The portal accident results in a violent explosion that wipes out the whole block, and condemns all of Amity Park. Danny haunts the city for 100 years, before Sam and Tucker find him.
Setup:
In the 1920’s, 19-year-old Danny went into the incomplete portal on his own, hoping to help out his parents. Ripping the portal open through unnatural means created a huge burst of energy that resulted in a massive explosion. A good portion of the Amity Park population died, many were injured, and the ones on the fringes relocated–Amity was quickly deemed too dangerous due to the excess ectoplasm in the area that attracted ghosts.
While the disaster was in Amity, the fallout was seen around the globe. Before, natural portals were rare, short-lived, and rarely allowed ghosts to fully slip into our realm (the most severe cases being on par with poltergeists that most people didn’t believe in). Now, natural portals pop open frequently around the world, large enough to allow the entirety of a ghost into the physical plane. They’re more common the closer you get to Amity, but they happen enough elsewhere that this change was something of a small apocalypse before people settled back down and found out how to combat at least some of their new, permanent neighbors.
Danny is unaware that he’s only half-dead, believing he’s a full ghost. He ends up sticking around Amity, unintentionally making it his haunt. His grief and guilt over causing the death of his loved ones (and many others) makes him isolate and avoid human contact. Though he has, at times, scared nosy people away from the city in a mix of territorial instinct–and to get them to leave before a less friendly ghost finds them.
Ghosts are much more of an uncontested danger in this AU. Lesser ghosts are practically mindless, and while stronger ghosts are capable of reason, their interests are limited. They’re highly territorial, possessive, and often destructive. Most worrisome is that they also like to snack on the life force of anything alive. No one is sure what dictates a ghost’s propensity to attack or hunt the living for their life force since ghosts don’t exactly experience hunger. At least, not the way we do. If a human is rescued before their life force is fully drained, they can make a full recovery–though humanity has still not yet found what this “life force" is.
And since the Fentons’ research died along with them, there aren’t many tools available to the public to protect them from ghosts. Most homes have standard ghost shields and some weapons are available on the market, but certified ghost hunters are required to take care of anything more powerful than your average spook.
Sam and Tucker met in high school, and are now rooming together for college very close to the Amity border. Rent is surprisingly cheap when you’re a stone’s throw away from a condemned area crawling with ghosts. Sam is the one who drags Tucker along with her fascination over finding out more about the city, and its largely mysterious demise. Sam is aware of the danger, but feels ghosts have a place in this world just like everything else, and does exercise caution–like one would while foraging in the woods with a known tiger population.
What she and Tucker weren’t expecting was to run into a ghost that felt almost human. One that hasn't hurt them, not for lack of trying–while being powerful enough to walk past ghost shields without so much as a flinch. The long white hair is familiar in the whispers of the ectobiologist community, but there’s no way it could be the rumored ghost king Phantom, right?
About Danny:
He has very long hair, claws, and black sclera. His hazmat suit is more torn and ragged, with exposed hands and feet that fade into a burnt black.
His hair tends to float a lot on its own. It can start morphing into fire under duress.
He does still technically have gloves and boots, they've just charred and melted into his skin towards the ends. He can't take them off in his ghost form. His hands and feet have a leathery texture that's tougher than the rest of his skin.
The white of his hazmat suit is both supposed to look like flames, and also a battered look representing his more violent, explosive death.
Overall, he appears rather listless and sad, with an unnerving air of danger around him–even for a ghost.
Danny’s “ghost sense” comes out as white smoke.
He does breathe black smoke at times, usually when agitated.
He's already fought and defeated Pariah Dark by the time Sam and Tucker find him, technically making him the Ghost King. This is heavily speculated by ghost experts, despite there being no real proof beyond a massive battle that scarred Illinois. He has not donned the Ring or the Crown, and captured sentient ghosts are hesitant to answer questions surrounding him. Danny basically has the throne but doesn’t do anything with it, and finds it meaningless enough to routinely forget he has the title. He only fought Pariah because he knew otherwise, humanity would have perished. A lot of ghosts are scared of him because he's so hard to figure out, and he's strong.
Danny is usually very quiet and speaks softly, because his lungs were damaged in the blaze that half-killed him. He's technically healed since becoming a ghost, so it's more of a compulsion due to the traumatic memory. That, and he’s just… very forlorn and distant, shy around humans who don’t seem to understand how dangerous it is to keep hanging around him.
His memories pre-accident are extremely fuzzy. He knows the very basics of who he was, but specifics have been muffled due to trauma and isolation. He routinely forgets human habits, etiquette, etc. and tends to act more like a full ghost with some odd quirks.
He does try to scare Sam and Tucker off numerous times. Unfortunately for him, they realized they shouldn't have been able to escape a ghost that strong–but they did, because he let them.
Sam and Tucker think he's mute at first! He doesn't speak a word to them until several encounters later, when he fumbles his whole scary act and saves them from another ghost.
He’s still half-ghost, though he doesn’t figure this out until Sam and Tucker come along trying to unravel the mysteries behind the Amity catastrophe. Physically and emotionally, he’s been stuck for 100 years–so his human form is still 19. It’s unclear at this point if he can age normally like a human as long as he stays in human form, or if he’s immortal.
Danny's family did not turn into ghosts, though he sometimes worries he'll find them in the afterlife as shells of their former selves. He doesn't know if it's better or worse that he's not sure he'd recognize them.
(Danny also still has some living family. Take a guess.)
Yes, he knows how to Wail. Understandably, he very rarely uses it. You do not want to witness this.
Danny :) is not immune :) from the allure of eating a human's life force :)))
#danny phantom#au#zilly art#I just wanted to draw a boy with long hair and claws how did this happen#fire core au
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