#i plan on eventually drawing the rest of the dead ones too;v;
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More fish people that no one asked for
#sorry but i cant be stopped#its a good exercise in character design for me!#fun fact Aneirin is Heir's last living sibling#i plan on eventually drawing the rest of the dead ones too;v;#next it's time for the parents!#dnd art#dnd triton#triton#triton art#dnd character#character design#warm up sketches#my art#cornpicker art
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The Praetor
◐ PART VI of THE ALPHA ◐
◐ Series Masterlist ◐
◐ Part I ◐ Part II ◐ Part III ◐ Part IV ◐ Part V ◐
Pairing: Alpha Werewolf Jimin x Omega Reader
Rating: Hard Mature 18+ (for this installment)
Warnings: sexual content including grinding and marking, some light (and totally consensual) manhandling, ABO sexual dynamics including discussion of scenting, marking, mating, and claiming. Violence and discussion of violence relating to ritual combat, possessive behavior, injuries and discussion of injuries
Special Note: Yoonji and Yunli are NOT the same person. Yoonji is Yoongi and Yunli’s cousin. She is sometimes affectionately called “Ji-ah.”
Word Count: 5500 (wow)
Author’s Note: Life has been really hard. I won’t beat around the bush. It was hard to do anything... but your kind words and support really kept me going. Truly you guys straight up manifested this chapter with your incredible support. As always, my angels @ppersonna @xjoonchildx @untaemedqueen and @underthejoon were the best betas and the best friends anyone could ask for. My thanks to ALL of you for helping me bring this story to life!
“Alpha.”
Namjoon’s voice echoed through the clearing with profound resonance.
There would be no more fighting.
There would be no more doubt.
It was a complete surrender, the kind only a true Alpha could compel.
A frantic whimper suddenly split the air, drawing every eye to you-
But you saw only him.
“Untie me,” you pleaded, struggling impatiently against the restraints.
One of the elders moved to release you, but before she could, Jin produced a knife and cut you free with the kind of terrifying precision expected of a man who was every bit as deadly as he was beautiful.
Then you were running - and this time, no one could stop you.
Your body crashed into his and fiery joy shot through you as he pulled you into his arms.
His scent wrapped around your senses like a warm blanket, covering the fear and pain of the past days in unimaginable relief.
“Jimin.”
“I’m here. I have you,” he whispered.
Your entire frame seemed to shake as you sobbed against his chest. It was as if you could not draw close enough - could not hold tight enough - to be satisfied. Part of you was still terrified that you would wake up and discover that all of this had been a dream...
Then you heard it.
Another set of knees hitting the ground.
“Alpha.”
Then another-
“Alpha.“
And another
“Alpha.”
Till the air was filled with hundreds of voices, all speaking the same word.
“Alpha.”
Namjoon remembered very little of what happened after his surrender...
Just pain.
His limbs seemed oddly disconnected from the rest of his body. There was blood everywhere (and he was reasonably sure it was his).
He knew he should feel defeated, broken - ashamed even.
Instead he felt strangely...
Light.
As if a great weight had lifted from his shoulders.
The last thing he saw before losing consciousness entirely was Yunli’s tear-stained gaze - still fixed on him - even as the others turned to face their new Alpha.
He breathed out her name in a quiet, desperate plea as the darkness overtook him.
Jimin was only in your arms a few moments before healers and half the elder’s council came rushing forward on all sides.
You snarled instinctively at the first elder who tried to collect him, but a healer eventually got close enough to reason with you after pointing out that the wound on his shoulder could possibly become infected if left untreated for much longer.
An Alpha’s injuries always took the highest priority, but Jimin directed them all toward Namjoon, brushing away anyone who attempted to tend to him.
By that point Jin and your mother had found their way to your side and were gently trying to pull you back - even as more elders reached for your mate.
Everyone was speaking at once - words about preparations and plans and ceremonies - but none of it registered over the waves of frantic adrenaline still pounding through your system.
You didn’t know what they wanted or why they were so close-
just that they were trying to take him away again.
No.
Suddenly a senior elder placed his hand on Jimin’s forearm and your wolf snapped entirely.
Omegas were known for their speed and as a Luna, yours was unparalleled.
Two council members and a healer went flying into the dirt within the space of a single second as your body instinctively assumed a defensive stance. The remaining elders stumbled back in alarm and your mother fainted dead away forcing Jin to catch her rather inelegantly.
Your canines began to lengthen as you pressed your back to the Alpha, letting primal rage guide your movements.
They had tied you up.
Forced you to watch as he was attacked again and again and again-
An omega would defend their mate to the death and you had spent days knowing he was in danger...
Feeling powerless, feeling paralyzed-
Your wolf had simply had enough.
“Luna please-“ the chief elder began cautiously, but you cut him off with warning growl and lunged - fully prepared to end the next person who attempted to separate you from-
Strong arms closed around you, pulling you back to the comforting warmth that enveloped you moments ago.
Jimin.
“Luna,” he whispered against your skin and you shivered, letting your eyes flutter shut.
Then you felt it.
The gentle pressure of the Alpha - your mate - nosing softly at your neck.
It was a gesture of soothing affection.
Of gratitude.
Slowly he turned you in his arms till you were facing him once again. The fire in your blood began to fade as you simply took him in, struck by the sensual beauty of his face and the possessive heat in his gaze.
“So fierce,” he hummed, tilting his head so you could bury yourself in his scent once more. His hands brushed soothing circles over your back, leaving delicious sparks of pleasure in their wake.
“I’m safe,” he promised as you nuzzled into him needily. “You can rest now...”
The pleasant pull of his command wove heavily through your senses. You felt your feet leave the ground as he lifted you fully into his arms...
Then you slipped into a blissful sleep.
The healers worked for hours on Namjoon.
Some betas were blessed with minor healing abilities - a valuable gift stemming from a type of energy transference. He could feel the heat of their hands as they poured themselves - literally - into mending his battered body.
His ribs were set and wrapped tightly and the swelling and bruising were already beginning to fade due to the assortment of vile tasting herbal concoctions they insisted on ramming down his throat.
Accelerated healing and potent herbal intervention truly went a long way, but it would take time and rest to restore him fully.
Despite his lingering soreness, Namjoon was finally lucid enough to think for the first time since the fight and there was certainly a wealth of things to think about…
Yet his mind kept going back to that moment-
To her.
“Kim Namjoon.”
Every hair on his body raised to attention.
“Alpha-”
He struggled to pull himself upright, but Jimin placed a hand on his arm to still him.
“Please,” he spoke softly, “let me sit. I’ve caused you enough trouble for one day.”
A painful chuckle stuttered out of Namjoon and he shook his head.
“Shouldn’t I be the one saying that? We both know this is entirely my fault.”
Jimin’s eyes dropped in reluctant amusement..
“You think rather highly of yourself,” he said with a barely perceptible grin, echoing his words in the chief elder’s chambers a day - a lifetime - ago. “I believe I had something to do with it as well.”
Namjoon laughed and winced immediately. He rubbed gingerly over the binding on his ribs before voicing the question that had plagued him from the moment he awoke.
“How quickly?”
The Alpha tilted his head in confusion. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“How quickly,” Namjoon grunted, pulling himself to an upright position, “could you have killed me?”
There was a strange sort of acceptance in his eyes, a profound and untainted respect that Jimin was wholly unused to receiving from a man like him.
It was equal parts humbling and overwhelming.
“The first hit... a little to the left - at full force - would have fractured your sternum and penetrated your heart. You’d have been dead in a matter of minutes.”
Namjoon was silent for a long time.
“Why did you spare me? ...I challenged you, threatened you, intended to lay claim to your mate which-” he rubbed idly at the back of his neck, “I’m beginning to understand is enough to enrage any man… So why am I still here?”
“Because,” Jimin sighed, “apparently I think very highly of you too, Kim Namjoon.”
“Well… I’m flattered, but I - I still don’t understand… I’ve done nothing but underestimate you. Most wolves would have made an example of me.”
“Oh I intend to make an example of you,” Jimin smiled and Namjoon felt his blood run cold for the briefest instant, “but not in the way you’re thinking.”
The Alpha’s eyes took on a strangely solemn light. “I have no intention of ruling through fear and violence.”
After a moment, his gaze met Namjoon’s again.
“You were right… Without your challenge, the pack would never have trusted my leadership. You were the obvious choice to be Alpha and without defeating you decisively, they would always look to you as an alternative.”
Namjoon eyed his collection of injuries sardonically.
“Something tells me you won’t have that issue now.”
“And I have you to thank for that.”
“So … you spared my life in gratitude?”
“I spared your life because it was well worth sparing. You have always led your clan with honor and dignity. You don’t strike me as someone who enjoys killing, yet you were willing to do so for the good of our people. Such a man is a far better example alive than he is dead.”
Namjoon could not help but be impressed by the younger alpha’s insight and perception.
Our goddess has chosen well.
“I am grateful for your mercy, Alpha... Though I’m sure there are some who believe I should have chosen death over the disgrace of defeat.”
Jimin’s jaw clenched. .
“Defeat is not a disgrace. I have learned some of my greatest lessons from it. Defeat is often a vital stop on the path to victory.”
The elder alpha grinned.
“I wouldn’t know. This is the first time I’ve lost.”
Jimin laughed and Namjoon’s impish smile suddenly became oddly serious.
“I want you to know… You have my loyalty - without question - and not simply because you spared me. It is clear that you were meant to lead.”
A subtle hint of awe crept into his tone as he continued.
“Honestly… I’ve only ever heard stories of primal alphas. I never thought I’d meet one,” he snorted, “or be foolish enough to fight him.“
Jimin drew back in confusion.
“I’m not familiar- ...I’ve never heard of a primal alpha.”
“Really?... Well ...I suppose that makes sense. I forgot how often you skipped camp.” He sighed and shifted into a more comfortable position before answering.
“A primal alpha is goddess-blessed. They cannot be compelled. Their command is powerful enough to compel members of other packs and even non-wolves. It is a rare gift.”
Jimin’s face easily betrayed his shock.
“I-...That’s-” he shook his head. “Why do you believe I have such a gift?”
“I suppose the first hint should have been your coloring. Silver wolves are never born to mundane destinies... But the real proof is in your eyes.” Namjoon leaned back against the headboard, quietly reliving the moment he discovered the depth of Jimin’s ability. “When you commanded me to yield, your eyes flashed gold. It’s the true sign of a primal alpha... of a king.”
King.
The word fell heavily between them.
A human king was a politician, a figurehead whose power became more symbolic as the ages passed.
But to the wolf nations, a king - an Alpha - was the heart of their pack. A warrior who bore the burden of leadership alongside his Luna.
The power of a wolf king was quite real.
The Alpha shifted uncomfortably
“I never thought I would be a king.”
“And I never thought I wouldn’t be.” His eyes dropped to his hands. “I’m not quite sure what I am anymore.”
“Perhaps I can help with that.”
Namjoon’s gaze met his with cautious curiosity.
“Oh?”
“You said yourself I skipped Alpha camp every year. I may have been destined to lead, but I won’t pretend that I’m completely prepared for it.”
All at once Namjoon realized why Jimin was there.
The transfer of power was a long and intricate process that should remain essentially uninterrupted until its completion.
There could only be one reason the Alpha had come to his bedside.
He was here to appoint his Praetor.
A Praetor wielded nearly as much authority as the Alpha. In terms of pack hierarchy, only the Alpha outranked him (or her). The commitment required was immense. Their role encompassed everything from ‘chief advisor’ to ‘the last line of defense.’
Praetor were expected to cut all obligations to their own clan and serve only the Alpha. They were an extension of his authority and vision. It was a lifetime appointment which could be extremely dangerous (depending on the number of territorial disputes one’s pack might be involved in).
If anything were to happen to the Alpha, a Praetor would assume the responsibility of protecting the Luna and ruling by her side (without any romantic obligations as Praetor often had their own mates) until their death.
“What about Taehyung?”
Jimin shrugged.
“What about him? I assure you, he has no interest in this at all.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Besides, he serves me well as a best friend... A Praetor must be willing to disagree with me from time to time without worrying too much about my feelings. They must be in tune with the needs of the pack. Kim Taehyung is a good man… but he isn’t the right one. Not for this.”
The elder alpha considered his next words carefully.
“What you’re asking is no small request.”
“True,” Jimin nodded, “but how about this…” he grinned mischievously, “I promise to put in a good word for you with Min Yoongi when he finds out what you’ve done to his little sister.”
“I haven’t done anything to his little sister.”
“Yet.”
Namjoon cleared his throat guiltily.
“You realize this means we’ll have to talk every single day.”
“It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make for the good of the pack.”
Namjoon laughed and Jimin smiled back, more sure than ever that he was making the right choice.
After a moment the Alpha held out his hand in an age old ceremonial gesture and finally voiced the question he had come to ask.
“Kim Namjoon, will you forsake your place in the clan of your blood to serve your Alpha and your pack as Praetor. Will you protect my blood as your own and fight by my side till the paths of our lives be complete?
Namjoon’s gaze locked with his as their palms met, letting the force of his resolve color each word.
“I swear it shall be so.”
It was well past noon when you stumbled from your bedroom to find Jin spread luxuriously over your kitchen island, popping berries into his mouth like a debauched satyr.
“I feel very odd…” you yawned, “almost like I-”
“Attacked half the elders council in a fit of horny rage?”
Your jaw dropped.
“I did no such thing!” A few choice memories began to flood back and your staunch defensive tirade stuttered in shock. “Wait...Did I-”
“You did.”
“I wouldn’t call it horny rage,” you muttered, massaging your temples as you struggled to process your own actions.
“I don’t know, the whole thing looked very horny to me.”
“Everything looks horny to you.”
Jin grinned but didn’t bother denying it.
“What do you remember?”
“I remember…” you pulled a water bottle from the fridge and took a long drink before answering,”...Jimin’s victory... People kept trying to take him away and then-”
Heat streaked across the back of your neck as you recalled the press of his lips on your skin.
“Oh...”
You shivered deliciously.
Jin sighed. “Yes, you were quite the spectacle. Who knows how many throats you would have ripped out if the Alpha had not intervened.”
“Oh goddess,” you moaned, burying your face in your hands. “He probably thinks I’m a lunatic.”
Jin rolled his eyes.
“I wonder if there is a celestial punishment for smacking the Luna upside the head.”
“Punishable by death - for sure,” you pouted, “and why would you even want to do that?”
“Because you’re an idiot. The man risked his life for you in ritual combat and then carried you home in his arms all the way from the sacred circle like a fairy tale princess.”
“He... he did?”
Your cousin nodded and tossed another berry in his mouth.
“The whole scene was so disgustingly romantic. I would have swooned if I wasn’t left to haul your mother back. Honestly I think I threw out my back.”
“And - and the pack?”
“They were free to swoon since they weren’t carrying your mother and most of them did. The man has become a bit of a legend already. Namjoon is one of the strongest alphas in the mountain kingdoms and Park Jimin dispatched him like it was nothing.” He paused to dab berry juice off his absurdly full lips. “I’d be surprised if every pack for a hundred miles hasn’t heard about it by now.”
“How is Namjoon?”
“Alive. He will make a full recovery.”
You sighed in relief. Truly, you had no desire to mate with the Kim alpha, but (despite the grumbling of your bloodthirsty wolf) you never wanted him dead.
Not to mention the loss of Namjoon would have cast a heavy shade over Jimin’s leadership. He was wise to spare him.
“Where is he? I want to see him.”
“Namjoon is with the healers-”
“Kim Seokjin,” you bopped him with your now empty water bottle. “I am obviously not talking about Namjoon. Where is my mate?!”
“Calm down, cousin. You’re getting that throat-rippy gleam in your eye again and I’m far too beautiful to go out like that.”
He reached for another berry.
“I need to see him.”
You were already marching toward the door when Jin yanked you back. It was always a surprise to see how fast he could move when he wanted to.
“My dear sweet Luna, you have one murderous rampage and forget all about our tedious traditions. The elders will be drowning him in the preparations and expectations of leadership for at least another ten hours.”
None of Jin’s sensible reminders mattered the least bit to your wolf. She was already suggesting all sorts of reasons you should just march into the council chambers and take him.
Park Jimin was yours.
You’ve waited long enough.
Your hand tightened on the doorknob.
“He left something for you.”
Kim Seokjin really was a wickedly clever man. He knew exactly which cards to play and exactly when to play them.
Your heart stuttered wildly in your chest as Jin nodded toward a small box on the table.
“He sent Taehyung to drop it off not long after the elders dragged him away from your bedside.”
If you had even an ounce of dignity left, you might have been embarrassed by how quickly you scrambled over to the gift, but you were well past caring about such things when it came to him.
Your cousin shook his head as you eagerly tore into the wrapping, impatient to discover what he could have possibly-
You gasped.
There, laying nestled in an ornate wooden box with a lavish blue satin interior, was the most beautiful pair of gloves you had ever seen…
Your fingers reached out to brush the soft white leather, custom stitched with intricately embroidered vines that wound around a beautiful silver wolf.
“They’re exquisite.”
Jim’s brow furrowed in confusion.
“They’re not just exquisite, they’re one of a kind.” His fingers traced over the emblem on the box. “This is the mark of the Bangtan Leatherworkers Guild. Every one of their pieces is unique.”
Your head tilted curiously as Jin began to lift back the satin lining.
“What are you doing?”
“You can only buy their merchandise directly from the shop in Seoul. There’s no way he could have gotten these today.”
“R...Really?”
Jin nodded.
“I’m about to find out for sure. Each piece produced by the guild comes with a certification. It includes the date of manufacture and the date of sale.”
After a moment he withdrew a small card embossed with gold writing.
“Well... what does it say?” you pressed impatiently.
An odd little smile drifted across Jin’s lips as he considered the information in his hands.
“These gloves were sold to Park Jimin three years ago... a few days before your 17th birthday.”
Min Yunli slept for most of the day after Taehyung brought her home.
The Alpha ordered his second to secure her and see to her safety not long after lifting the Luna into his arms.
In the end, Tae had to compel her again.
She fought to stay near Namjoon, but he needed medical attention and there was no real reason to allow her any access to the fallen alpha.
She had no claim on him.
She was nothing to him.
Nothing at all.
When she finally opened her eyes the sun was already dipping low on the horizon and the world around her was dim.
Aching emptiness sat heavily in her chest. The Change was another six days away which meant the connection between her consciousness and her wolf was not fully solidified… but she could still feel acidic pain of rejection festering in both halves of her heart.
Tears fell silently down her cheek as she considered her actions and what the consequences might be.
Namjoon probably hated her now. She had ruined everything for him.
An angry growl rumbled up from her stomach.
Yunli snorted humorously and shrugged off her dirty clothes, throwing on an oversized t-shirt before trudging out to the refrigerator.
Of all the problems she was facing, hunger was the easiest to fix.
“Do you normally walk around without pants?”
She just barely bit back a scream.
There - sitting on her couch (and looking significantly better than he had the last time she’d seen him) - was Kim Namjoon.
“How did you get in here?!” Yunli squeaked.
Namjoon held up a key.
“Yoongi gave it to me years ago.”
Though I doubt he intended for me to use it like this.
Her fists clenched and unclenched reflexively at her side.
“Have you… come to yell at me?” she whispered.
Namjoon didn’t respond right away, he was too distracted by the shapely curve of her legs and the soft glow of her skin under the warmth of the living room lamps.
Yunli, however, took his silence as confirmation of her worst fears.
“I’m so sorry...” she trembled, her beautiful eyes glistening poetically with unshed tears. “I don’t - I don’t know what came over me - I know I cost you the fight and I-”
Namjoon felt a chuckle bubble up in chest and winced.
“Yunli...your screams, however affecting, could not undo the will of the goddess.” He shook his head, “Park Jimin was born to be the Alpha.” His fingers rubbed idly at his chest. “I’ve never come across anything like his power.”
Her eyes traced over the damage to his body with obvious remorse.
“Are you ok?” she asked finally.
He had four cracked ribs, several critical lacerations, a concussion, two sprained elbows, countless contusions, and a split lip.
“Ah, it’s nothing,” he shrugged, barely suppressing a groan.
Yunli grinned, helplessly endeared as always. She opened her mouth to ask again why he was here, but he cut her off with a surprisingly curt question.
“Has Taehyung seen you like this?”
Yunli blinked. Twice.
“T-Taehyung? Like Kim Taehyung - your cousin?”
“Second cousin,” he growled, “I was told he brought you home.”
“Well. Yes. He did… I’m really grateful to him actually. I don’t know what would have happened if he hadn’t caught me and calmed me down.”
A loud ringing was building in Namjoon’s ears.
“Do you have an understanding with him?” he snarled.
Yunli’s jaw dropped.
“An understanding? With Yoonji’s Taehyung?!” She snorted. “I don’t have a death wish.”
“What’s Yoonji got to do with this? Isn’t she in Europe?”
“Never mind that. Why would you think Tae and I-”
“Tae?!”
Yunli’s eyes narrowed.
“What’s going on in that busted up skull of yours, Kim Namjoon?”
Namjoon was off the couch and pressing her against the wall faster than she would have thought possible in his condition.
“What’s going on is that for the past year you’ve been a real problem for me, Min Yunli.”
Yunli gasped as the muscled lines of his body weighed firmly into her own. Deep curls of pleasure flared up at every contact point.
Yes. Oh goddess, yes.
The force of his desire burned hot in the air between them. She had waited years for him to see her like this - to touch her like this...
“I wasn’t supposed to feel anything when you looked at me with your heart in those pretty brown eyes,” he murmured, brushing the tips of his fingers up over her arms till he was cupping her chin.
Yunli’s wolf keened in delight as she melted helplessly into his embrace.
It felt good. It felt so so good.
“I was convinced you were a challenge - a divine temptation put in my path to test my resolve-” his jaw clenched, “or simply an endless source of torment because you wanted me so badly and I could never have you.”
The sound of ripping fabric split the air as Namjoon clawed through the neckline of her t-shirt, baring her pert little breasts to him like an obscene feast.
“I was supposed to want the Luna,” he growled, squeezing the soft mounds roughly in his palms till she was whining and writhing against him, “-not Min Yoongi’s sweet little sister.”
Her gaze was so open - so trusting. Adoration shone through every inch of her regard and it was intoxicating.
She was intoxicating.
His hand slid down to grip her thighs, lifting her body till she was forced to wrap her legs around him for balance.
“Namjoon,” she whimpered as the sensitive folds of her core ground into his growing hardness.
“You just kept pushing and pushing-” he hissed, punctuating each word with delicious thrusts till the maddening pressure in her center was nearly unbearable. “Then last night you offered me a taste and it nearly destroyed me.”
His mouth finally descended on hers again and she opened to him eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck with wanton desperation. A tortured groan slipped past his lips as he dragged her away from the wall and onto the sofa where she first discovered him.
“Is this what you wanted, Min Yunli?” he rasped between the fervent mating of their mouths. “To make me desperate? To take me apart until I’m half-mad with wanting you?”
“Yes,” she sobbed as he sucked mark after mark into her flesh, painting her body with the evidence of his passion.
She slipped her hands greedily under his shirt, aching to feel more of his skin against her own. Needy whines and moans fell from her mouth like a siren’s call, beckoning Namjoon to lose himself in the lush warmth of her body.
“If Kim Taehyung puts his greasy hands on you again, I’ll kill him.”
Yunli mewled in primal gratification at his bold words. She had waited far too long to hear them.
“All those months I suffered because my wolf recognized what I was too ignorant to see.”
The last shreds of her shirt flew across the room and Namjoon pinned her wrists above her head like a pagan offering, allowing his free hand to explore her curves with impassioned reverence.
“You are mine, Yunli,” he swore.
And she was.
She always had been.
Following Jimin’s victory, the pack exploded into a chaotic storm of gossip and ceremonial preparations. The story of his unlikely path to power had already spread beyond the borders of the mountain kingdoms.
“-messages are coming in from the high packs of Delhi and Beijing requesting to meet with him-“
The rise of new pack leaders typically brought with it a buzz of excitement, but the Luna and her newly victorious Alpha were anything but typical.
“-he’s a silver wolf. I always knew he was meant for more than just heading up the Park clan-“
The last Alpha king (the current Luna’s great-grandfather) died peacefully in his sleep nearly thirty years ago and the elder’s council ruled in the interim while they waited for a new Alpha to rise. This was the first (and likely the only) coronation most people would see in their lifetime.
“ - my friend from Seoul is begging me to invite her. Outsiders aren’t allowed to attend unless they’re the guest of a pack member- “
Preparations to transfer power were every bit as tedious and time consuming as the rest of pack law.
“-the council just announced that he’s chosen a Praetor. I’m sure it will be Taehyung-“
Aside from sneaking out to secure his Praetor (who was not Taehyung), the new Alpha had been holed up with the council, the heads of the ten major clans, and an army of envoys from other packs for nearly twelve hours.
“ -grandfather worked with him all day. He claims that the future king has already impressed the council-”
Park Jimin’s name echoed through the mountain kingdoms. People could speak of nothing else.
But there was one member of the pack who had not yet heard the news...
Yoongi took a deep breath as he waited for the woman on the other end of the line to accept his call. He was mentally and physically exhausted, but he had promised to tell her what happened as soon as he could.
Silence lingered eerily in the first few moments after she picked up.
“I really debated answering this,” Min Yoonji whispered at last. “I don’t know if I can bear to hear you say that Park Jimin is dead.”
She sighed heavily as she ambled down the stairs of her tiny apartment in Paris.
There were too many happy memories connected with him. He was Tae’s best friend... His loss would tear her former lover apart.
And she could not be there for him when it did.
She could never be there for him...
Several thousand miles away her cousin smiled.
“Park Jimin is not dead, Ji-ah.”
Yoonji missed the last step and crashed down inelegantly on her tail bone.
“WHAT?!” Her fingers scrambled to hold the phone secure in her precarious position. “You mean to tell me that Kim Namjoon lost - to PARK JIMIN?!”
“You sure picked a wild time to move to Europe,” Yoongi chuckled.
“I didn’t really move here per se... I just relocated temporarily but indefinitely.”
“Yes, I’m well aware. Your mother is still howling about what a disgrace it was to go through the Change away from your friends and family. So thank you for that.”
Yoonji sighed.
“What’s done is done... I know you don’t understand, but I promise to explain someday.” Her eyes drifted shut as she forced the pain in her heart aside. “... I can’t believe I missed all this. You have to tell me how he did it.”
“I will later, but I need to head back to the council chambers. We had a brief recess and I figured I’d call since it’s still early over there. However… I do have one last shocking revelation for you before I go.”
Yoonji rolled her eyes at her cousin’s dramatics.
“I’m not sure anything could shock me after finding out that Park Jimin is our new Alpha.”
“Jimin just made Namjoon his Praetor.”
Apparently I was wrong.
“WHAT!? So wait - that means Jinwook is now head of the Kim Clan?”
Yoongi’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“Jinwook? No, how could - ah never mind. You were already in Europe when he left.”
“Jinwook left?!”
“Yeah, he was finishing up a consultation in Bangkok when he met his mate in one of the packs up there. It's an older pack with almost no alphas so they asked him to stay. He’s lived in Thailand since August.” Yoongi yawned. “Believe it or not Kim Taehyung was just sworn in as the Kim Clan alpha.”
Dead silence met his declaration. For a moment he wondered if the call had been disconnected but then-
“...What... did you just say?”
Yoonji’s voice had taken on a strange hollow quality that had her cousin frowning into the receiver.
“I said Taehyung was just sworn in as a Clan alpha.”
“That... no that can’t be right... You’re saying Kim Taehyung - my Taehyung-”
“What do you mean your Taehyung?!”
“- is a Clan alpha?”
“Yoonji. I can’t believe I’m repeating this a third time. Yes. Tae is the new head of the Kim Clan. I watched him take the oath twenty minutes ago and I have to say-”
A heart wrenching sob cut him off abruptly.
“Oh goddess what have I done,” she gasped.
Yoongi’s eyes widened in fear and alarm.
“Ji-ah? What’s wrong?... Ji-ah?... Ji-ah?!”
But the line was dead.
Don’t Miss Chapter VII: The Luna… Coming Soon!
If you would like to be added to the taglist, please comment on this post. If you have already asked then you will be automatically tagged in all future updates.
Guys I cannot emphasize enough how much your support has meant to me these last few weeks.
Your comments and your love kept me going. I truly value it so much and it fuels my creativity. Please let me know what you thought? It is incredibly rewarding and motivating to hear from you!
I really struggled with this update. It was much longer and took a lot out of me... I hope you love the final product as much as I do…
Bonus: The gloves Jimin sent his Luna...
#park jimin#jimin#bts#jimin smut#jimin scenario#jimin imagine#ficswithluv#bts imagines#bts smut#park jimin smut#kwritersworldnet#networkbangtan#bangtanhq#bagtanidx#heartsforbts#btswriterscollective#magicshopnet#the alpha#jimin x reader#jimin abo#abo
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Fix’er Upper Pt. 8
Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader
Warnings: none?
Length: 2.1k
Notes: I’m sorry, Cyn, I know I said there would be smut but I was just enjoying the slow burn too much. And I just feel like these two NEED this. Not me nervous to write about his p in her v, nooope. Also, I’m wine drunk and did not spell check this bitch, have fun with that. Divider by @firefly-graphics
Series MASTERLIST
The day of the fair had finally arrived and you woke with more than a little excitement churning in your stomach. Multiple meetings at the community center had given you a chance to meet more of the town's population and you'd gained a deeper appreciation for them. Small towns afforded very few entertainments, which had resulted in some of the older kids, driven by boredom, getting into trouble. Minor things like graffiti and trespassing, but the community knew if they weren't careful that things could escalate. So, instead of making the kids feel judged or harshly reprimanded, the town was working towards better programs and facilities to keep them busy.
It was an unseasonably beautiful Autumn day, the kind that carried memories of Summer on the warm breeze. Knowing that cold and snow were just around the corner, these "second summers" made people act a little more recklessly and freely than they usually might. You had a feeling that the crowds tonight were going to be bigger and rowdier than anyone could have hoped for.
Jacquie had stopped by later to offer you a ride to town but you had just sent your baking with her, insisting that you wanted to enjoy the sunshine and bicycle in.
Once you'd entered the main square you were blown away by the effort from the town. Banners, balloons, streamers, and posters were everywhere. A stage for musical acts and a ticket booth had been built and donated by Hank's Hardware, food carts selling anything and everything you could deep-fry were scattered down every road. Carnival games had been set up in rows down multiple, closed-off, streets, as well as people setting up face-painting, balloon animals, and a smaller version of the Saturday Farmer's Market. The high school football field had even been converted to a tiny amusement park with a Ferris Wheel, carousel, and swing ride.
It was still early, and there was still a lot to do before the fair would be open, but the excitement was already palpable. After making sure your pies had been marked down for the auction, you beelined for the water gun race game that you and a lovely woman named Heather had been assigned to operate.
Too preoccupied with making sure you had the water tanks filled, the pumps were working, and your ticket box was in place you didn't notice how some of the other volunteers were acting strangely, making sidelong glances and meaningful head nods.
Nothing seemed amiss once Heather had joined you. In fact, you were getting along with her so well the two of you had already made plans to meet for coffee the next day.
Soon, the fair was in full swing. The games booths were a popular stop with families and you were having the time of your life cheering for every child who tried their hand at your game.
Eventually, there was a natural lull in the festivities as fair-goers drifted from the games towards the food and live entertainment. You were just suggesting making a quick snack run when Heather's phone rang.
"Sorry, one sec, it's my husband," she grimaced, holding her finger up to stop you from leaving.
In a bid to give her a modicum of privacy, you tallied up the tickets and bunched them into coils for easier counting later. Heather's normally calm voice rose in pitch and urgency, drawing your attention back to her in time to see a look of alarm and annoyance cross her face.
"What do you mean, burned? Like, burned burned? There's smoke?! Oh, honey, what on earth..." she paused, listening to her husband's voice some more, giving you an eye roll that clearly said 'Men. They're hopeless' and interrupted whatever he had been saying. "Alright, alright. It's slowing down here so I can run home."
Putting her phone back in her purse, Heather turned to you with a huff. "He's burnt dinner, and it sounds like my skillet is toast, too. I'm sorry to do this to you but I need to run to the store and bring dinner home. I've got the only car, so they're stuck."
Assuring her you could manage on your own, you shooed her away and told her to take her time.
Walking backward to wave goodbye, Heather kept spouting numerous apologies and promising she'd make it up to you on your coffee date. Giving one last smile she spun around and immediately ran into old Mrs. Crawley who was being escorted by no other than a very bored and trapped-looking Frankie Morales.
"Oh! Mrs. Crawley! So sorry!" She began, steadying the white-haired octogenarian, "I'm being called home, ditching my post, gotta run, bye!" With that, she was gone, weaving her way through the crowd of people.
Mrs. Crawley had glanced over at you when Heather had mentioned having to leave and was currently shuffling her way towards you, Frankie in tow.
"Frankie, be a dear and help this beautiful lady out while Heather is away."
It wasn't a question but you still felt the need to speak up, giving Frankie an out if he wanted it.
"I can manage-"
"But what about your-"
You'd both spoken at the same time and stopped mid-way through to let the other go first. Mrs. Crawley broke the silence instead.
"My hip is feeling much better, and I think I'll just make my way over to the bandstand," she gave Frankie a meaningful look accompanied by a rather sharper-than-expected slap to his cheek, "alone."
You both watched her walk over to the stage, stopping to wave at Jacquie and Agnes where they were organizing the bake sale.
"What on earth is going on," you thought to yourself while staring daggers at Jacquie from across the street. This had zero effect on her, she was just sending you lewd winks and had the audacity to give Mrs. Crawley a thumbs up. That conniving little-
"Emmmm... hi."
His voice, sounding uncertain and shy, brought your attention back to Frankie. Taking a moment to soak in his presence, you noticed how worn down he looked. "Good," thought the petty part of your brain, but she was easily squashed by the rest of it appreciating the rest of him.
Tight jeans hugging his thighs, the buttons on his shirt working overtime where the material pulled across his back and chest, his hair was long and getting shaggy but when you saw the curls peeking out from under his baseball cap you had to fight the sudden urge to run your fingers through it.
Your eyes traveled up his neck, noting the way his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, and across his face. He'd trimmed his beard, filthy thoughts of how it would feel on your skin flashed in your head.
Finally meeting his eyes with your own, you had to take a breath before replying.
"It's nice to see you, Frankie." Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, drawing his gaze "I guess we should talk-"
You were cut short by rowdy laughter and a crowd of people bustling onto the street, another wave of ticket-holders were coming to try their luck and win the huge teddy bear prize each game boasted.
For the next hour, you were kept too busy to talk more than what was necessary for running the booth. You used the time to gather your thoughts and make a list of what you wanted to say, how you wanted to say it, and how you were going to start the conversation casually.
Frankie wasn't sure how he had ended up as Mrs. Crawley's crutch. One minute he was dropping off a crate of fruit for the apple bobbing contest and the next he was walking at a snail's pace listening to the old woman reminiscing about her long-dead husband.
She was sweet, and he didn't mind the slow meander around the square. No, it was the subject matter that had bugged him. After his divorce was finalized and his daughter was taken from him, which he could see now was the right thing to do at the time, Frankie had accepted the fact that he was alone.
Just him, his trees, and the memories of what he did to end up this way.
Then, you had come along. The first woman to catch his attention in five damn years. It wasn't just your beauty, or your easy smile, or the curves of your body. It was your goodness, your innocence, your ability to worm your way into everyone's hearts and not even know it.
Listening to Mrs. Crawley and the love she had shared made his chest ache, knowing he'd never deserve it himself he still found himself longing for the same. The first moment he had laid eyes on you, it was like a movie about his life had played in flashes in his mind. The meet-cute at the market, romancing you with thoughtful dates like picnics and driving up to the city’s museums and theatre. Getting married, growing the business, then growing your family. It had all played out in a split second but the impression it had left was immeasurable.
Then, he'd opened his mouth and ruined the moment. Crashed into your truck and ruined the moment. Spooked and burned you, ruining the moment. Gained your trust, broke down your walls, and then left like a coward in the morning and ruined it.
Shaken by his inward reflecting when Mrs. Crawley was jostled, Frankie froze in place once his eyes were directed to where you stood. You were glaring over his shoulder and refusing to meet his eyes, understandably, yet he still felt his chest contract with the hope you'd look at him and smile.
The way your gaze had eventually taken him in, once he'd been abandoned by a suddenly spry-looking elder, had flared that longing back into a roaring flame. The sudden need to work the booth gave him plenty of time to plan his speech: begging for forgiveness and admitting to the way he felt. While his mind was busy planning his speech, his heart was bursting at how comfortably and effortlessly the two of you worked with each other, like you’d been doing it for years.
Heather returned, strolling over with a barely concealed smile on her face, not looking at all like she'd just come back from a domestic emergency. This whole town could win an Oscar for their performance tonight, it was mildly humiliating but you knew they were acting out of love.
She thanked Frankie profusely for standing in for her and wouldn't take no for an answer after suggesting the two of you go and enjoy yourselves for a bit. Glancing at Frankie you shrugged your shoulders and made a face that said "why not?". He smiled and nodded back, grabbing your bag and slinging it over his shoulder before joining you on the bustling street.
You walked in comfortable silence for a while, relishing just being near each other and absorbing the jubilant energy surrounding you.
Frankie bought you cotton candy and you made him belly laugh when you showed him the few bottles of cider you'd smuggled in your bag. Seeing the way his face lit up, how he exposed that delicious neck when he threw his head back, hearing the joyous rumble from deep within, sent a realization slamming into you so suddenly it made you stumble.
You loved him.
You might not be in love with him, not yet anyway, but there was a lightness and a warmth in your heart and he had put it there.
Frankie had grabbed your arm when you had stumbled and when you didn't pull away from his touch, his hand slid down your arm and his fingers wove their way through yours.
Walking like this, hand in hand, you found yourselves at the rides.
"I've never been on a Ferris Wheel," he admits to you, craning his head upwards to stare at the top carriage.
Dragging your eyes away from his neck, again, it took your brain a moment to acknowledge what he’d said. "What?!" You expressed with mock horror, already making your way toward the ride’s gate, "Then let's remedy that!"
"I'm- uh this is stupid," he was barely moving with you and adjusted his hat, a nervous tick you'd noticed, "I'm scared of heights."
This admission stopped you in your tracks.
"Frankie." You deadpanned, gripping his hand and pulling on it to emphasize your words, "You're. A. Pilot."
He groaned and you were sure you could see a blush creeping up from beneath his collar, "I know! I know. It's just that, up there?" He stops with a sigh, gazing at the stars wistfully, "I'm in control. I trust myself."
"Do you trust me?" You ask him softly gripping his hand between the both of yours.
Frankie gazed at your face for a breath, not in a way that made you think he was hesitating, it was more like he was pausing so you knew the full weight of his words.
"I trust you with everything."
PART NINE
TAGS: If you’d like to be added, send me an ask or a message! If you’re on the list please interact, I love getting your feedback, hearing your predictions, and all the “these two idiots!” comments
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#Frankie Morales x you#Frankie Morales x F!Reader#Frankie Morales x Reader#Francisco Morales x you#Francisco Morales x F!Reader#Francisco Morales x reader#Frankie catfish morales x reader#frankie catfish morales x you#Francisco catfish morales x you#francisco catfish morales x reader#fix'er upper
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THE HEIR'S CURSE (Part II/?)
Request: I have this idea of the reader being a princess and having to marry fili cuz hes the heir and she likes him but she ends up falling for his brother? Maybe with some angst? You can choose the end 😆
Pairing: Fíli x Reader, eventually Kíli x Reader
Genre: angst w/ fluffy moments
Tags:
Requested by: @crispykittywitch
The heir's curse: ———
Permanent taglist: @queenofmankind @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog
Warnings:
A/N: this is a mess at so many levels but hey I did proofreading this time, so enjoy a not-so-badly written part <3
Part I
Rogue-durin-16 masterlist
"Princess Y/n and prince Fíli!" A thunderous voice announced as Fíli and I stepped into the enormous halls with all eyes on us.
"Don't stop until we reach the dining table." The golden haired dwarf subtly muttered, strolling through the crowd with my hand holding onto his forearm.
"I wasn't planning on it." I replied, presenting a smile to the dwarven kin of Erebor and occasionally bowing. "Honestly," once in our destination, we spotted Kíli, who joyfully waved at us, and sat down by his side, "I don't see how we'll be able to leave."
"I'll think about something." Right after he assured me that, I felt a tap on my shoulder and, given that Fíli spun his head, I figured his attention was requested too. "Ma'am."
"Mother." We said these words simultaneously.
"My dears, you forgot about the opening dance." Fíli and I shared an equally horrified look. "Given that you are the center of the celebration, the tradition requires you to—"
"We did not forget, ma'am." He spared her a polite smile before continuing, "but I'm in fact a terrible dancer and–"
"A liar, that's what you are." Though the blond one had his back facing his brother, I was sure Kíli could feel the murderous energy he triggered in his brother. "He's a great dancer," his brown eyes traveled from me to my mother and viceversa, his grin growing wider at my horrified look. "he's just shy sometimes," to take the tease to a whole other level, he nudged his brother's back way stronger than necessary. "right Fí?"
Before the older prince attempted to murder his own brother in front of his future mother-in-law, I jolted up and pulled his hand, dragging him to the improvised dancehall.
I spun around to stand face-to-face with him, which made my dress's skirt fly, drawing a beautiful fan around my legs before abruptly coming to a stop. "Tell me you're actually a good dancer." I begged in low voice.
"Well–" Before he could let out another word, the music started playing.
Oh boy, was he a good dancer.
I barely had to move by myself, he did all the work; spinning me, sweeping me off my feet, guiding my feet and leading me by my hands, and I was sure he was making it look finesse and effortless.
At some point the melody changed to something more lighthearted and less regal, and we started to actually have fun while we danced. We laughed, exaggerated the moves, made faces; we even intentionally bumped each other attempting to make the other lose their balance.
The latter resulted on me tripping and Fíli's arms steadying me against his chest with a smug smile that turned into a chuckle when I smacked his chest.
The party began to be enjoyable, and since I didn't know how long would that last, I was resolved to make the best of it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
FÍLI'S P. O. V.
I finally managed to get rid of the nosy dwarves that had been interrogating me for the last ten minutes and made my way to my intended, who I found sat across the hall, by the table which was basically deserted aside from a couple of blackout drunk dwarves.
Seeing them made me realize how long the party had gone on already —probably around half a day, maybe more.
"I'm so sorry." I halfheartedly apologized to a very tired-looking Y/n, who vaguely dismissed me with a shake of her head. "I really hoped I would have you out of here by now."
"It's alright." She gave me a small smile whilst getting up and grasped both my hands, taking a look around us. "Plus, it was expected that your uncle and my mother would have us stay for as long as possible."
"At least they could let us be together." I grumbled, looking over my shoulders to make sure no one attempted to disturb our brief break. "Since the dance I barely spent three minutes with you."
"Royal duties suck." She whispered under her breath, only loud enough for my ears to caught on it. "Do you think it's their way to stop us from fleeing the celebration?"
"Could be." Both of our eyes were directed to our previously mentioned relatives and arrangers of the union, who were now chatting. "It's a good strategy."
"I hate that it's actually working." letting go of one of her hands to stroke my mustache whilst trying to find a way to escape the party. "Where did your mind go now?" Just when I was about to reply, her eyes fixed on something behind me, or rather someone. "Oh shit."
I peeked over my shoulder to see Balin approaching us side by side with one of Y/n's direct relatives. "C'mon now..."
"I think the break is over." Her eyes didn't leave the now expected intruders, nor did mine.
"Y/n!" She put up her best smile once more and let go of my hand to walk towards them. "let me introduce you to my cousin Balin."
"I didn't have the chance to congratulate you, lass." I heard the old dwarf's words getting lost in the loud noise of the crowded halls as I walked away in search of Kíli.
KÍLI'S P. O. V.
I made a beeline to Y/n practically jogging and, in the blink of an eye, I had her hand in mine and was pulling her away from the people and out of the halls. I heard her little squeal of surprise followed by Balin yelling my name, but I didn't stop until we were far enough from the entrance to avoid the guests' eyes.
"Did you just steal me away?" She rhetorically inquired, looking at me quite puzzled as I checked no one came after us. "Not that I'm complaining, but what was that?"
"Fíli begged me to drag you out of the party."
"You took it to the T." She teased with her arms folded over her chest.
"It worked, didn't it?" She silently agreed and I beamed proudly. "I'm your hero, huh?"
Y/n snorted. "Am I not the one supposed to say that?"
"I did it so you didn't have to." I extended my arm in a way that was prompting Y/n to walk into another corridor. "I'm going to escort you to your chambers, to make sure you don't fall asleep on your way there."
She gave me an eye roll followed by a breathy laugh, and we began our late night trip to her room. I hadn't told her we were taking the long way, but I figured she would catch on that by herself since Fíli had given her a tour a day before.
We were halfway through, walking in silence after some chitchat and bickering, when I detected a restrained yawn through my side view. "In a scale of one to ten, how tired are you?" I questioned.
"A ten and a half maybe?" She half smiled and I couldn't help but chuckle. "Dwarven celebrations exhaust me."
"They exhaust anyone who's not drinking." I pointed out, having my eyes wander around, stopping on anything and everything in our walk, but on her . "Fíli is not a fan either, but he knows this one was necessary."
"Is it, though?" She inquired with her brows raised and her face slightly turned to stare at me.
"Well, I suppose it is. it's your welcoming to Erebor," I obliged myself to look at her, just for an instant, and then averting my gaze once more as I said my next words. "And it's also meant to celebrate that my brother would soon join you in marriage."
"Ugh, please," she leaned her head back, spitting a mix of a groan and a whine up to the air "do not remind me of that."
"Why?" I stopped dead in my tracks, and caused her to do so, too. "Are you displeased with my brother?"
"No!" her eyes widened as she vehemently shook her head no. "Not at all, he's caring, good at heart and fun to be around," she walked to the outer side of the terrace we had been walking through and rested her elbows on the edge. "but things feel rushed and... Rather forced."
"If it's because of the party," I followed her steps and installed myself besides her, "It doesn't mean much, feel no pressure." Now the tables had turned; my eyes observed her form and hers were focused on what was before us. "If you ever wish to break the arrangement, it will be done, Fíli would say so too."
Her lips pursed into a thin line "I always thought that when I married, it would be for love and not for my Kingdom." I then looked down wondering what should I say to her. "I may sound selfish but... That should be my sister's duty. She's the heiress, for better or worse, and I'm just—"
My mouth moved before I could think my words. "A younger sister who wasn't supposed to carry the weight of a union?"
Silence.
"At least he's handsome." we both shared a look before snorting at the comment. "I think I like him, but I don't love him, and I can't tell if I ever will." She opened her mouth like a fish out of water "Mahal, can you imagine how that'd be?"
I heard the fear in her last sentences, even if she hadn't explicitly stated that she dreaded the mere idea of not being able to love her husband-to-be.
"You'll come to love him." I tried to reassure her.
"You think so?"
"I know so."
"I hope you're right." Another yawn escaped her lips, making her eyes squint. "I'm really tired, so I will leave you now."
"Do you know how to reach your chambers?" She nodded and so did I, in response. "Sleep well, my lady."
"Don't call me that."
"Alright, my princess." she glared at me and a mischievous grin twitched the corners of my lips, my brows wiggling at her in a taunting manner.
"That didn't sound as smooth as you think." My gesture eased her gaze and triggered a small smile out of amusement. "You're so cheeky."
"That's what ladies love about me." A wink directed at Y/n accompanied my sentence, though my eyes soon drifted away from hers to lose in the vastness of the landscape once more.
What a pity that it wasn't as mesmerizing as the princess besides me.
"Thank you for the walk, Kíli." she got a grip on my forearm and planted a slow, careful, chaste kiss on my cheek.
Despite being merely a platonic gesture, I felt my heart speeding up.
My first instinct was to spin my head and try to capture her lips. Due to my quicktemper, I almost couldn't stop myself, but I succeeded just when our lips were mere inches apart.
Her grip tightened and her eyes went from my eyes, to my lips, and back.
"Goodnight, Kíli." she murmured under her breath, slowly loosening the grip and letting her hand fall down my arm, stopping to ghost over my fingers, but quickly retrieving.
I stood there alone for a moment, and I found myself lightly caressing the cheek Y/n had placed a kiss on with my fingertips.
My heart sped up again.
#kili fluff#kili oneshot#kili fanfiction#kili fanfic#kili durin#kili imagine#kili x reader fic#kili x dwarf reader#kili smut#fili x reader angst#fili and kili angst#fili x reader#fili x reader smut#fili imagine#fili x dwarf reader#fili oneshot#the hobbit request#thorin son of thráin#kili x hobbit reader fanfic#the hobbit fanfic
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by the still of your hand
the wench and the witcher
“by the still of your hand”
Fandom: The Witcher (2019)
Paring: Geralt of Rivia x Fem!POC Reader.
Summary: You’re overworked and copping an attitude about it. Geralt forces you to relax.
Warnings: NSFW/18+ Only - spanking, dirty talk, super-mild humiliation, Geralt goes stern-but-soft!Dom, P-in-V intercourse.
A/N: There was that one time our girl basically dared Geralt to spank her, so I figured I would be remiss not to expand upon that. You’re welcome 😉. Title and lyrics below the cut taken from Hozier’s “No Plan”.
@coconutxraikage - @kingniazx - @onyour-right - @ly–canthrope - @kianya-loves - @c-s-stars - @gczanetti1 - @pantrashtic - @alwaysnatz - @agniavateira - @witchernonsense - @owillofthewisps
Why would you make out of words a cage for your own bird?
When it sings so sweet
The screaming, heaving fuckery of the world?
“You forget to eat again?”
“Didn’t forget,” you mutter. “Just didn’t have time.”
The noise of people and clattering dishes goes dull with the sound of the door closing. You can feel the sharp energy of Geralt’s stare from the threshold. It’s difficult to shake, but you do your best, scowling down into your invoices in the hope that he might give up and let you be. Of course, you know better; the bastard’s got you beat in terms of stubbornness. Nonetheless, you continue to try and ignore the looming presence at your study door.
“What do you want from the kitchen?” Geralt asks in that way that’s not really a question. More of a, ‘this is happening, you need to make peace with it.’
It grates at you. He’s right, and you’re hungry – and fucking tired – but you mutter back, “M’fine.”
“You at least want to take a break?”
“I’m fine.”
“Horseshit,” the Witcher rumbles. “You were up at dawn and no one’s seen you since. You need to – “
“No,” you snap. “No, what I need to do is finish this fucking order so we can continue to feed people this week. I need to make sure this moon-brained girl I hired isn’t going to drive away half my patrons, and I need people to leave me the fuck alone so I can fucking-well work.”
The truly deafening silence that follows should have been your first warning. You scowl back into your book and don’t notice Geralt’s approach until it’s too late. The quill is tossed from your hand and then the Witcher’s fingers grip the roots of your hair to tug – your snarl of protest breaks off into a gasp. It’s a shock. Like touching a metal pan in the dead of winter, the buzz snaps over your skin, makes the breath stall in your throat.
“What you need, sweetheart,” Geralt tells you lowly. “Is to watch that mouth of yours. And take a fucking break.”
He’s not threatening you, not really. His tone is almost matter-of-fact, but the straightforward authority that he speaks with makes your corset feel too tight. You’re hardly able to cock your head to look at him with the grip he keeps on you, though you try anyway; the glare on your face loses some of its bite with the breathiness of your voice when you reply, “I’m not done yet.”
“I say you are.”
“Give me the quill.”
The Witcher drops the quill on the floor. His grip on your hair tightens – you hiss, but it’s definitely not pain. “You don’t listen very well, do you sweetheart?” he mutters.
“I don’t – “
Geralt gives you a light shake, as though you were a disobedient pup. “What did you say?”
There’s a knot tightening itself in your low belly. It’s heavy, and hot, and it beats in time to the rapid pulse of your heart. “No,” you tell him dryly. “I don’t listen.”
“Need someone to make you?”
“Mmmhm.”
Your moaned consent gets you a dark chuckle for your trouble. Geralt guides you to your feet with his fingers still tangled in the scruff of your neck, kicking your chair to the side and out of his way. He pushes you forward until your cheek rests on the open pages of your ledger. The rustle of fabric precedes the rush of cool air over the backs of your legs as your skirts are rucked up to expose you to the Witcher’s inspection. There’s a tug, and then the soft slide of your underthings being guided down your legs. You feel warm all over, prickling with pins and needles – the sensation makes you squirm.
Geralt’s voice is all heat and thunder behind you. “Told you you’d end up over this desk eventually,” he growls. “Hold on to the edge, sweetheart. Good girl. We’ll call it an even ten, hm?”
His palm cracks over the softness of your backside. The sharp sting punches a yelp from your throat and you immediately clap one hand over your mouth. Your other hand grips the edge of the desk so hard your knuckles crack. A second smack has you gasping behind your palm. Your face goes hot, like you’e stood too close to the kitchen fires.
Three.
Four.
Blows five and six strike in quick succession, one to each cheek, and you whimper, rocking up onto your toes. You hear a low, filthy chuckle behind you. You hiss when Geralt palms the smarting skin of your ass – his callouses scratch, but the dull pain stokes the heat in your belly, throbs to mingle with the slick ache between your legs.
The grip on your hair tugs; you moan into your hand and the Witcher growls. “Fuck, I can smell you, sweetheart,” he mumbles. “Spread your legs for me. There’s a good girl…”
Strike number seven comes when you don’t move fast enough for him. The sensation hums through you, makes you whine into your palm and then Geralt’s fingers glide through the slippery mess between your legs. He spreads the slick of you over your swollen cunt, paying special, delicate attention to your clit. Your whole body is flushed, somewhere between embarrassment and base desire; the pressure of his fingertips over your clit is enough to make your hips rock, but the bastard draws away at each shallow movement.
“Oh, sweet girl,” Geralt croons to you. “You should see how wet you are – all pretty and ripe…”
The flat of the Witcher’s hand strikes once over your soaking cunt and you set your teeth into the meat of your hand to muffle your cry. You shake, riding the knife’s edge of an orgasm that Geralt refuses to grant you; he simple rests his palm over the slick heat of you, fingertips barely feathering over the throb of your clit. A desperate kind of sound edges its way up from your throat, a ragged, broken thing that makes the mutant behind you rumble appreciatively.
“Fuck, I love that noise. Such a needy thing, aren’t you?” Smack!
Nine – the small of your back arches as you moan. Geralt re-grips the hand in your hair and you follow his guidance until you’re standing with the Witcher pressed tight to your back. His trousers chaff against your sore backside, though the smooth buttons press little spots of cold into your stinging skin. He gently pulls your grip away from your mouth, and your interlaced fingers spread out on the polished wood; his breath is hot against the side of your neck when he murmurs, “You want to come, sweetheart?”
You bite your lip against a moan, which isn’t enough of an answer – Geralt gives up his hold on your hair and his palm strikes over your ass for the last time as he snarls, “Answer me. Tell me what you want.”
“Wannacome,” you gasp in a rush. “Fuck me - gods, want you to fuck me.”
He moans low and hot on your skin. “Fuck, I love when you beg me for it.”
There’s movement behind you, the soft sound of buttons sliding free, and then Geralt is thick and hard against your slipper-wet folds. He ruts against you, slow and dirty, sending licks of fire darting over your skin; it’s enough to make you grit your teeth and whine. The Witcher shushes you softly, his voice a low, sweet murmur against the hinge of your jaw. One big hand slides over your mouth before he shifts, bending his knees to change his angle and split you open around his heavy cock.
You keen into his palm.
It’s chaos under you skin. Sparks and fire, a rushing current that chases its way up your spine and spreads glorious sensation through your fingers and toes. You clench around the intrusion and feel him groan into your hair, “Fuck, you feel so good. So fucking good, sweetheart, always take me so well.”
Geralt thrusts up into you with firm, even strokes. The wet of your cunt flutters and pulses around him, and you gasp with each push. He mouths at your shoulder where it’s bared over the wide neck of your blouse, bites a bruise into the side of your neck. You grunt low into his hand and your legs shake with the effort of keeping you upright; the Witcher’s arm grips over your middle to steady. He stretches you open, makes you tremble and whimper each time he bottoms out. Slick drips around where you’re joined, smearing over your inner thighs and the heavy base of his cock.
You brace against the surface of the desk with shaking arms. The hand over your mouth pulls back into your hair again, turning you towards him so he can crush his mouth over yours. He laps each broken whimper from the depths of your mouth and keeps you still when he pulls back to stare. He’s a vision of hedonism – lips kiss-swollen and pink, golden eyes hooded in lust. The sight alone is enough to make you flex hard around his cock as you mewl.
“Geralt – “
“That’s it, sweetheart – come on, give it to me –“
It’s a sudden flash of a climax; you clench your teeth around a cry when you come at his urging. Your cunt pulses hotly around him. Geralt presses his face against your neck and you hear him murmuring to you, gripping you close while you tremble.
The rhythm of his thrusts goes rough, desperate, and your fingernails scrape the smooth surface of the desk. He huffs out a deep, low moan into your shoulder. His cock pulses, throbs inside of you, and Geralt pushes forward so deep that you see stars all over again. He fills you, his cum mixing with the rush of your arousal until you feel it begin to trickle down the back of your thigh. You shudder, moaning your way through a laugh as Geralt traces his nose up the line of your neck. He gives you one last, lovely shudder when he slides free before setting you both to rights. Still pressed to your back, you feel his satisfied rumble; his teeth catch your earlobe and tug.
“You ready to behave?” he mutters.
“Not likely,” you hum. “You’re just encouraging bad behavior at this point.”
“Hmm. Noted.”
The world turns, then tips; you find yourself unceremoniously hoisted over one of the Witcher’s massive shoulders. He has no compunction about marching you out the door and into the mostly full tavern, ignoring your sputtering protests on his way up the stairs. The wolf-whistles and general ribbing make you flush hot, but then you catch Lucja’s eye from behind the bar, and the round-eyed blonde has the nerve to grin. It’s an expression that is far too knowing to be just a taunt.
You’re not sure if you want to throttle her or thank her.
You’ll have to decide in the morning.
#geralt x you#geralt of rivia x you#the witcher netflix#geralt of rivia#the witcher fanfiction#reader insert#geralt x woc reader#geralt x poc! reader#fanfiction#fanfic#the wench and the witcher#tutu scribbles
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forever rain | knj | m
Being dead isn't anything exciting. Just a lot of walking the same halls of the same apartment day after day after day. Things change when the new tennant arrives, though. Kim Namjoon isn't anything you could have expected; not the way he's so careful and gentle with his plants because he breaks so many other things, not the way his friends joke that he's psychic because you refuse to let him get in the face one time, and certainly not the way he comes home after literal months spent moving things away from table edges for him and announces that he knows he's being haunted and he has some questions for you. You didn't know ghosts could fall in love, but he makes you feel alive again, like you're standing in the rain while thunder crashes around you. You should've known nothing good would come of falling in love with someone living, though. You should've known that heartbreak was the only way this could end...that the rain doesn't last forever.
part of the Love Yourself Collab, please please please go check out the other fics. Everyone involved is so freaking talented and I have been vibrating out of my skin with how excited I’ve been to read all of these.
pairing | kim namjoon x reader (unspecified gender, even!)
word count | 18.8k | cross posted to ao3
genre/warnings | ghost!reader, slight fluff, hard angst, literally the most angst ever it gets fluffy for a bit but litERALLY this is an angst fic, major character death, unprotected sex (idk what the etiquette for ghost sex is but you should still wrap it before you tap it fam), depictions of terminal illness (v mild), mentions of blood (several, but not graphic), major character death, allusions to violence, namjoon is a klutz whats new, depictions of terminal illness, major character death, i added that tag three times pls dont read this if you aren’t comf with mcd bc i literally tagged it three times so y’all would definitely see it, also probably have some tissues ready bc i cried while writing it so
a/n | this is, to date, the saddest thing i have ever written in my entire fucking life. formal apologies to this joon bc oh my god you poor soul. i’m not kidding when i say you might cry, because i’m a big baby wuss and cried while writing the fucking outline when i first decided to write this for the collab so like......rip my own heart. i was really honored when i was approached about the LYA collab, bc like,,,,,mE? WHAT? and i was really nervous because i’ve never been part of any collabs in any fandom ever, and to have to do something like forever rain and mono as a whole justice, like,,,,,,, *screaming* y’know?? so i went on mono lockdown and just had the whole thing on repeat and was like “alright. what emotions does this make me feel.” and i eventually settled on the loneliness and isolation that he expresses, and feeling like no one understands what you’re going through, but that ultimately the album as a whole and forever rain give off this feeling of like. things get better, you’re not as alone as you feel, and you just gotta get through the bad stuff to find the good stuff. basically i just got really in my feels about it and was like ‘lets make myself cry ahahaha’ and,,,i dID i cried several times while planning and writing and editing bc im a Soft Bitch and don’t read much angst for that exact reason lmao. so buckle tf up y’all, this a helluva ride!!
Of all the things you'd heard about death, all the different possibilities that existed in the world, the one thing you hadn't been prepared for was the boredom. You hadn't been prepared for any of it, really, too surprised by your own demise to plan at all, but even if you'd been able to, you don't think that this is what you would've counted on. An eternity - or however long ghosts existed - of being stuck in the same studio apartment you'd lived in when you died. The same walls, the same floor, the same view out the only window of the alley beside the building. It's boring and lonely and boring.
You've found more creative ways to entertain yourself as time passes. First, you started by figuring out just what being a ghost meant. You can't really communicate with anyone, haven't figured out how to make sure everything you say is heard, but you can manipulate objects pretty easily these days. The most difficult thing is becoming fully corporeal - completely visible and able to interact with things at the same time. It's hard enough to be visible, and you aren't really sure what the point of it would be when it would just scare whoever's living in your apartment; that's the last thing you want to do, run them off when they're the best source of amusement you've found.
You won't lie, you were a little offended when the first tenants moved in after you. It was difficult to watch your things get packed up and moved out by your friends, hard to lose all of the little things you loved in your apartment, like the shitty bead curtain you'd gotten as a gag gift or the photo collage of all of your loved ones. It's frustrating to not know how they're all doing these days; the one time you got brave enough to fuck with a laptop to check on them, you nearly broke the thing, and you haven't tried since. Still, it seemed cathartic for them to clear out your apartment, and it was a bittersweet sight, but you tried to focus on the positive side of it.
And then the couple moved in.
Not only did they fuck like rabbits - which is something you're going to stay pissed about, because there's no satisfaction to be had by you anymore, and it's the one thing you can think of that would be endlessly entertaining - but the couple was also grossly obnoxious. They had zero respect for your apartment , or you, and while one could argue that they didn't actually know you were there, it still made the sting of losing your entire life that much worse. You spent you don't know how many nights hovering awkwardly in the bathroom while they fucked, would constantly wander in to see them going at it on the kitchen counter at ass o'clock in the morning, and once you came in to see them tossing actual literal eggs at the ceiling like the absolute fucking weirdos they were.
So, naturally, you got a little mad. How dare they treat your apartment like that? They had no respect, but they were going to learn it real quick if they were going to live there with you, whether they wanted to or not.
They didn't last long after the first night of slamming cabinets and squealing hinges, but the thrown picture frame of their family was the conclusive end to their stay.
There have been others, since then. They haven't all been terrible, not like that first couple, but most of them have been sub-par roommates, and if you decided early on that if the rest of your immortal life is going to be locked in one shitty apartment with the absolute worst view in the city - because no one wants to see the drunken hookups and potential body dumps that take place in that alley - then you're at least going to share said apartment with someone nice to exist with.
You release a heavy sigh, staring at where your hand disappears through the shower wall. You've taken to testing the boundaries of the apartment again; you already know what the result will be, learned in the first few hours that you're stuck here, but you can't help trying when you get really bored. You just got distracted fucking around with the pipes in the meantime, because you're literally too bored to even focus. It's part of why you miss the last tenants so much, because you weren't ever really bored with them around.
A single mother and her two kids, crammed into a much-too-small apartment because it was all they could afford, and they were the light of your un-life. One a budding teenager that wrote angsty poetry who loved your trick of making things float around, and one an adorable toddler who adored playing peekaboo with you and coloring, and a mom that was too busy to notice anything out of the ordinary. It was like having a family again, made you feel useful when you could pull the meat out of the freezer for her to make dinner with or scratch a quick 'do your homework' on a steamy bathroom mirror. It was fun and it made being dead that much more bearable.
You really should've known that letting the toddler draw the two of you would be a bad idea, especially since there were several artistic liberties taken. It's not your fault the kid thought you'd look cool with fangs and bloody holes instead of eyes and claws that reached the floor. It was art, it was supposed to be a little different from reality. Still, you can't blame her for seeing the picture of her kid and 'my new best friend' and immediately calling the landlord. And a priest.
So, perhaps you gave the apartment a bit of a reputation. Maybe it's been a couple of months since the mom moved out and took your two buds with her. There might be the possibility that you've been the slightest bit salty about losing your friends and you've been extra-ghost-y whenever someone comes by to view the place in an attempt to make yourself feel a little better. Can you really be blamed for that? You just want a decent damn roommate for your life after death, and if that means putting the potentials through a little bit of a test, then so be it. You only feel a little bit bad for the landlord.
The creak of the front door pulls you from your thoughts, and the echo of a voice makes you narrow your eyes. Your first instinct is to slam some windows to scare off whoever's in your apartment, but you repress the urge. You'd die of boredom if you could die again, and whoever this is could provide a few hours' entertainment at the least.
You pop your head through the bathroom wall to see what's going on, and wow , who let an actual giant into your apartment? Fucking with the pipes could definitely wait for this guy.
"I know it's last minute, yeah," He says into the phone that's held carefully between his cheek and shoulder. His arms are loaded down with boxes and he's angled away from you just enough that you can't see his face, but he's tall and broad and wearing what looks like the world's comfiest sweater, and you want to badly to wrap yourself up in him. "But you know Joon needs the help. Don't pretend you aren't constantly willing to put off your thesis, I know for a fact that you went out to look at stationery with Tae last week, and everyone knows that's the most boring thing on the planet."
He's quiet, listening to the soft crackle of a voice from the other end. You slide through the wall completely, hovering as close as you dare to try and hear what the other person is saying. Tall, Broad, and Comfy scoffs.
"He can stare at one sheet of paper for at least ten minutes, Yoongi. Do I need to remind you of the time he spent an entire fucking hour debating which set of holiday scrapbook to buy because, and I quote, 'this one has the really nice rose pattern on it that would look great with the invitations, but, oh, look at the pinstripes in this one!'" His voice morphs into what you guess is an approximation of whoever Tae is, and you laugh at the high-pitched, nasally tone.
Tall and Broad spins, eyes narrowing as he looks around the room, and fuck , he's literally gorgeous. You've never seen someone more attractive in your life or your death and it would probably knock the wind out of you if you actually had breath. Comfy McGorgeous turns back around and sets the stack of boxes in the corner, continuing his tirade about Tae and stationery while simultaneously trying to talk Yoongi into coming, you assume, to help Joon move. You don't know who any of these people are, but they're already proving to be the most entertaining bunch that's ever graced these walls.
The door to your apartment flies open, making both you and Boyfriend Material whip your head around.
"Christ, Jin, you couldn't hold the fucking door open for us?" Someone grunts. Beauty Von Softness - or, Jin, as you should probably refer to him - winces and strides over to do just that as two more guys stagger in with a couch suspended between them. The second they're in the door they drop it to the ground and flop onto it, panting and sweaty.
"Listen, I was busy trying to get our resident hermit out of his cave to help us carry some of this shit," Jin spits back. "And you all know what it's like getting him out and about."
"Did you tell him that there's pizza after we're done? Because I've found that food is the best motivator for him," the guy closest to the door says. His hair is soft-looking and long and you wish you could pet it.
The other guy, the one who cursed Jin out and has the softest pink hair you've ever seen, laughs. "Jeongguk, you always think the best motivator is food."
"Well, yeah, because it is."
"For you, maybe. Other people require actual rewards."
"But food is a reward," Jeongguk mutters into the fabric of the couch. Jin tsks and smacks As Yet Unnamed on the back of the head.
"You're lucky I hung up on him when you bombarded your way into this place, or he'd definitely not come help us," Jin says as he leans against the back of the couch.
Unnamed starts to say something else but is cut off by someone running straight into the end of the couch. They all shoot to their feet, spouting apologies as the three of them maneuver the couch into the apartment properly.
"Sorry, sorry, Jimin distracted us from properly finishing our job," Jeongguk says quickly. He looks to the stranger with a small apologetic smile, and you're pretty sure if it were humanly possible, there would be actual literal stars in his eyes.
"Oh, it's okay, Jeonggukkie. I should've been looking where I was going." New Challenger walks straight towards where you stand, and you realize seconds before it's too late that he is not aware there is a massive stack of boxes in his path. Instinctively, you shove them to the side with your foot. Tall And Oblivious sets his boxes down without any trouble, none the wiser about any of it, and the three near the couch are too busy bickering in hushed whispers to have noticed you doing anything.
The newcomer straightens and turns to look at them all with a bright smile, and you think you might actually see The Light in the way his cheeks dimple. If you thought the other three were beautiful - which they are, no doubt about that, you're seriously wondering why the hell a bunch of supermodels are moving stuff into your apartment - then this guy is easily an Actual Fucking God or something. His brown hair is soft and shiny, his smile is warmer than the sun, and you're fairly positive that for the first time since you died, you feel goosebumps along your arms.
"Seriously, Namjoon, we should've realized you'd be up soon. You stay, start unpacking while we go get the rest of the furniture." Jimin shoves Jeongguk out the door while he's speaking, ignoring the taller's complaints, and Jin just shakes his head at the sight.
"Yoongi'll be here soon, he's finishing up another draft of his thesis. Hobi and Tae are stopping to get the pizzas and then they'll be here, too." Jin's voice is calmer than it was Jimin and Jeongguk, more soothing, and it makes you curious. Not only because of the tone change, but because you know Hobi, he owns the building and is the one who rented you the apartment when you first moved in. One of your favorite things to do is scare him when he comes by to make sure everything’s ready for a viewing.
"What? No, I said I was gonna pay for pizzas!" Namjoon looks distinctly more upset about this than someone should over not having to pay for pizza, at least in your mind, and it only makes you more curious.
"Yeah, but you also just moved out of your old apartment because it was too expensive, and had like an hour to load everything into a truck, so you're gonna let their trust fund asses pay for pizzas. We're seven adult men, and Guk could eat an entire horse and still be hungry. I'm not letting you pay for that."
Silence hangs in the apartment for a while before Namjoon gives a soft thanks to Jin. They share a smile before Jin makes his way back out. You follow each step, shadowing him all the way to the door before you're stopped. You lean your entire body forward, struggling against the invisible barrier keeping you inside, and the force of it nearly slams you back into the wall when you sag in defeat.
You aren't sure why you try anymore, but you know yourself well enough to admit that you're not going to stop until you can at least make it to the hallway.
Whatever you expected Namjoon to be like as a roommate, however unknowing he is about the situation, you don't think you could've guessed what he's actually like.
Out of the seven boys you saw the day he moved in, he's the only one living there. Not a complete surprise, considering it's a studio apartment, but you remember when there were nine people living there at one point, and there was barely room for anyone to breathe even if it had been pretty consistently amusing. Still, for one person, he's got a ton of stuff, and it's a shock it all fits. His bed is massive and comfortable and the best place to lay during the day because it's shoved between the brick half-wall and the large windows that take up one wall. The area's supposed to be for a dining table, you think, but you'd had your bed there, too, and the familiarity is nice.
His couch is small and old but manages to fit five of them, and it's a pleasantly jarring difference from the coffee table that looks like - and might actually be - an old steamer trunk. The exposed brick wall you love holds his mounted TV, a feat that took Jeongguk and Yoongi a solid hour and a half because they kept stripping the screws, and it's got one of those 8-cubicle bookshelf things under it that stores a frankly obnoxious amount of books.
He's got mugs for days, an adorable if odd collection of figurines and mini-statues scattered around the apartment, a strange obsession with some reclaimed wood shelf he's got hanging above his bed, but the absolute highlight of it all is The Wall.
It took them three hours to get it installed and set up the way he wanted, between the placements and the thick wooden shelf they’re perched on with supports and a small safety bar along the edge to keep them from falling off, but along the entire windowed wall and partway after it turns the corner runs a long shelf absolutely covered in plants. There are some elsewhere, like the one he keeps hanging from the bathroom ceiling and the couple in the kitchen, but most are on The Wall. Each one is in its own special pot, each a unique color with a name painted carefully along it, and most of them look half-dead. They're all distinct and unique from each other and they all surely have different needs and ideal conditions, but you'd never guess because Namjoon is so wholly committed to them all. He takes time every day to water them and prune them if he needs to, he checks on them constantly. He even reinforced the safety bar for the ones that sit beside his bed, so there was less chance he'd accidentally knock them around while sleeping.
It's fascinating, watching him tend to them. He's so careful and gentle, with absolute precision in every moment. He cares for his plants the way some people would care for a pet or a child. He doesn’t believe any of them are past caring for, slowly nurses all of them back to health and frequently turns up with more he’s saved from some department store. The most endearing thing, though, you decide as you sit curled among the haphazard blankets of his bed and watch, is the talking. It's every day, for as long as it takes him to care for the plants, and it's the cutest thing in the world. He's talking to some succulent as you just stare at him, filling the comfortable silence of the apartment with his soft, soothing voice, and you wish he could hear you when you talk back to him.
"I know they mean well, but at some point, I've just gotta live my own life, y'know? I can't study something just because everyone expects me to, and I can't pursue some dream just because people think I'd be good at it. I've gotta do what's right for me, don't I?" His tone is positive and bright, a contrast to the gloomy sky that casts shadows across the apartment.
You float over, hovering beside him to look at the plant he's lovingly stroking with his thumb. It's in a pretty periwinkle pot, with the name 'Mang' painted in careful but shaky black handwriting. It's not your favorite - that's the one in the bathroom that hangs over its light blue bowl, a quickly scrawled 'Koya' on the bottom - but it seems to be one of Namjoon's personal favorites based on how often he talks to it specifically.
"I think it's nice you do things for yourself," You tell him. He doesn't react, unable to hear you, but it's nice to hear your own voice after so long. You slide one of the plants - Chim, in a small yellow bowl - to the side and away from his elbow, and he doesn't notice. "You know yourself better than they do. You should trust yourself."
He keeps mumbling to Mang, something about everyone following their own dreams and doing what they need over what people want or expect, when you lay your hand over his.
Thunder cracks through the sky and the first raindrops hits the window as your non-existent skin hits his, and it's the most real thing you've felt in a long time. It's as if the scent of ozone and electricity is in the apartment itself, crackling in your hair and filling your nose with the overpowering scent of the sweet summer rain. You can almost feel the water hit your skin, the way the wind whips at your hair, and it's so intoxicating that you almost miss the sharp inhale from the man beside you.
He's not looking at his plant when you look up, but instead at the window in front of the two of you. You glance at it, and for a fraction of a second, you can see yourself in the reflection. The glimpse has you jerking towards it before you can stop yourself, desperate to know if something has changed. You haven't seen your reflection since you died, not in the mirror or the window or the toaster, and maybe, just maybe, it means something's changed.
Your hand stops against the glass of the window as you reach forward. You can't feel the cool of it under your palm, but it's no less a barrier for you as it would be for Namjoon. Something in you breaks as you watch the raindrops race each other to the ground.
"Ah, I forgot the forecast called for rain today," he mutters, eyes focused on the lightning that streaks by. He doesn't react when your fist slams against the glass, nor when you let out the scream that's been building in you for however long it's been since you died. You're so close, not even a hair's breadth from feeling something new yet familiar for the first time in so long, and you can't. You're still stuck in these four walls, unable to even reach the air outside.
You just want to feel the rain again.
You move dejectedly away from the window, ignoring the way Namjoon shivers as you pass. The temperature in the apartment has dropped considerably, you think, between the storm and your own mood. You can't tell, really. You haven't felt warm or cold or hungry or anything since you died that isn't the oppressive loneliness of life after death.
A dry sob tears itself from your throat and you hurry to hide in the bathroom as Namjoon turns to look around him. He mumbles something you can't hear and after a few minutes, he returns to tending to his plants, leaving you to your tear-less cries in peace.
It becomes quickly apparent to you that Namjoon should really have a roommate, if only to save him from himself. It takes a few weeks for you to realize this, but luckily he seems to narrate his life as he goes through it - which is overwhelmingly adorable to you, and you refuse to acknowledge that - and that means that you hear it every time he goes, "Ah, Namjoon, be more careful next time," or "Oh, shoot, that's not, fuck, I gotta buy more eggs now." It's painful to watch, even for you, and at some point, you just couldn't take it anymore. No one else is around to help, but someone needs to you, and clearly the universe means for you to be that someone.
It's a full-time job, protecting him from himself. You've saved countless mugs, pushing them farther away from the edges of counters and tables, and been just in time to shove bowls or vases an inch over so that his elbows glide harmlessly past them. It's almost exhausting, if you could get tired you would, but it's worth it, you think, as you catch the bookshelf under the TV as it tilts. You slide it gently to the floor, glad that Namjoon is distracted by how close he came to losing a toe to notice.
Because that's the other thing about this tree of a man: he's the most oblivious person you've ever fucking seen. It doesn't matter what it is you do, whether it's bouncing his spray bottle of water so it doesn't break on the hard floor or shake the counters so that the knife he's about to drop on his fucking hand falls the other way, he doesn't see a single fucking thing. You'd think he was blind if he wasn't so attentive to the way his plants grow. He notices nothing and you're glad for it because you really aren't sure what he would do if he knew you were going around haunting him just to keep him alive. You just want to help, want to keep the soft smile he wears more often around for as long as possible.
You don't dare to look into why you want that, too afraid of what you might find there.
It's also just fun to watch him and his friends, relaxed and unreserved. You never had many friends when you were alive, just a small handful that you really truly loved and whom you miss every day. Watching these seven boys fills you with nostalgia and a strange sense of joy because they really are some of the funniest people you've ever been around.
Like now, with four of them sprawled on the couch while Jeongguk and Hoseok make themselves comfortable leaning against the bookshelf under the TV - which has been bolted to the wall since it almost broke Namjoon's foot - and Namjoon watches them all from his bed since it's the only other place to sit. There are beer bottles scattered around and decorating the half-wall that separates the bed from the room proper, everyone is varying levels of drunk, and you're curled up close to Namjoon, leaning against the wall so you can stop him from knocking over any of the bottles nearby because you know him too well at this point.
"I'm just saying, I don't understand why they made him so over-powered in the new movies, because he's supposed to be some kid from Brooklyn! Giving him the high-tech suit essentially strips him of the friendly neighborhood persona that he's always relied on!" Jeongguk has been ranting for a while about the newest release in the Spiderman franchise - apparently, he's part of the actual Avengers now, which is a shock to you since the last thing you heard before you died was that the franchise was canceled until further notice or something.
"And I'm saying that if they didn't give him the suit then it would've made no sense how he was able to do those things," Yoongi responds. You're pretty sure he's just arguing to be contrary at this point, because you remember him telling Namjoon the other day that he prefers DC over Marvel.
"Garfield's Spiderman could do those things," you mutter, "And he didn't have a fancy suit."
"Okay, then how do you explain Andrew Garfield's version being able to do that stuff? He doesn't need the suit, he never has!" You preen at the way Jeongguk echoes your thoughts. "I'm telling you, I don't care how good the relationship with Holland's Spidey and Iron Man is, by giving him the tech and the advancements they did, they've undermined everything that Spiderman is supposed to be about."
"Jeongguk come off it, everyone knows Garfield's Spidey was just all bad writing. I mean, what kind of person can do all that stuff, realistically? He's the one that really needed the Stark suit." Taehyung's voice is slurred and quiet, definitely as drunk as the rest of them.
"What-! No! I could do half of that without being bitten by a weird science spider!" Jin scoffs at Jeongguk's words.
"Yeah, sure, Guk. The same way you can do that bottlecap challenge."
"Bottle cap challenge, and yeah, I could!" The youngest stands and you don't bother to hide your grimace.
"This isn't going to end well, is it?" You ask. No one acknowledges you, too busy finding something Jeongguk can kick the cap off of as the boy readies himself. He's steady on his feet but his face is red and he can't seem to stop giggling.
"If I do this, you gotta call me SpiderGuk from now on, okay?" He says. No one agrees, but it doesn't stop him from laughing again and doing a couple of roundhouse kicks to warm up.
"Okay, okay, Joonie doesn't have any regular water bottles, but we found a screw-top beer in the fridge so ya gotta use that," Jimin says as he stumbles over with said bottle. Jeongguk just nods, an adorable focused expression on his face. Jimin holds the bottle in the air, and you can already tell his grip isn't tight enough to keep the bottle still when Jeongguk kicks it.
The next ten seconds happen in slow-motion. Jeongguk's leg flies out to kick but his drunken body isn't able to handle the sudden shift in balance, and he slips. His foot hits the bottle slightly too low, and it goes flying out of Jimin's weak grip into the air. Everyone in the room watches as it hurtles straight towards Namjoon's face, and you react out of habit and instinct, catching it in one hand before you even realize you've moved.
Everyone freezes, staring at where the bottle hovers in front of Namjoon's face. You're the only one able to see your fingers wrapped around it. A shock jolts through you at the realization of what you've done and you drop the bottle as if it burned you. Fuck, they were all going to freak, then Namjoon would move out and you'd be stuck alone once more. You should've just shoved him out of the way, what were you thinking, you're so fucking stupid-
"Dude," Hoseok mutters from where he's perched on the arm of the couch. "Holy shit, Joon, you're fucking telepathic."
Yoongi rolls his eyes and smacks his chest. "Telekinetic, you fucking-"
"Holy shit, you've got fucking superpowers!" Jeongguk squeaks. "Do it again!"
Namjoon isn't even able to get a word out before there's a book flying at his face, and you panic. You can't catch it, too rushed, but you manage to deflect it so it hits the bed with a soft thump instead of braining Namjoon straight in the nose.
"Woah, you really do have superpowers," Jimin whispers. He lobs a bottlecap at Namjoon, and you catch it in your palm before letting it drop onto the half-wall.
"I don't have...what the fuck you guys," Namjoon insists. His eyes are as wide as saucers behind the thick glasses he has on. He looks freaked out and you want nothing more than to hug him. Your hand reaches out of its own accord, halfway closing the distance to stroke his hair before you catch yourself.
"Hey, levitate your plants," Jin demands. Namjoon looks panicked as he glances at the wall of plants, and you heave a sigh. With any luck, they're so drunk that they'll remember this as a strange fever dream, but you can't just let them keep throwing things at him. You crawl over to the wall, avoiding Namjoon as you do, and grasp one of the plants tight. It's a white pot with red polka dots, a simple RJ on the side, and it's fucking heavy. You only get it a few inches off the shelf before you're forced to put it down.
"Oh my god, catch this!" Taehyung throws a coffee mug straight at Namjoon's head and you panic again. You catch it, and you've decided you're fucking sick of them throwing things at him, so you lob it back and dart across the room to bounce it safely to the counter before it can break.
Everyone in the room stares at the mug and then looks back at Namjoon, who hasn't moved from his spot on the bed.
"Oh my god, you're a superhero," Jeongguk whispers, awe in his eyes.
"That's fucked up," Yoongi mutters, wincing when Hoseok elbows him.
"Maybe we should get some sleep," Namjoon says quietly. The others look like they want to disagree with him, and you have no doubt they want to explore the newfound 'abilities' of their friend, but they still start gathering trash together before they head out.
Namjoon lays awake for a long time that night, glasses folded and sitting atop the half-wall beside you. He's oblivious to the way you watch him, too lost in thought to feel the weight of your stare or the chill in the air.
"I don't understand," He says after a while. "I really don't, but there's got to be a reason for it." He doesn't elaborate, merely turns over and evens his breathing out until he starts snoring, but you watch him for most of the night. He's fascinating, this human, and you wonder what makes him so different from the others you've met.
He apparently decides to experiment. You've known Namjoon is intelligent since he first moved in and you saw his collectible encyclopedias, but you hadn't realized just what it would be like in actuality.
It starts simple. He'll toss something in the air and let it clatter to the ground. Nothing big, just little things like pencils or bottlecaps, and not far, just enough that his eyes narrow as he apparently tries to use his telekinetic abilities to manipulate them.
It slowly graduates from there. Next comes the way he stares at something across the room, hyper-focused on whatever it is until you notice and move it around for him. It's a guessing game, sometimes, trying to figure out just what he wants to move or how he wants to move it, but each time you're successful, he smiles so brightly, dimples on full display. Who wouldn't want to make him smile like that?
It's hit or miss, sometimes. You're only so strong, and while you've had a lot of practice, you still get tired. You lifted his bookshelf almost a full inch before blacking out. Next thing you knew, a couple of days had passed and Namjoon was staring at a coffee mug. That was a significantly less fun day; between losing time and having to catch coffee mug after coffee mug, you were exhausted and a little shaken.
So when he stops staring at things for extended periods of time, when he starts to go back to reading and scrolling the internet and bingeing all the completed shows that Netflix and Amazon had to offer, you're grateful for it. He still occasionally tests it out; he's always subtle about it, choosing to stare quietly until you notice and make whatever it is float around for a minute. Once you wandered around looking for him - a feat in a studio apartment - and found him just sitting on the bathroom floor, staring at a shampoo bottle.
You'd like to say that you don't move things entirely because he wants you to. It's a good test of your abilities and how far you can push yourself until it becomes too much, and it's always nice to have actual evidence that you still exist - in some form, at least - in the world. The validation that comes from seeing him smile every time you lift a pencil or slide a coffee mug to the side, it's not for any reason but the satisfaction of knowing that you have some kind of existence. Some kind of impact on the world, even if you can't be seen and can't leave the apartment.
It's part of why you start moving things around yourself more often; you're hoping he just blames it on his overactive 'abilities' if he notices because you really aren't sure what he would think otherwise. But you also know for a fact that just seeing that you have some kind of sway over the world still - over the things inside this tiny apartment - makes you feel just that bit better about being dead.
Which is why it's such a fucking shock when the door to the apartment slams open one evening just for Namjoon to slam it closed again and announce into the air, "So I know you're haunting me, please don't try to deny it, I only want to talk to you."
You freeze where you are, halfway through the closet door from where you were reorganizing his clothes because they made no sense and you were bored. He's looking around the apartment, almost desperate in the way he's searching, and you can't bring yourself to move. It's obvious he can't see you, and you aren't even sure if he's being serious, but the way he huffs and clenches his jaw before moving into the kitchen tells you that he probably is.
You follow him, curious, and watch as he pulls a small package out of his bag and starts ripping it open. You float the remains of what looks like gift wrap over to the trashcan, because you know Namjoon will forget, before going back to watching him. He's only a little careful as he cracks something in his hands and then slaps it onto the fridge, and you peek around him to see that it's some kind of words or something. There’s a wide variety, with no clear theme to them, as well as at least one of each letter of the alphabet. It's then you remember the throwaway comment Yoongi made during that night - "You need, like, poetry stuff, like those magnets that go on the fridge that people write that deep shit with, y'know? I'm gonna buy you one," - and realize that he'd followed through on his vow.
"Alright," Namjoon says, leaning against his kitchen counter and staring at the magnets. "First and foremost, am I really being haunted or is this some kind of hallucination?" His gaze never falters, doesn’t ever drift from the magnetic words now spread across his fridge doors. It takes several minutes to build up the energy and the courage to move closer to the fridge.
You don't look at him as you move the words around, but you can hear the sharp intake of breath. That's likely all the confirmation that he needs, but still you clear a spot and let the words ' I am here ' sit where he can see them clearly. You wrinkle your nose, disliking how formal it sounds, but you have to make do, you suppose.
"Okay," Namjoon breathes. "Okay, prove it. My brain could work this into a hallucination. How do I know you're really a ghost?"
"Seriously?" You huff. "What the fuck am I supposed to do that wouldn't work into a hallucination, dude?"
He gets fidgety in the few minutes that you spend wondering how the fuck you're going to prove that you're a real actual ghost to someone who clearly doesn't believe in them. His foot taps at the floor and he scratches at his hand, which only makes you want to wrap your own hands around his until he stops, much like your best friend used to lay her legs across your lap to get you to stop shaking your knee.
The realization comes in a flash, and you're moving letters around before you can stop yourself.
Face book, Park Jihyo, best friend.
Namjoon stares at it for a long while before he brings his phone out of his pocket and begins to tap at the screen. You don't get too close; you've got a history with shorting out electronics, and you aren't sure you want to know what your best friend is up to without you there with her.
"Okay," Namjoon says. "Okay, I've never seen her before, so I don't think my brain could work her into a hallucination. Okay. Alright. I'm being haunted. This is fine."
"Calm down, I'm haunting the apartment, not you." He doesn't react to your words, as usual, but it still makes you feel the slightest bit better. He stares at his phone for a little longer, and the curiosity burns under your skin, but you resist. You know from experience that if you try to get too close, his phone will stop working. Just like TV, the stereo, the laptops, everything. You've had enough experience with that kind of thing to know what will happen.
"Okay, Casper," Namjoon huffs out after several minutes of waiting. He looks up and his eyes dart around the apartment, and you wonder if he's just nervous or if he's trying to spot you. "Where are you right now? Can you make yourself visible? I mean, I know you're a ghost, but it feels rude not talking to you to your face."
You huff a laugh but reach for a coffee cup. You know you can't just make yourself visible at will; you've only done it a couple of times, to your knowledge, and none of them have been on purpose. It's even more difficult to make yourself corporeal and physical, harder than just manipulating objects, but you did it once. Back when the single mom still lived here, when her toddler was falling and you had no way to cushion the fall except with your own body; you still aren't sure how it happened, but you remember being able to feel the floor against your back and the warmth of the baby on top of you for a split second before you were gone again. You won't forget that any time soon.
You float the mug towards where you stand, holding it in front of your face long enough that when you pull it away, Namjoon's eyes don't follow it. It's a strange feeling; you know he can't see you, can tell by the way his brow furrows and his eyes slide around the space, but it feels like he's looking straight at you. It feels like you're being seen for the first time since you died.
"So, where are you from, Casper?" His tone is forcibly conversational, as if he's trying his best to keep himself calm. You roll your eyes and move the magnets to show ' here ' and he nods. "You're not gonna try to possess me, or kill me, or run me off, are you? No offense or anything. I figure you would've already at this point, but...cover my bases."
No. Am nice. I think.
"You think? You don't know if you're a nice ghost?"
Does anyone truly know if they are nice? You frown, trying to figure out how to say what you want to say with the limited words available. I can only try. It's still not perfect; there's more that you want to say, more that you want to be heard, but this has to do for now.
"I can accept that. Alright. Just talking to a ghost in my kitchen. Okay. This is totally normal." He rubs a hand over his face, and you're a little impressed. Everyone else that's lived here has freaked when presented with the knowledge that you're a ghost. Namjoon looks very much like his world is exploding, but he doesn't have the same fear and apprehension in his eyes. He's certainly coping better than the single mom.
"Are you the only ghost? Here, I mean, are you the only ghost here?" He breathes a sigh of relief at your 'yes.’ "Can you see other ghosts? Do you know any other ghosts?" The 'don't know, no' that you move around on your fridge seems to unsettle him a little, but there's a curiosity burning behind it that makes your skin tingle.
Can't leave, is what you say next, cutting off whatever question he was about to ask.
"You can't leave at all? The building, or the apartment?"
The second.
"Wow. You're really stuck here?" He looks around the apartment as if seeing it for the first time and sucks in a breath. "What do you do all day?"
Watch. He cocks a brow. You are... You hesitate. The word you need isn't there, everything that comes to you is too poetic or corny for you to actually say, but the weight of his eyes is heavy on your hands. Fun is what you settle on, but it's not right either. 'Interesting' isn't there, nor is 'fascinating' or 'lovely,' and you don't want to scare him off by telling him that part of the reason you watch him so much is that he's so full of life that you feel less dead when he's around.
He laughs at your words though and shakes his head ever so slightly. "Alright, well, I'm gonna shower, so just, don't...watch that?" You squawk at the insinuation that you would, quickly rearranging the letters to spell ' privacy' and making a large angry face out of the rest of the words. He's already turned away, though, and it makes you angrier.
You don't want him thinking that you would peep at him. You already make sure that you're facing the windows when he finishes showering, you've been determined to not be creepy since the day he moved in, and to have him think otherwise is like a slap in the face. You slam the mug against the counter and he startles, turning to gape at it. You carry it to where your words and make-do emoji sit waiting for him to notice them.
"Okay," He says quickly. "Okay, privacy, yeah, got it. You respect my privacy. Appreciated."
"How fucking rude," You mutter as you set the mug back down. You don't adjust the magnets as he disappears into the bathroom. You want him to see them, want him to be reminded of the fact that being dead doesn't mean you don't have basic decency.
You can't get him to shut up now that he knows you're there. He still forgets sometimes, mostly when he's talking to his plants or narrating the way he carefully constructs some origami creation, but more often than not, he's talking to thin air. He spends a lot of time perched on his counter, watching you move magnets around his fridge through the thick lenses of his glasses before he spouts off some other question for you to answer.
He covers the basics first: how old you were when you died, when your birthday is, your favorite color, what you were studying in school, and of course your name, though he insists on calling you Casper. You aren't sure why but you also don't get a chance to question it, because he hits you with more and more questions every day. Sometimes you don't answer because you can't, too limited by the poetry magnets to be able to really converse; sometimes you just don't have the energy to move the magnets around, but those are days are rare. The only times you use the tired magnet are when you find your limbs too heavy to move, weighed down with the memories of what it meant to be alive.
Those are the bad days, but his questions make them just a little easier.
"How do you move around? Do you just float everywhere?" Walking, but different. No weight. Soft.
"How are you able to manipulate things in my world? Are they different from things in your world?" Focus. Takes time. Same.
"Do you sleep at all? Do ghosts dream?" No sleep. Just existing.
"You don't eat, do you? Should I be stocking up on snacks for you?" No. Save your sustenance. "What was the last thing you ate?" Don't remember. "Huh. I hope it was something good." Same.
"Were you ever in a relationship?" Once. A long time before. "Do you miss them?" Not anymore.
"What did you do while you were alive?" School. "Oh, really? Do you remember what you studied?" Boring. Important then, but it made me forget to live. Not important now. Namjoon goes quiet for a long moment after this one, staring out the window at something you can't see. He nods but doesn't ask any more questions, and he reads for the rest of the night.
It only takes a couple of weeks for both you and Namjoon to get tired of standing in his kitchen fucking around on the fridge. His legs get tired and he gets distracted by his thoughts, and you can barely keep up with the rapid-fire questions you get.
So Namjoon buys one of those cheap cookie sheets with the slightest lip at the edge and dumps the magnets on that. He leaves it on the coffee table, usually, there for you to pick up if he asks something but out of the way for when he stretches out to nap lazily in the afternoon sun.
You like the cookie sheet more than the fridge. He watches you as you work out your responses, can see the way you start to move one word before moving another instead; it makes it feel more like a conversation.
It becomes a favorite pass-time of Namjoon's, curling on the couch and putting some sort of music on in the background and just talking to you. A lot of nights his questions stop with a lingering silence from one or both of you; yours because you don't have the ability to share the words running rampant through your mind, and his for reasons still unknown to you. Still, you've missed it. You've missed talking to someone, being heard when you speak, having someone ask how you are at the end of the day.
It's the little things.
"You said you can't leave, right, Casper?" Namjoon's curled up on his couch, tucked into the arm with a blanket thrown over his lap, a mug of something warm in his hands to combat the chill of the season, and some R&B track playing lightly from his phone. You knock your fist against the cookie once - a sign for yes that you'd both agreed on. "So, are you just always here then? You don't go anywhere else?"
"Fuck, how do I explain this?" You mutter. You stare at the magnets in front of you for a long time before rearranging them. Not always. Tired sometimes, disappear.
"Disappear?" He reads. "What do you mean? You just, what, stop existing?"
Don't know, you respond. Only happens when tired. When used too much of me. He hums an acknowledgment, eyes focused on where the cookie sheet sits on the couch between you. You? What entertains you?
"Everything," he answers without hesitation. "I'm trying to work through my stack of books I want to read and finish all the shows I'm interested in, but the guys would have my head if I didn't get out and do things like a normal person."
That's where you leave to?
"Yeah." He sets his mug - now empty - on the coffee table and settles into the blankets. He looks cozy and soft and you would wrap yourself up with him if you could. "I take a lot of walks, and bike rides. I like to see the river, the trees, all the animals that live there. The beach is always fun, I get to see all the crabs and whatnot that wander in and out of the ocean."
"I wish I could go with you," you whisper.
Fun is what you spell on your sheet.
"I guess," he mutters. "It's enjoyable, at least. I'll bring you some souvenirs, or pictures next time."
You let the sheet settle on the couch as he turns the TV on, setting up a drama that he's on recently. He doesn't say anything else for a few hours, waits until the sound of rain hits the windows and stifles the apartment in an otherworldly haze.
"How long have you been dead?" His voice lingers in the air. You've been expecting these questions, and you're honestly impressed he's held them back for as long as he has. That angsty teen hadn't hesitated a single second to start asking you questions.
A while. Years. I think .
"Do you ever get tired of being a ghost?" There's something in his voice that you can't place, something that tells you this is more than just his usual morbid curiosity. Every part of your soul - whatever's left of it, anyway - is screaming at you to lie to him, to tell him that no, being a ghost is great. You've never wished he could hear you more than this moment, when all you want to is wrap your arms around him and ask him why he looks so much older than he is.
Sometimes, you tell him. It is lonely here, and boring. Fun to be unseen, but unable to do much more.
He nods like that makes all the sense in the world to him, and he brings the blanket up around his shoulders. "Do you ever miss your friends, or your family?"
Would you not? He huffs out an unamused chuckle, nodding again.
"Yeah," He says softly. "Yeah, I would. Do you want me to help you check on them? See what they're up to?" The single knock that echoes in the room is deafening to you, filled with a hope that you haven't felt in years. You've never let yourself think about them for long; if you did, you don't think you'd be able to come back from whatever that place is that you disappear to when things become Too Much.
Namjoon pulls his phone closer and starts fiddling with it. He doesn't hesitate when he types in your name, and you feel an emotional blush fill you when you see that he doesn't even have to finish typing for your profile to pop up. You glance at him, the way his brows are furrowed behind his glasses and his tongue pokes into his cheek just a little while he concentrates, and you wonder how many times he's looked at the pictures of you when you were alive. How many times has he scrolled through, reading the words people shared after you were gone, scrolling through the grief and loss to get to the words you posted yourself, the little snippets of your daily life that you would give anything to be able to relive?
"Do I still look like that?" You wonder aloud. As expected, he doesn't react, just continues tapping at his phone.
You two spend the rest of the night like that, each curled at opposite ends of the couch while Namjoon slowly looks up your friends and family and updates you on each of them. Jihyo got married, to someone she'd gone on a date with a few weeks before you passed, and she's apparently trying to start having kids; Your mother and father aren't very active, but they never were. They both share pictures of you when you were a baby each year on your birthday, and more recent photos of you on the anniversary. They have a dog now. It's cute. You wonder if it helps them cope with the loss.
Your other friends are doing well, too; most of them are still figuring out their lives, but it seems like all of them are settling in their skin and finding comfort in who they are. They're out there, navigating the world and doing things they enjoy, meeting new friends and making new memories.
You stand by the window for a long time, cookie sheet of magnetized words pressed against your chest as if you can feel the cool of the metal against your skin, and watch rain drip down the panes as you imagine what your life could have been.
You can always hear Namjoon before you see him. He whistles as he walks down the sidewalk, his small way of letting you know he's on his way back from wherever he's gone that day, and today isn't an exception. Relief sags through you and you move away from the windows, let your fingers trail against the ceramic of the newest succulent he'd bought, and head towards the kitchen. The kettle is turned on and heating a few moments later while you pull a mug down from your cabinet and set it carefully on the counter where Namjoon will see it.
It's a regular routine, for the two of you. He heads out, usually in the early morning after turning on some music or a show for you, and when he comes back, you make sure there's hot water for his tea or cocoa or whatever he feels like drinking that day. The sound of his whistling gets louder the closer he gets, a simple way to let you know he's safe and he's home. You glance through the cabinets and quickly make a note on the fridge that he needs to buy more of his special tea blend soon.
The lock turns and you smile, waiting patiently as Namjoon saunters into the apartment. He sets something down on the kitchen counter just as the kettle starts to scream, and you wait while he pours the water and gets it ready.
"The cherry blossoms bloomed," He says. You grin. "They look great. I got some really nice pictures while I was there, I'll show you tonight. I was thinking we could try to finish Voltron tonight if you want. We'll have to go back an episode though, I think I fell asleep during the last one." You knock once against the counter beside you, and he turns with a wide grin to glance at the spot where you stand.
It's ridiculous for your heart to speed up in your chest, for the hair on the back of your neck to rise, for breath to catch in your throat; you don't have a heartbeat, you don't have breath, you're a shadow of the person you used to be, and yet...
And yet, seeing his dimpled smile focused so naturally on where you are, as if it's just second-nature, is like a breath of fresh air after years underwater. It smells like flowers, like dirt and earth and a new beginning. It feels like you're alive again, and you don't want it to end, but too soon he's turning away to finish steeping the tea. Something lingers in the air for a moment after but it's gone too soon for you to place it.
You both settle on the couch, Namjoon tucking whatever he brought home with him under his arm, between his body and the arm of his ratty old couch. Your cookie sheet is in its place on the coffee table, unneeded at the moment. You can't help the glare that you give it; the things you would give to be able to just speak and be heard are endless.
It rattles a little and you look away.
Namjoon is quiet as the show plays. He doesn't react when you move to turn the oven on, but he does laugh quietly and thank you for it when he goes to put his dinner in. He eats and you don't bother him, though the way he keeps his little package hidden away makes curiosity burn through you. Eventually, once he's eaten and washed his dishes and laughed at the way you rubbed them dry before setting them carefully in their places, he settles back into his blankets and turns on the music he loves so much.
He's got a book balanced in his hands and your cookie sheet rests on the coffee table, and you both just sit like that for a long while, enjoying existing.
"You remember your life, right Casper?" You thump lazily against the wall in response, eyes drawn from where you watch the gloomy sky slowly get lighter with the dawn. He isn't looking at his book anymore; he probably hasn't been for a while, based on the way the pages have migrated around his thumb, too busy staring at the wall across from him. "Do you remember your death?"
You hesitate. You've tiptoed around the subject before. He's always been too afraid to ask directly, and it's too painful for you to offer it freely. You thump against the wall once more, and he nods like he already knew the answer.
"Are they very different?" His glasses are falling down his nose and your fingers itch to push them up. Instead, you reach for your cookie sheet. He makes a sound in the back of his throat when he sees it moving, reaching under him for his package. "I forgot, I got you this. Thought it might be easier."
He sets it down and you slide the contents out of the wrapping easily. Inside is a small dry-erase board, complete with markers and eraser, small things that should be easy for you to manipulate. You beam at him; he can't see it, but you think he might be able to feel it because he perks up and smiles a little.
"You don't have to answer," He adds. "I was just curious to know if being dead is really as different as everyone makes it out to be." You nod and thump once against the board before you uncap a marker and start writing.
It's a bizarre feeling, after so long. The muscles in your hand don't ache, no matter how much you write, and you can't feel the smooth surface of the board under your fingers or the weight of the marker in your palm, but it glides against it cleanly and leaves a thick black streak behind.
It takes you a minute to write everything out, get it worded how you want. Namjoon doesn't interrupt you, just watches the marker move against the board and smiles every time you go to erase something that isn't right. Eventually you show it to him.
There are similarities. I'm still me, I still enjoy TV and music and books. Things are duller now, like there's a filter over them, and it's harder to do things. Like when you're in water, or mud, like that. Resistance.
"Oh," Namjoon replies, "That's not what I expected. It makes sense though I guess." His hand moves against his chest, rubbing lightly as he looks over your words again. "Is there anything you actually like about being a ghost?"
"Well, being invisible is pretty cool," You say, writing the words as you do. "And it's actually really fun being able to walk through walls and stuff, even if I can't go anywhere outside of the apartment."
"I'm sorry you're stuck here," Namjoon says. You startle a little, looking up at him. You think he actually heard you for a split second, but his eyes are locked on where you're writing your words out on the dry erase board.
"Yeah, me too," You tell him. He stares at the board for a long moment, chewing nervously on his bottom lip as he does. "Ask what you want to ask, Joon," You write as you say it.
"How did you die?" He blurts. You sigh and he jumps a little, looking fully at where you sit. You're shocked; you know that sometimes little noises cross over, like when Jin heard you laughing, but it's still rare. You can't figure out how it works, but you want to.
You write for a long time, letters small so they fit on the board. The whole thing is crowded together, looks like one long string of letters instead of the story it is.
There's a lot of violence in this neighborhood. You probably know that by now. People are always getting robbed or mugged or something around here. Someone tried to break into my apartment by banging the door down. It didn't work, luckily, but I got really paranoid afterwards. One night I was cooking, and someone's door slammed really hard. I spilled the water I was boiling, slipped. Blacked out after a while, and when I came to, there were police everywhere. I guess I hit my head harder than I thought, because they carted me away, and I couldn’t follow.
"I'm sorry," Namjoon says softly. "You deserved more time."
Yeah. The universe had a different plan, I guess. He smiles at that, and it settles the anxiety thrumming under your skin. Wouldn't have met you, so I guess that's a bonus. He rolls his eyes at you but he laughs softly, so you consider it a win. You doodle on the board then, simple little designs that don't mean anything beyond being able to see your effect on the world.
Namjoon sucks in a breath beside you and you look up at him. He's always been good about looking towards where you are, doing his best to make eye contact with someone he can't see, but he still always tends to look through you.
Not this time.
This time, electricity sings through the air as your eyes meet his. You don't know how, but you know he can see you. His eyes roam over you, taking in the crumpled sweater you were wearing with the stain you like to think is pasta sauce on the arm, the hair you can't ever really tame, the way you sit cross-legged on his old thread-bare couch with a dry erase board in your hands.
Neither of you moves. He looks torn between fear and amazement, every emotion in between flitting quickly over his features, and you're terrified that if you move, whatever spell that's been cast will fade. It had been so long since you talked to anyone when Namjoon slammed those magnets on the fridge, and the conversation has been a reprieve, but to be seen for the first time in years...
It's invigorating.
Watching Namjoon just look at you is something you won't ever forget, not for as long as you exist in the world. He looks at you like he's memorizing every detail, every hair and wrinkle and pore, and just knowing that he can see you fills you with something new.
"Namjoon...?" You call hesitantly. His eyes fall on your lips.
"Again," He says. Your brows must furrow, maybe you frown, you don't know because it's been so long since you've needed to pay attention to your facial expressions, but he notices your confusion. "Will you say something again?"
Breath you don't have catches in your throat, wraps itself around a heart that doesn't beat, but you smile a little. "I'm glad I met you."
Namjoon smiles. It's big and blinding and knocks everything out of you except for that emotion that's been sitting in your chest since the first time you watched him talk to his plants. You lean forward, and you can tell the exact moment you disappear, because his smile falls and his eyes unfocus. A whimper leaves your throat, but he doesn't react, and that may be the most painful thing that's ever happened to you.
"Can I feel you?" His voice is hushed but the words reverberate in your head. His eyes dart around, looking for any glimpse of you, and your hand trembles as you reach out.
Goosebumps raise on his cheek where your hand touches him and his breath stops for a moment, but he smiles again and leans into the chill. You bring your other hand up to cup his other cheek, your dry erase board lying forgotten on the ground, and Namjoon's eyes flutter closed.
"I think I might love you," You say quietly just before you press your lips to his. He doesn't react to your words, but he lets out a soft sigh at your kiss. Thunder cracks through the apartment, a torrent of rain unleashed on the windows, but you don't move.
The two of you sit like that for hours, until he starts shivering and his nose turns red, like it does when he forgets his scarf on the cold days, and his breath puffs in the air. When you finally pull away from him, he smiles, and the blush on his cheeks has nothing to do with the cold air that makes up your form.
"Yeah," He says softly, voice nearly drowned out by the storm raging outside. "Yeah, I can feel you."
If you expected things to change much after that, you were wrong. At least a little. Namjoon still disappears to go on his walks, you still start the kettle the second his whistles drift up to the apartment. He still asks you a million questions, but they're more normal now. Your favorite music, color, what you wished you'd done with your life, if you've been able to corporealize again recently, what you wanted to watch that night.
"Come on, Casper," Namjoon groans. "I promise you can do it." You huff and he smiles, clearly having heard it. You're tempted to just disappear somewhere, rattle some pipes in the bathroom or the kitchen so he thinks you're in there and leaves you alone, but he smiles at you again and you're weak for that dimple.
You grip the watering can again, doing your best to lift it and manipulate it the way you need to. It's heavy, and something about the metal makes your skin itch, but the more you struggle the more you're able to pour the slightest bit of water where RJ - a giant plant that you don't even know the name of - sits in the corner of the room across from Namjoon's bed. It's the twentieth-something time you've tried this today, and you're ten seconds from just giving up completely, but you can tell this is important to Namjoon.
He's been talking all week, between the late nights where you lay over his blanket-wrapped form and the mornings where he ducks out with a soft goodbye. He's told you everything about his plants that you think he possibly could, teaching you about them and showing you how to care for them. It's interesting, you won't lie, and it's always fun to see him light up when you recall something he's told you, but you're exhausted and every part of you is shaky, and you're more than a little worried of what might happen if you push too far again.
Still, Joon hasn't looked great lately, like he might be getting the flu, and you want to be able to help him with all the things he does in the house. You've already started doing the dishes and folding laundry, since those were the two things he was the absolute worst at, but you feel like you should be doing more.
"Good job, baby, I'm proud of you!" You grunt and let the watering can fall back to the ground with a loud thump that almost definitely has the downstairs neighbors cursing Namjoon's name. "See, and now we're done for the day! C'mon, we can put on Sens8 and cuddle."
He's on the couch before you can stop him, wrapping himself in blankets except for one lone hand that sticks out, expectant. You roll your eyes and sit beside him, close enough that if you had a body you would be cuddling instead of just sitting awkwardly beside him.
You know that this is just going to make your hand all pink and gross, right?
He just smiles when the board flips around to reveal itself and wiggles his fingers. "It's worth it," He says. "I'd rather be pink and gross than never get to hold your hand at all."
You can't even feel my hand, Joon, there's literally no point to this. He huffs and wraps his hand around the marker in your hand, shivering at the chill that runs through him when he does. He grins and gestures down to where the tips of his fingers are already turning red.
"Clearly I can feel it, Casper."
You're glad he can't see you, that you don't have a heart that beats or blood that runs, because if you did, your face would no doubt be red. You have no doubts that Namjoon would tease you about it.
He's quiet as you both watch the show; he makes the odd comment here or there, but his mood seems to have calmed some. When he first got back from whatever place he visited that day, he'd been anxious and jumpy and entirely too on edge.
"Hey, Casper?" He asks quietly. You slide a hand against his cheek to let him know you're there, and he leans into the chill again. "What do you think about me?"
You don't move for several seconds, hand still poised around his cheek.
"Like, your feelings. What are they? Will you tell me?" You knock once on the wall behind the couch. Your hand stays poised over your board for long enough that Namjoon starts to get a little restless. Words refuse to come to you. Every time you start to think you have a way to describe to him what he means to you, they disappear as quick as fog on a summer's afternoon. Frustrated, you let the board fall to the couch and scrawl a quick 'hold on' so he knows you aren't just ignoring him.
It's been weeks since you've seen what you're looking for, your cookie sheet with the word magnets having been basically forgotten in lieu of the more personal and convenient dry-erase board, but right now you know that if words won't come to you, you'll have to go to them.
You finally find it, shoved under several encyclopedias and magazines, and the noise you make is so triumphant that even Namjoon hears it. You curl back up beside him, careful to make sure the blanket is wrapped tight around him, and make sure he can see the words as you move them. It still takes a long time, constantly changing and rearranging and stacking to make sure it conveys the things you need it to convey.
You are like music. A symphony of summer days and peach skies with soft rain. You are a storm in the moonlight. I'm not lonely when I have you pouring around me. You make me feel alive again.
Namjoon is silent for a long time, and you wonder if you've gone too far. It's more poetic than you'd like, too frilly and fancy and emotional than you usually are, but they're the only words you have.
After too long, he exhales. It's heavy and deep and it feels like he's trying to expel more than just air from his body.
"You make me feel alive, too," is all he says, whispered into the softness of his blanket in a voice too small for his long limbs. He shivers, and you hear him choke down a cough, and then he disappears into the bathroom for a long time. When he comes back out, he doesn't say anything, just slides into the mass of blankets on his bed and lays his arm out across the mattress. You spread out across from him, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he looks through you and out the window where the rain is letting up.
"Looks like the rainy season is gonna last longer than everyone thought." You slide your hands around one of his large ones and just hold them like that. His eyes sink closed and something like relief stands on his face for a moment before it's gone, swept away by the peace of sleep.
You wonder what it is that he sees when he looks out the window. If it's the plain brick wall and windows of the building next door, or something more.
You aren't sure you want to know.
Namjoon's flu only seems to get worse. He leaves early in the mornings, as if he thinks you might not notice the way he coughs into his scarf just because the sun hasn't risen fully yet. He stays gone most of the days, and even when he apologizes quietly during the twilight when he slinks back in to the sound of the kettle screeching on the stove and his tea already waiting to be steeped, he still doesn't stop.
You've taken to playing blues while he's gone, mostly the old school stuff, digging out the vintage record player he has buried in the closet and setting it up on the coffee table. It’s the only technology you can use without shorting it out. You don’t know why, but it makes you grateful the record collection Namjoon keeps tucked away inside the coffee table that you’ve learned is in fact an actual steamer trunk that he salvaged and restored himself.
The music fills the apartment, distracts you from the oppressive weight of his absence. He knows you wait at the window for him, you told him that back when the two of you were first getting to know each other.
You're so fragile, you had told him. He had laughed at you, quiet and fond, and waited for you to explain further. You're so full of life and breath and possibility, and the world is so big and so dangerous. I'm scared you won't come back.
"Of course I'm going to come back," he told you. You didn't even need to tell him that you're afraid of what being alone might do to you, now that you're so used to his presence. You're being heard again, sometimes even seen, and you don't know if you can go back to the stagnant depression of solitude. "I'll always come back to you."
That was the first time you thought you might love Namjoon. The feeling has only gotten stronger, and now that you wait at the window with your eyes focused on that tiny section of sidewalk you can see at the end of the alley, it threatens to consume you whole.
You wait at the window for hours. You know because you glance at the clock every minute and a half, mocking you with every tick as it hangs limply on the bathroom door. The sun sinks below the horizon, the moon rises to take its place, and they switch again while you wait. The dawn paints the sky in beautiful shades of pink and red and orange and the faintest purple, but you can't appreciate any of it, because you're too anxious.
He could be hurt. He could be gone, and you wouldn't ever know until his friends came to pack his things. He could have left, too; maybe he finally decided that living with a ghost was just too much for him and just ran. Maybe he figured out that you love him, that you would move heaven and earth if it meant he was safe forever if only you could leave this apartment, and it was too much for him.
What if he knows about how you lay beside him every night? How you tuck the blankets tighter around him, cover him in warmth and comfort before settling on top of them and closing your eyes and pretending that you can feel his arm draped over your waist and his breath on the back of your neck. What if he felt you, that night you wandered into the bathroom while he was showering to write on the steam-covered mirror that he needs to buy more eggs soon and got distracted by the way he looked stepping out of the shower? What if he knows your stomach flipped at the long limbs and the hidden muscles and the sheer size of him? What if he knows the real reason you were quiet that night, the way you kept replaying the moment in your mind and wishing you had a body so you could have just touched him, at least.
It's closer to noon than midnight when his whistle echoes up through the window.
"Hey, I'm home," He calls as he enters the empty apartment. You're upset, but you're more filled with relief than anything because at least he's safe and he's here now. He makes a beeline for where the kettle is just starting to whistle, already reaching for the honey and the tea you set out on the counter for him, and you do your best to calm the storm of emotions inside you.
Did you have fun, wherever you were? You ask him, floating the whiteboard in front of his face so he has to acknowledge it.
"Yeah, I did," he responds as he stirs his tea. "Jin invited everyone over for some end of summer thing. I didn't feel too great at the end of it, so I just spent the night there."
Don't party too hard, you might remember how to have fun, you joke. It falls a little flat based on the grim smile Namjoon gives you. Are they gonna come over here again anytime soon? I've missed scaring Hoseok.
He lets out a real laugh at that. "I don't know, maybe. My birthday's coming up, after Jeongguk's, so they could definitely be planning something. I'm heading over to Yoongi's later to help plan for Guk's party. I might stay there tonight, so try not to worry, Casper."
I'll try, you tell him. You both know you'll stand at the window every second he's gone, but you don't want to tell him why. You don't want to tell him that you love him through a dry erase board, or some fancy poetry magnets. It doesn't matter that you may as well have already said so by telling him that he makes you feel alive again; you haven't said the words to him, he hasn't seen 'I love you' in the messy scrawl that is your handwriting on some stupid board, and therefore he doesn't know.
You don't know if you want him to.
He stays gone that night, as he said he might, and reappears the next day to shower and change before he vanishes again. The next time he shows up, he takes a bag with him when he leaves, which only worsens your fears. He stays gone for three days this time, doesn't apologize when he turns up again and just mumbles a soft hello into the air before he makes tea and sags into his couch. He's asleep in seconds, and as much as you want to scream at him, you can't bring yourself to disrupt how peaceful he looks.
When he wakes, he takes a shower and ignores the ' can we talk ' you scrawled in the steam. He packs a bag of fresh clothes and doesn't say goodbye when he leaves, just disappears and leaves you standing at the window with the pail in your hand, caring for the plants he isn't. The slam of the door sounds like nails in a coffin and breaks what little was left of your soul.
He shows back up nearly a week later, and the relief at seeing him again is overridden by the sheer anger at being left in the first place. You don't start the kettle when you hear his whistle, the quiet and hoarse tune of a familiar song barely reaching the window, but there's plenty of noise when he enters.
The cabinet doors are quaking with your fury, the lights flicker and threaten to burst, and Namjoon just leans back against the door. He’s soaked from the storm thundering outside, even his jacket plastered to his skin, and he’s shivering slightly, but you can’t see anything past the rage.
"Where the fuck were you?" You demand; there's no point, it's not like he can hear you, but the way he sighs makes you feel like he can, so you continue anyway. "It's been almost a week, you didn't even think to stop by for ten seconds so I know you're okay? I thought you were dead somewhere, you could've been, like, shot, or something, I don't know, just bleeding out in some ditch, and I wouldn't know! And what about all the plants? I know how to take care of them, sure, but do you know how hard it is for me to do it?"
Namjoon sighs again, the breath catching in his throat and coming out in a cough, but you don't pay much attention to it.
"Why would you act like this, Namjoon? What did I do, is it because of the things I said? Do you not want me to feel like this about you? Because this a damn good way of making sure I don't, I assure you, so by all means, just keep disappearing and leave me alone with the plants you decided to rescue and save!"
His cough gets worse and he just shakes his head, covering his mouth and making his way towards the bathroom.
"If you want me to hate you, it's too fucking late, Joon!" The slam of the bathroom door punctuates your sentence, and you quiet at the sound of continued coughing. You knew his flu was getting worse, but it's never sounded like that. Even when you were alive, you knew that the wet sound that's muffled by the bathroom door isn't what a cough should sound like. The lock of the door clicks, and it shocks you into movement because he's never - never - locked you out of anywhere. He knows it wouldn't stop you, knows it as well as you know that you'd respect that boundary if he set it, and yet here he is, locking you out even as he coughs up what sounds like a lung in the other room.
You hesitate at the door, torn between respecting his boundaries and knowing what’s happening. You want him to trust you, always, and yet you find your hand disappearing through the door before you can stop it. You stand like that for a long moment, just listening to the sounds of his wracking coughs; the sound of a crash echoes through the apartment, though, and you’re through the door completely in the span of a heartbeat.
Nearly everything that had been on the counter is scattered on the ground, Namjoon himself gripping the sides of the toilet as if he would fall apart otherwise. A single glance tells you that the crash happened as he turned from the sink to the toilet, and if his jolting shoulders didn’t tell you why, the sounds of his retching would. That isn’t what fills you with dread though; the disorientation, the vomiting, all of it comes with being sick sometimes, but the red staining the bathroom sink?
That’s not normal, and you know with every part of you that it’s the reason he’s been gone so much.
The temperature in the apartment drops with the sun, but your arms surround Namjoon as best they can. Goosebumps break out on his arms, shivers run down his back, but you don’t move away from him; he doesn’t say anything, just sits there with his forehead pressed against the cool of the porcelain. He stands eventually, ignores the way he passes completely through your body to rinse the sink and brush his teeth.
You let him stay quiet until you’re both on his bed; you’re pressed up against his side and running your hands along his forearms, idly wondering if you would be able to feel his heartbeat if you were alive.
“It’s not...it’s not gonna get better,” He says eventually. “There’s not a cure, just some things to draw it out and give me a little bit longer even if they come with more pain. I go once a week to see if it’s gotten worse, check how much longer I have. It’s why Hobi let me move in here rent-free. He pays the bills, says it’s the least he can do. I wanted to be closer to him anyway, so that’s a bonus, I guess.”
“I’m so sorry, Joon,” you whisper. Your board lies forgotten, somewhere on the couch maybe, you aren’t sure and can’t be bothered to pull yourself away from him long enough to find it. You don’t need it right now, though; he knows what you mean by the way the cold presses against his bicep with your palm.
“I didn’t want you to know.” You’re not exactly surprised at that; you’d figured as much. You just don’t understand his reasoning. “I didn’t want you worrying about me, or anything like that, like the guys do. They always look at me and it’s all they can see. Like they’re already mourning me, even though I’m still here. I didn’t want to feel like that with you.”
“I know,” you say. You don’t, not really. Your own death was sudden, a shock to everyone you knew; you didn’t get the luxury of saying goodbye, didn’t have the burden of knowing you would be gone soon.
The two of you sit in silence for a while, until you can feel Namjoon’s chest quivering under your palm. When you look up, he looks at you, really and truly at you , and he has tears in his eyes.
“I don’t want to die, Casper,” He whispers. You suck in a breath because he can see you, and you don’t even know why, but you don’t want to lose this moment. “I don’t want to leave all of this behind. I don’t want to leave you.”
“It’ll be okay,” you say softly. His brow furrows and a tear slides down his cheek. “I promise you it will be okay, Namjoon. It gets easier, and people remember but they aren’t stuck forever. And I…” You falter, and it takes his eyes meeting yours to make you realize he can hear you. And there’s only one thing you’ve ever needed him to hear.
“I love you,” You tell him. “I love you, and I will never forget you.”
He surges forward, lips meeting yours in a rush of air. You moan at the feeling of him against you, realizing that for the first time since you died, you can feel something under your fingers. His skin is warm against your fingers, his lips soft against your own, and when he reaches up to cup your jaw with his hand, he doesn’t pass through your form. Instead his hand settles heavy against you, and he moves your head to lick into your mouth.
Tears that won’t fall prickle at the back of your eyes and you climb into his lap before he can stop you. He’s still crying so you wipe away the tears before they can fall, pressing soft kisses to his cheeks, his dimples, his nose, every bit you can reach. A question sits at the back of your mind, and you can see it lingering in his eyes, but neither of you asks it.
“You’re so cold.” His whisper is nearly lost amidst the thunder that shakes the apartment, but it makes you smile a little.
“Warm me up?”
His chest is still quivering with unspoken sobs, but he nods. “Always,” he tells you. “I’m always going to be here.” It doesn’t take long to pry him out of his clothes, takes even less time for him to sink into you. It feels just like it did when you were alive, only magnified; you can feel him hot and warm inside you, can feel the beat of his heart in the firm muscle under your hands. His moans are quiet and hoarse but you wouldn’t have it any other way.
He keeps one hand on your waist and the other on your neck, holding you close enough that he can kiss whenever he wants. “You’re beautiful,” He whispers. “The most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” You just press another kiss to his chapped lips and let him dig his fingers in hard enough that it would bruise if it could. When he’s close to his peak, he stops thrusting, just sits inside you as he grinds your hips down to his, and presses his forehead against yours.
“I love you,” He tells you, lightning casting his shadow across the wall for a brief moment. “I love you, I do, I wish-”
“I know,” you tell him before he can continue. “I know, Namjoon, I know, and I do, too. I love you, too.” He comes a few seconds later, the warm seed soaking into his sheets because it has nowhere to go. His warmth disappears from under your hands and his arms fall to his lap when the only thing holding them up is gone. All you can hear is your quiet sobs mixed with his and the rain against the window, and for the first time since you came back, you really, truly, wish you had died. There’s no point in being a ghost when you can still feel your heart breaking in your chest.
“Casper, are you ever scared?”
It’s the middle of the afternoon. Namjoon is sprawled across the couch wrapped in blankets while Lucifer plays in the background and you doodle aimlessly on your board. You don’t need it as often now; you’ve gotten better at focusing your energy into being heard, though being corporeal still eludes you. You don’t know how you did it that night, but you’re grateful for it.
“Of what?” You ask, looking towards him. He’s not looking at you or watching the show, just staring at the ceiling. He focuses at your words, lifts himself up into a sitting position. A shiver runs through him when his legs move through you, and you settle a weightless hand against his knee out of habit.
“I don’t know,” He replies. “Just...whatever comes next. If there’s something that comes next. Being forgotten. Being stuck here forever.”
You aren’t stupid; you know why he’s asking. The question lingers in the air, colors all of your conversations now, but the truth is that neither of you has the strength to ask it and neither of you knows the answer.
“Sometimes,” You tell him. “Sometimes I wonder what Jihyo is doing, if she ever had a baby like she wanted to. I wonder if my parents are still alive, and what they say if they visit my grave, what they tell me now that I can’t respond to them.”
Namjoon nods like he’s already thought of that, and he probably has.
“Most of the time I try not to focus on it, though. It’s not helpful, it only upsets me, and I don’t…” You trail off, unsure of how to word your thoughts. “I don’t know what might happen if I only focus on the negative. I don’t know anything about what’s true about ghosts and what isn’t beyond that I exist now, and I can’t risk becoming something bad. So I try not to focus on it. It’s easier when you’re here.”
He grins and blows a kiss in your general direction, and you pretend not to notice the blood on his cracked lips. He’s quiet for the rest of the episode of half of another.
“Have you ever seen a light?”
“What?” He doesn’t seem to hear you, and you repeat your question on your board for him.
“A light,” He echoes. “Like, the light.Y’know, the light at the end of the tunnel, ‘don’t go into the light,’ that thing.”
You hesitate at that. You knew what he meant, what he actually wants to know here. He’s easier to read now than he was in the beginning.
You watch him as he watches the space where you sit, curled up beside him on his couch. He can’t see you, of course, but he can see where the board rests in your hands. His gaze is heavier than it was when he first moved in; his cheeks are hollower, skin more gaunt with a grey tint that’s only made worse by the constant rain. The sun is just starting to break through the clouds, a brief reprieve after weeks of the dreary stone-colored clouds. It casts shadows along the walls, reflects off something in the window across the alley, and backlights Namjoon beautifully, casts a halo of light around the brittle brown hair you love.
Once, you tell him. Just once.
“Why didn’t you go to it?”
There are so many things you could tell him, so many different ways to answer such a simple question, but you find yourself lingering on the one thing you know is the ultimate truth.
Because I love you.
September comes with even more rain and a bittersweet atmosphere. Jeongguk spends his birthday at Namjoon’s apartment and then comes back a little over a week later, surrounded by the other guys and carrying enough food to last a few months. You stay curled on the bed, one of the only safe places for you to not mess with anyone or anything. Your board is tucked into the blankets, ready to be used but hidden from view just in case. You watch as Namjoon sits on the couch, tucked between Taehyung and Yoongi with both of them leaning into him as much as possible, Yoongi’s hands wrapped in one of his and Tae’s head on his shoulder.
The other’s aren’t far, leaning against the back of the couch and on beanbags they’d brought with them, all laughing as Hoseok does his best to act out whatever he’d been given in charades. He’s not bad at it - you’ve guessed the last few he’s done - but he is utterly ridiculous in his mannerisms. You know why; it’s the same reason everyone kept smiling when Namjoon refused all of the food he was offered, why Seokjin would crack a terrible joke whenever it got too quiet for too long, why everyone is resolutely ignoring the growing pile of tissues on the table.
It keeps a smile on Namjoon’s face, though, and a laugh in his eyes, and you can’t ever be anything but grateful for that.
Hoseok stumbles, nearly falling and whirling his arms to catch himself before eventually falling anyway. You laugh along with the others, grinning at the way Hobi pouts and rubs at his hip. You’re focused on the way Joon laughs, the way it lights up his face and brightens the entire room, which is why you see it first.
The tickle at the back of his throat quickly becomes a cough, wet and wheezing and enough to make him throw the blankets from his lap and stumble to the bathroom.
You’re there before he is, helping him slide the door closed and locking it behind him as he bends over the toilet again. The six of them are quiet in the main room, speaking in hushed whispers that neither you nor Namjoon wants to hear. You turn the knob on the sink, wetting a towel while you drown out the sound of voices, and letting a hand run over Namjoon’s back.
“I’m okay,” he mutters. You ignore the way his voice shakes, the way his lips are redder than before, the way this happens more often than before. Instead, you just press the damp rag to his neck and watch his eyes close in relief. When he stands and flushes the evidence away, you already have his toothbrush ready and waiting, and you stay as close to him as you can until he takes a deep breath.
“I’m okay,” He repeats. “I’m okay. It’s my birthday, and I’m okay.”
He goes back out with a smile on his face and a laugh in his voice, teasing Hoseok about the way he fell and reenacting it, even. When he settles on the couch, he urges the others to continue the game. There’s a brief moment of hesitation before Jimin declares that he’s next and pulls something from the bowl on the table.
You know you aren’t the only one that notices the way Namjoon’s eyes linger on the six men around him, but you are the only one that notices the way they also linger on his steamer trunk, the shelf with his books, the TV, the record player, the scrapbook of his life that they all worked on and Taehyung pieced together over the months, the plants on the wall that he had cared for. He looks around his apartment as if he’s looking at it for the last time.
As if he’s already planning who’s going to get what.
He finally asks the question you both have been thinking about, nearly two months later. His breathing comes in ragged pants, his lips stay chapped, and he keeps several blankets around him at all times to try to hide the shaking of his body. Your soft sobs echo through the apartment constantly; while you reheat the tea he doesn’t drink for the millionth time, while you quietly water and prune the plants he’s saved from death the way you wish you could save him, while you sit curled around him as he sleeps, soothing his coughs with quiet whispers.
Night has just begun to fall, the rain of the day turning into a soft drizzle, and you stare at him blankly, unsure how to process what you’ve just heard.
“Do you think I’ll come back?” He asks again, slightly louder. As if you hadn’t heard his shaky voice the first time. It’s not the question that floors you. You’ve been expecting this for weeks, months even. You’ve wondered it yourself as you prepare tea and ignore the sounds of him vomiting blood in the bathroom, as he disappears to the hospital and returns with a worse prognosis than before, as you’ve adjusted to the idea that you are dead and he is dying and you cannot do anything to help him.
You never would have expected the hope that his words carry though.
“Why does it sound like you want to?” You ask. Your voice is clear in the air and you’re glad for it, because this isn’t something you want to talk about through your board.
“Because I do?” His response is delayed and sounds more like a question than a real answer.
“Why?!” You demand.
“Are you serious, Casper?” His brow is furrowed as he sits up and lets the blankets fall away to sit haphazardly off the couch.
“Are you? Joon, why would you want to come back?”
“You’re seriously asking me that question? Why would I not? I’ve got so much I still want to do, I never thought I’d get the chance to after I got the diagnosis and now I might be able to. Why wouldn’t I want that?”
“Because it doesn’t work like that! You don’t get to just wander the world and fuck around, Joon, you’re dead.”
“Yeah, but you can still read and write and everything. I’d have all the time in the world to read the books I want to read, watch the shows I want to watch, write the music and stories and lyrics that I want to write.”
“Yeah, so long as it all stays in this apartment!” The light in the room flickers slightly with the force of your irritation. “You can’t do anything that isn’t in this room, Namjoon, you can’t use any of the electronics, you can’t read a book unless it’s here, you can’t write music unless it’s on actual paper, you can’t do anything.”
“Yeah, and I could make that work. Why are you so upset about this? I thought you’d be happy.”
“Happy? You think I’d be happy that you’d be stuck in these four walls forever, too? Why would that make me happy?” Namjoon stands, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head.
“Because I’d be with you! We’d be together, forever! Do you not want to be with me?”
“Of course I want to be with you, Joon, but not at the cost of you being stuck here. I don’t want that for anyone, certainly not the man I love.”
“And what if that’s what I want? What if I want to spend the rest of time with you? I’m already spending the rest of my life with you, I’m in love with you, I don’t want to leave you.”
“And I don’t want you to go, but Joon, why would I want you stuck here, too? This isn’t something fun. This isn’t anything that I enjoy.”
“Oh, so you regret it all then?”
“I didn’t say that, I just don’t want you to be stuck in a shitty studio apartment for who knows how long when you can’t fucking do half of the things you love! You wouldn’t go on walks, Namjoon, you wouldn’t go with Guk and Jimin to the movies, you wouldn’t get visits from Hobi, you wouldn’t get to shop with Taehyung or Jin, you wouldn’t get to drag Yoongi away from his thesis or celebrate with them when he finishes it! It’s not like being alive, Namjoon, you’d be dead and alone and in hell!”
“Whatever,” He mutters, shoving his arms into his coat. “Why can’t you understand for one fucking second that it wouldn’t be like that with you? I’d rather be stuck here forever than have to die in some shitty apartment and not even be able to touch the person I love.”
“Why can’t you understand that it’s still death? You’d be dead, Joon, your friends would go to your funeral and disappear from your life, and you’d be stuck staring out that window at that shitty alley for the rest of time. You don’t get it, you don’t how terrible it is to be stuck here and watch life pass you by.”
“Then why the fuck are you still here?” He asks. The door slams behind him before you can answer him, and your scream shakes everything in the room. You just barely catch one of the plants in the kitchen, a brown-potted one with ‘Shooky’ scrawled in Yoongi’s familiar handwriting, before it crashes to the ground. You return it to its place gently and huff another frustrated groan.
You wish you could explain it better, but you know he wouldn’t get it even if you could. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to be trapped between four walls and unable to do anything without massive amounts of effort. And he won’t, not unless he experiences it himself.
You’ve already watched him wither away. You’ve watched him become thin and sallow and a shadow of the Namjoon who first moved in, and you don’t know what you would do if he came back. You wouldn’t be alone anymore, of course, and you’d have him here with you, but at what cost? Namjoon was built for cherry blossoms and sunshine and the riverside. He would hate being trapped here even more than you do.
Still, you could have been more understanding of his view. You can admit that even being stuck in a shitty apartment wasn’t so terrible when you had Namjoon there to make you laugh or watch TV or read to you. It may even get better if he turned into a ghost; maybe you could hold his hands in yours, could feel him wrap his arms around you, could press kisses to his skin again.
You move to the window and stand there waiting. It’s not good for him to be out, even if the rain had stopped a few days ago and the forecasters promised it was the end of the downpours. He was still weak, you’d be surprised he even went anywhere to begin with but you know he likes to walk to calm himself down.
You worry for what feels like hours. You can’t focus on anything, not the way the sun starts to set, not the sound of cars passing or the neighbor leaving. You’ve worked yourself into knots by the time you hear his whistle echo up through the streets, nearly lost in the sound of some argument in the alley below you. You catch a brief view of his coat and smile when you see that he’s got some half-dead plant tucked under an arm. There’s the briefest glimpse of what looks like a Ca scrawled onto it, and your heart jumps in your throat.
You make your way to the stove, turning the heat up slightly too high so that it’ll be ready when he comes in. The arguing outside gets louder but you pay it no mind, pulling the honey out and setting it next to his favorite mug. You’re reaching for the tea when you hear something else. It definitely sounds like Namjoon’s voice, but it’s not in the hall or at the door like usual. It’s raised, like he’s yelling at someone, like it was just a while ago when he was fighting with you. A crash startles you and before you can even reach the window to see what’s going on, there’s a deafening bang.
You slam your fist against the window, watch the red mix with dirt, and the kettle isn't that only thing that screams.
“I think that’s the last of it,” Jeongguk says. His voice is scratchy and quiet, but it’s deafening in the silence of the apartment.
“Yeah,” Hoseok replies. His eyes are rimmed with red and his hands shake as he slides the last mug into a box. “Thanks for the help, Guk. I don’t, um.” He sniffles. “I don’t think I could’ve done it myself, y’know?”
“I know,��� Jeongguk agrees. They’re quiet again, adjusting the things they’ve boxed and avoiding finishing what they’re doing.
“Oh, can you get that?” You don’t have to look to know what Hoseok is talking about. Jeongguk grunts an affirmation and makes his way over. It’s a strange feeling, having someone pass through you again for the first time since. His hands fly into the air as he tries to lift, clearly not having expected it to weigh anything.
His reflection in the window frowns, and he tries again, tugging on the pot.
“I can’t get it,” He says. “Do you think he glued these things down or something?”
“No,” Hoseok replies as he wanders over as well. “He used to pick them up to re-pot them, remember? And the others came up with no problem.”
“Well it’s stuck or something, you try.”
Hobi takes Jeongguk’s place and pulls hard at the plot, but your grip doesn’t waver. He huffs and disappears. When he returns, he’s got a butter knife in one hand that he does his best to slip under the pot. He tries hard to pry it up, so hard that you almost want to give in. You don’t though.
The knife clatters to the floor with as much force as Hoseok can put behind it, a curse following quickly behind it.
“Fuck it,” Hoseok says. His voice is shaky and you know he’s near tears again. “Just fuck it.”
“But that was-”
“You can try if you want, Guk, but I just-” He chokes back a sob, shaking his head and moving to pick up the boxes he’d set down. “I just can’t, okay?” He disappears out the door in a hurry, and you wish you could follow after him.
Jeongguk looks down at the small plant, with its painted periwinkle pot and soft leaves. He runs a quivering finger over the leaf and sniffles. He doesn’t try to lift it again, just stands and lets his tear soak into the soil.
“I wish you could come back to us,” He whispers. “We thought...we expected more time. It’s not...it’s not really fair, y’know? So if you can hear me, if you can come back to us, please do. Please.”
He turns and leaves, the apartment door slamming behind him like the lid of a casket. Your grip on Mang loosens now that you know no one’s going to try to take it. You’d watched them pack everything else up; you’d let them take the steamer trunk full of records, the shelf full of books and movies, the collection of mugs, the soft blankets, the ratty couch, the rest of the plants he’d cared for so tenderly.
Piece by piece they had packed Namjoon up and walked him out of the apartment, but this was the one piece they couldn’t have. This was his favorite and none of them knew how to care for it like you did, and you had to. You owed it to him. He deserved to come back to at least one familiar thing, never mind that you woke up not even a day later and it’s now been weeks. If there was one thing you wanted him to see when he got back, it was his favorite of his plants.
The sun glares into your eyes from where it shines down on the city. It reflects off something in the window from across the alley, would be blinding if you actually had eyes. You pay it no mind, focused instead on the remains of the broken brown pot down in the alley, the way you’ve pieced them together in your head a thousand times just to trace the word Casper with your eyes. You can almost hear his voice saying it, even now.
You whip around, eyes darting through the empty space of the apartment as your hands tighten around Mang.
All that rests there is empty space, mocking in its loneliness. You remember when he moved in, remember how it felt to test the boundaries of the apartment and wish you were free. The want is still there, to leave and never think of it again, never think of him. You know better, though. You could never escape the memory of him, the way he laughed and smiled and spoke. You could never abandon Mang. Not when he said he’d always come back to you.
You turn back to the window, cursing the sunlight with every other breath. It fades, slowly, into the black of night, before returning again, and again, and again. Days pass, each one feeling like years. Hoseok doesn’t appear to show the apartment, no one comes to collect the small periwinkle pot between your palms, and the ghost of his laugh echoes around you.
The sun blinds you again. You don’t even know how long it’s been, just that you’ve yet to move. Light glints off whatever hangs in the window across the alley. That's when you see it, a vague reflection in the weathered glass of a dimple and a grin, and warmth surrounds you.
“I told you I’d always come back, Casper.”
#namjoon fanfiction#rm fanfiction#bts fanfiction#namjoon smut#namjoon x reader#namjoon angst#rm smut#reader insert#rm angst#rm x reader#namjoon fanfic#rm fanfic#bts fanfic#love yourself collab#ghost reader#clumsy namjoon#unspecified gender reader#bts angst#major character death#fic: forever rain#ddaenggtan
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please i am begging,,, more ot3 content with john/v/santi in the role reversal au,,,, im so thirsty for it,, im parched,,,,
hhhngh YEAH ANON ME TOO
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I do not like this.
“That’s because you don’t trust him.”
Ares glances at you as if to say that should be obvious. Perhaps it is. But you do not share in her worry. Your second in command stays close to you regardless and the tension coiling her agile, small frame makes a faint frown tug across your mouth.
“Darling, you do not have to fear for me,” you reassure her—a rarity. Usually, you don’t bother repeating yourself. “I am more than capable of taking care of myself. Besides, do you truly think Santino would allow Johnathan to harm me even if he were to try?”
Ares’ eyes flash but her lack of immediate response is enough of an answer. Eventually, she signs a reluctant. He would never. But he might not be enough. Not with his…attachment.
For a moment the sound of her dress shoes and your heels are the only sound echoing through the otherwise empty hallway.
“Then I have Hector and the others,” you remind her knowingly. It might have taken years of subtle unravelling but the Four are now more yours than they were ever your father’s. Gianna made sure that the same could be said about the rest of the guard. “Johnathan will honour his Marker and after tonight, Gianna and I will answer to no one. You do not have to worry. Lo Spettro and I have an understanding.”
The woman turns to look at you and the look in her bright blue eyes is knowing. He looks at you like he is not sure if he wants to kill you or eat you.
A smirk curves your lips upwards and you lean into her for a second, ignoring the irritated twitch of her eyebrows. “They’re both a delight,” you confess with a sigh. “I’ve never been very good at denying myself things I want.”
Just make sure he does not hurt you like last time, she signs with another glare. Or I will kill him.
“Who knew you could be so sweet?” you mutter jokingly and chuckle at the sharp glare she throws your way. You’re glad that she feels at ease with you. Cassian tiptoes around your sister like he has a stick up his ass. According to your Gianna, however, he's anything but stiff in bed. Good for her. “Don’t worry about me. Just make sure everyone is in place and the path is clear. Tonight is the one night I need everything to go smoothly. We’ve planned for this for too long.”
The rest of the way is spent in amiable silence between you and you know that your Second will not fail you.
You hear their voices first.
Low, heated.
They’re arguing and you make sure you announce yourself long before you appear.
“I hope my delightful men are not arguing.”
You enter the balcony and pointedly ignore the thick tension between Santino and John as both men turn to face you.
The double-take they both do at the sight of you makes you grin.
Your heels click against the marble as you approach them slowly, letting them drink in the sight of you. Ares is beside you and her reaction of a silent scoff is telling enough.
“Johnathan,” you greet the Baba Yaga, your dark shadow, and soon-to-be saviour with a slight curl of your mouth. You raise your hand, offering it to him and the man takes it in his gently, lifting your fingers to his mouth. His warm lips graze over your knuckles, his eyes dark and your grin widens. “Such a delight to see that you’re a man of your word after all. I did not wish to make an enemy of you. Your compliance will be rewarded.“
John doesn’t lower your hand right away, his fingers still around your own and you delight in the hesitation. Those eyes track your every breath and the hand holding your own could snap your bones with a speed that would leave others immobile. Well, with the exception of your handsome Viper, perhaps.
“Do I have your word that once it’s done I can walk away?” he asks quietly and you appreciate that he’s still as direct as always. “No tricks. No games.”
“You have my word,” you agree easily and your fingers snake tighter around his own. That old flame still smoulders between you and you can’t quite stop yourself from adding a low, “But should you wish it, there is always a place for Baba Yaga in our ranks. Camorra will welcome you, Johnathan. All you need to do is say the words, bello.”
Oh, won’t that be something?
The Boogeyman on his knees before you and Gianna, swearing his fealty to you and you alone.
Something flickers in that dark gaze, and you know he’s thinking about it, too. Like he can visualise that exact same scenario.
He’s worshipped you once.
How different can worshipping between sheets be to service of loyalty?
“I’m only here to honour my Marker.”
You suppose it will suffice for now.
This will not end in a feud between you two at least, but you have no intention of letting him go that easily. Not when it would please your Viper if John were to stay as well.
Speaking of which.
Your gaze shifts to John’s right and those beautiful green eyes greet your own.
Santino’s gaze is on your and John’s interlaced fingers but there is no jealousy there. Good. He’s always been smart. Though his gaze remains guarded, distant, sometimes he allows you just close enough. With your father dead, there is nothing standing in your way. You can ask him to be a part of your family. Finally give him a home and a place to belong. He may try and play off his deep-running loneliness as haughtiness and desire for space but you know better.
Releasing John’s hand, you move closer towards him.
“Hello, darling,” you greet him warmly, genuinely happy to see him. “Don’t you look delicious?”
“Amore,” he says softly in reply and his eyes take you in. “You are a vision.”
You hum in reply and lean closer, kissing both of his cheeks. He smells like a thousand different scents—something earthy and heady and dangerous. You have memorised the warmth and the smell of him. The only thing besides Gianna’s humming and John stroking your hair capable of bringing you calm, ease.
Santino’s fingers brush against your hip—nothing but a fleeting, feather-light contact but your slight smile quivers.
Perhaps your victory in this very long game is finally in sight.
“Do you like my chosen colours on this special occasion?”
Black and green.
A fitting tribute, perhaps.
The only things red about you tonight is the stretch of your ruby red lips, your Camorra heiress ring, and soon your father’s spilt blood.
Neither John nor Santino reply but their silence and the intent way they track every twitch of your body are enough of an answer.
One day you will get them to sort out their differences and the unspoken tension there. The hurt.
One day.
Footsteps draw closer and your head tilts.
The Camorra Elite move as one. Dressed in that rich, elegant burgundy to mark the occasion, they approach the spot where you stand and stop a foot away.
“Are we ready? Gianna and Cassian in place?”
Hector arches an eyebrow. “Have a little faith, my lady.”
Your mouth twitches at his dry tone.
Your eyes go to John as do every other pair around. The Four watch the Boogeyman with varying degrees of aversion. They can still recall your past with the man and the marks form that time still linger.
“You ready to go, old-timer?” Hector’s deride question sounds and John’s eyes leave your own, going to the Devil. “Won’t want you to break a hip. If we do this, we get one chance to do it cleanly.”
Oh, it only took seemingly a lifetime for that iron-like loyalty to become yours and not your father’s.
But you always win.
John’s eyes drag to you and for a brief second, they go to Santino, too.
Yes, Jardani. Look and see. You can see a future right in front of you. Take it.
But he still hesitates. His dead wife still lingers in his veins.
Love can be such a cruel thing.
But time heals and mends. He still feels for you both and you will pull it out of him eventually.
Your eyes move over your family slowly, finally coming to rest on John and Santino. The later has moved to your side. As has Ares. Your protection for tonight.
“Don’t fail me.”
But they’re empty words.
You already know they won’t.
#john wick x reader#santino d'antonio x reader#john wick#john wick x reader x santino d'antonio#john wick fic#I AM SO HERE FOR J/V/S AFTER LAST UPDATE#just...wow....let them be thirsty and angsty and none murderous p l e a s e#fic: children of ares#s: power triad
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Game Night at Kuroo’s
Description: despite the suggestions of social distancing, Kuroo Decides to have a game night in with his third gym buds at his apartment that he shares with his s/o. This is what ensues
Requested: yes! I actually took two requests from one of our lovely followers @psychoarrogant and have combined them into one. “A scenario where the Gym 3 boys hang out for the day?” and “ How about a quarantine scenario with Kuroo, Bokuto, and Akaashi? 😂 I can feel the chaos already.”
So I hope you all enjoy! This one is for you love. Thanks for the support and love on this blog. 💕 💕 💕
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Quarantine, Coronavirus, COVID-19, any other variation of this pandemic that had brought a new sense of ‘normal’ to your lives was enough to drive nearly anyone crazy at this point. For Kuroo Tetsuro, the lack of interaction with his friends was getting to him. Not to say he hasn’t enjoyed the quality time he gets to spend with his beautiful girlfriend Y/N, but let’s be honest, you both are ready for something to change.
Which is why Kuroo has decided to create some chaos. It’s not like he didn’t want to break the rules or anything. He just thought it could be fun to have a game night. They could practice social distancing in their two bedroom apartment..for the most part. Well, he wouldn’t have suggested the idea if he thought that it would cause problems. And besides, his friends didn’t have to say yes either, so everyone was in agreement here.
Fast forward to the day of the game night. Kuroo and you had spent the afternoon cleaning and organizing things, and had already made a mask covered trip to the grocery store for groceries..and maybe a few extra groceries to compensate for the 5 volleyball players that were about to show up and take over your place. You had also gone back and forth with getting a mixture of board games, card games, and video games pulled out to choose from for the evening of fun.
The first to arrive were Bokuto and Hinata both having come from the same train station. “Hey Hey Hey! Kuroo! Y/N! Are you guys ready to get your butts kicked at whatever games we decided to play tonight?” Bokuto exclaimed lifting you up into a big hug before spinning around and setting you down, laughing at the actions.
Kuroo immediately found himself smirking at the challenge “Oh? Is that you already sealing your fate then? We haven’t even discussed games yet and you are over here over confident in your abilities.”
“He’s right Bokuto-San! You can’t walk into their home spouting that you are gonna win it all. You forgot they invited me here too and I don’t plan on losing!” Hinata shouted, also rising to the challenge.
“Bokuto is really over here being over confident as usual. That doesn’t really surprise me.” everyone turned at the new voice, recognizing it as belonging to Akaashi Keiji. The former setter shaking his head already at Bokuto’s excitement. Lev peeking his head in behind him, waving and going over to challenge Hinata. It was already going to be a night full of competition, and the games hadn’t even begun yet.
“Akaashi! Do you not have faith in my abilities anymore?” Bokuto pouted going over to Akaashi who merely fixed him with a bored expression. Choosing to come over to you instead.
“Here Y/N, I brought some drinks and cups for us to share for the night. I figured you and Kuroo probably prepared a lot for us and the least I could do was offer something to go along with it.”
You smiled and took the bag from him “Thank you Akaashi, that is so thoughtful of you, I appreciate it and will get it all set out.”
After about 10 minutes of the boys catching up, Kuroo looked at his watch and frowned at the door. “Oi, I have never known Tsukki to be late, did we tell him the right time?”
Amidst the comments your friends made about their tall salty blonde friend you shook your head at your boyfriend “he knows. I reminded him this afternoon of the time. Maybe he’s not coming?”
“Hey Hey, if he doesn’t come let’s go find him and drag him to game night. It wouldn’t be the same without our Tsukki-poo here.” I’m so sorry. I had to pay homage to this hilariously dubbed nickname Bokuto exclaimed, standing up quite literally ready to go find their friend and drag him out from wherever he was ‘hiding.’
“How many times do I have to tell you to please stop calling me that Bokuto. It’s such a god awful nickname.” Tsukishima Kei announced his arrival with that exasperated comment, grimacing at Bokuto’s name.
“Tsukishima! You made it! You’re late!” everyone commented, bounding towards the poor blonde boy who couldn’t escape the grasp of his old third gym members who surrounded him, pulling him further into the apartment.
“Perfect! Now that Tsukki is finally here, we can get started on our game night.” Kuroo announced, choosing a few games to start the night with.
After many rounds of Uno, ending in the table almost being flipped by Bokuto for the third time after having to draw +14 cards (or so he says) since everyone seemed to have draw two cards to stack onto the pile whenever he started it, the group moved onto other board games, eventually turning to video games as the night went on. Splitting into teams of 3 v 3 it was tied with wins on both sides, the tie settled with a sly hand from Akaashi catching Kuroo off guard, ending the match with a final win.
The night drew on and everyone was getting a little antsy, ready to blow off some steam from winning, or losing games and couldn’t seem to agree on a game to play.
“We could play another round of Uno? Or a different card game?” Lev offered, that was a game he actually didn’t completely fail at and wouldn’t be too upset if they decided to play that again.
“Oh hell no. No way are we playing Uno again.” Bokuto threw out snorting at the suggestion.
“He just doesn’t want to take the chance of seeing another draw 2 card ever again.” Tsukki snickered as Bokuto turned on him at the comment, denying the accusation.
You smiled at the bickering, looking outside at the sandpit across from your apartment. You and Kuroo had been lucky enough to move into an apartment that was placed at a dead end, an open field and ditch splitting the other side. But you had been told that the sandpit had been used for sand volleyball at one time and was open for you to use whenever you wanted. That sounded like a perfect way to continue with the game night and get everyone’s overactive energy to settle down a bit.
“What about a friendly game of 3 v 3 sand volleyball edition?” you suggested turning back to the group of boys who all stopped to turn and look at you. “I can keep score for you guys” you added suddenly blushing at the gaze of the 6 boys staring at you.
“Y/N! That sounds like a great idea! Let’s do it!” Bokuto cheered, Kuroo cheering with him. Those two and Hinata were the first to run to grab their shoes.
“but it’s like 10pm and dark out, how are we going to even see to play?” Tsukki asked peering out the window at the darkened pit.
“Don’t worry Tsukki my boy, there is a street light over there that is controlled by a switch. We just have to flip it on and give it a few minutes to brighten up and then we will be good to go” Kuroo explained tossing him his shoes to put on. “Now come on. Don’t dawdle everyone else is already ready to go over there.”
He wasn’t wrong. Hinata, Lev, and Bokuto were already out the door making their way to the ditch to hop over and get the light on. Akaashi following them, questioning if it was really okay to just jump the ditch to go play.
Tsukki let out a sigh but put his shoes on “I guess if everyone else is going to play, it wouldn’t be fair to make it uneven.” he said feigning uninterest. But you and Kuroo knew better. Of course he wouldn’t pass up a chance to play.
Kuroo took your hand and led you out the door behind Tsukishima, swinging your hand in his “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this idea early Y/N. You really come up with the best ideas on the spot don’t you?” he praised, looking down at you with that goofy and adorable grin of his.
“I can’t believe you would pass up the opportunity to play volleyball with all of them here at once. It’s not often we have other people able to come play. Were you that focused on winning your other games that you didn’t think of the ultimate game for game night in an apartment full of volleyball players?” you teased, earning a look from Kuroo before being swept off your feet and thrown over his shoulder as he jumped the ditch to get the other other side.
You laughed and lightly smacked his back “Put me down you dork! That was unexpected and unnecessary!” you exclaim as everyone laughed at the sudden sight the dark haired boy had created.
He set you back down on the ground but not before giving you a kiss “cheer me on okay babe? You know I wouldn’t lose on my own personal court.”
That comment drew out the cocky and confident responses of all the boys, turning the conversation to splitting up into teams. The next few hours were spent playing many 3 v 3, and even paying homage to traditional sand volleyball and doing a few of 2 v 2 rounds. The rest of the evening enjoying doing what everyone here loved to do. Which lead to 6 exhausted and sand covered boys to end up crashing in the living room of your apartment around 3 am when they decided they couldn’t go on any longer. It would mean cleaning up sand for the next few weeks more than likely but it couldn’t have been a better way to end a much needed night with friends in the middle of these trying times.
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A/N: Hope you enjoyed this little third gym party. Despite what was written here, I hope you all are doing the best you can to take care of yourselves during this time! Remember to wash your hands and if you feel sick stay home! You are more important than any job or requirement that could keep you from wanting to stay home and get better. Much love to you all dearies! Stay safe out there! ~Admin Crow 💚
#Haikyuu Scenario#for the lovely @psychoarrogant#Third Gym#Kuroo x Reader#Kuroo Tetsurou#Bokuto Koutarou#Akaashi Keiji#Hinata Shouyo#Haiba Lev#Tsukishima Kei#bestest of the best boys#I love third gym#Karasuno#Nekoma#Fukurodani#Haikyuu!!#Hope you guys enjoy!#Admin Crow
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WS AU Henry,
Human/prestudio WS Sammy,
N WS AU Linda!
>Picrew<
-Lil Facts!-
Henry bi transman!
his pronouns r he/him!
Sammy prestudio is in the closet,
but they’re queer! Gender? Sexuality? They’re queer.
Their pronouns r He/They/She
Sammy is also Autistic!
Linda is Queer amab nonbinary!!!
Her pronouns r she/her or they/them.
Her n Henry get married a bit after his quite from the studio.
uUUH post studio after Henry n Sammy escape- they are together, n eventually Sammy, Henry n Linda r all together n In Love polyam rights!!!!!!!! Sammy gets: a lovely Husband and darling spouse who love them very much. She also feels safe enough, n trusts the two them enough to come out to them!!! They love her v mch.
-Prestudio Sam doens’t actually have the tail or ears its just relevant to the au, n also- is cute. d:>c They usually keep her hair up in a ponytail, n Linda does as well. Sammy’s 6′4, Henry’s 5′4 and Linda’s 5′10
>uuuuh rly shitty basic summary of the au<
(me n my friend Kit @apxlllo(who works on the au with me, and has written so mch Lovely stuff for the au) do plan to write up a proper post/more detailed summary on the au soon hopefully!, this is just a v basic barebones summary of the au I wrote up- A looot of stuff has been left out, this is just a gist of things! We also hav a doc for au stuff tht I hope to eventually try n get organized at Some point tht I’ll Post whenever its done)
To Sum things up in Short: Sammy after being killed by Bendy after having tried sacrificing Henry, comes back, crawling out of the ink puddles only to get captured by Alice/Susie. Their dragged back to her lair and once there she decides to make use of him, and starts to rip him open, pull his insides out and pull him apart to turn him into another of her monsters- She removes his insides, and starts to replace them with Butchered Boris guts, and she starts to notice how his body is reacting to it- absorbing the ink and she finds that Very interesting. When she’s finished with this- done Torturing him basically, prodding his insides and pulling them apart, she sews him back up before injecting some of her own ink into him, Which links the two of them which in turn means she can Control/Influence them in a sense. After this is done to him- He ends up transforming into a big Inky weremonster(Who I call Were-Sammy) for the first time, the process is..Extremely painful, and she watches it happen, smiling the entire time.
Oh he’s simply PERFECT, She can definitely use him to her advantage..he’d make a perfect monster for her. Initially though, His form is quite unstable, which causes him to erratically turn back and forth(which is very painful mind you-) so while she’s fine tuning him, working on her newest monster, Henry continues to be her lil errand boy.
Until, Sammy is finally acting like she wants.
She can force him to turn into his wereself whenever she wishes him to, and his first order is to kill that Animator running around HER studio- She sends him after Henry, fully expecting him to come back covered in his blood, or at least carrying his Corpse, but instead, he comes back, tail between his legs, having not been able to kill Henry(there’s more to this in the au but!), She’s quite mad at him for this. Forces him to turn back to himself, far faster then Normal, leaving him a melted mess on the floor as she shouts at him about how she wants Results- and if she doesn’t get them she might just have to pull him open again- he begs her not to, he can kill them- He swears, She just says she wants results, she wants him dead, and she wants it Now- Before he can react. She’s forcing him to turn again, And sets her monster off back on their goal to kill Henry.
She keeps sending him after Henry- But he keeps coming back empty handed every time which just enrages her more with each time, Making her lash out at him, He’ll turn back and she’ll immediately force him to turn again, and when their too weak for that, she lets him have a Little rest, which just consists of him locked in a single room, chained to a wall so he can’t escape, before she decides he’s rested enough, and walks into the room to drag him out to force him to turn again. In the beginning, Every time she’d open the door, he’d scream, beg her not to, struggle against her, kick and scream but after a while he just, Stopped trying. There was no reason to delay the inevitable. there was no stopping it. So he gave up Fighting it, or trying.
Eventually, At some point while Hunting Henry she turns back, and Henry finds them. He’s immediately concerned, He wants to help them, tries to approach him but he just screams at him to get the fuck away from him- to just leave him, to get Away from them- Because his wereself..Doesn’t really LIKE Henry all that much- because he’s the reason their ‘Angel’ is so cruel and awful to them- He manages to convince Henry to leave him, fighting back his wereself to keep himself from changing, which lets Henry get away as he finally can’t hold it back anymore. Henry runs away, as he hears Sammy’s screaming, the sound of bone breaking, and at that moment he realizes the new Monster Alice made is Sammy- He decides then he needs to save him, to get him away from Alice.
After that Henry has two goals, One: Save Sammy, and Two: Escape the studio with him. At some point Henry is able to get Sammy away from Alice- n then the two are working together/sticking together to get out of the studio, While dealing with the hassle of Sammy just, randomly turning into his wereself, and the problems with himself being a big Inky weremonster. Also in the process of this...The two get close, end up falling for each other, In the beginning of Sammy realizing he’s falling for Henry, he tries Desperately to convince himself he hasn’t, he doesn’t love him, and tries to lie to himself that he Doesn’t, There’s no happy endings here, he shouldn’t- but he can’t lie to himself, for the first time in so long, he has Hope, He feels hope because Henry assures him they’ll get out of here, that they’ll escape- Together- and truly, for the first time it feels so possible, Henry is so caring to him- he’s so kind to him- He can’t lie to himself that he hasn’t fallen for Henry, that he doesn’t Love him- even if he does try telling himself that in the beginning.
Henry feels the same, He loves Sammy so much and he’d do anything for him- he means the world to him, and he’s the reason he keeps fighting to get out, to get him out of there, to be free, as well as to see Linda again- but he fights for them both to get out of this inky hell, Together- he won’t leave without him.
The two become very close, become much more then just companions or friends, ending up together, and eventually they DO escape the studio: Together, and live with Linda at her and Henry’s home. After being there for a bit, Linda and Sammy grow close, end up falling in love, and all three of them are together and love one another very Much- Linda and Henry? Love their amazing inky wife so Much, and Sammy loves them too, he’s never felt so happy- and so Full of love as she does now with them- they mean the world to him and she is so thankful to have them in his life, and get to wake up every morning to them both.
BUT- YEAH! This is the gist of the au- i left out a lot of like specific Scenes in the au, like Before Sammy and Henry leave the studio- Susie/Alice is killed, that’s a big scene in the au- amongst stuff tht happens with Bendy once outside the studio- buuut YEAH- that’s the gist of the au HGDHHGSH Sorry if this is poorly written- or a mess, I do plan to work wqith kit to get a better post on the au up eventually, and plan on organizing the au doc to share soon! Eventually there will be drawings of the lads- Eventually, especially Inky Sammy- There are drawings of Were-Sam you can find on my blog though if you go looking. THOUGH- Here’s a description of Were-Sam,
Were-Sammy stands about 8, almost 9ft tall, His body is a dark black color that shifts between darker shades of black(this color shifting is quite slow usually, so it isn’t Too noticable), and is covered in melty, inky fur. The fur is soft, but Also melty n he has ink kiind of melting off of him. His hands are semi paw like with sharp claws and his feet are half melted paws. He has a long melty tail covered in melty black fur, the underside of the tails fur is longer/meltier. His ears are long, wide at the base and thinner towards the ends of them. He has long sharp canine like teeth. and his eyes are piecut, a glowy amberish red, and ink of the same color is constantly melting down from his eyes down his face. His inky fur is thicker/longer around his neck and down his back along his spine. Body wise? He’s muscular but also kiinda chubby. I’m not very good at describing body types so forgive me 😔.
n a lil bit on were-sammy specifically:
Were-Sammy is very affectionate to both Linda and Henry and love them both very much, he’s a big Lovable fool, jus a big Puby. Sometimes when Sammy turns, He’s just themselves, other times their far more wolf then herself. Were-sammy is very nice to them both- very lovable and very protective. He is...good sweet lad, and Linda and Henry lov their big Monster Husband so much. Were-sammy? Good boy. Also due to being a weremonster, Sammy does have his more monstery traits come out when he isn’t even in their wereform! Such as: Howling(both Linda and Henry find it great fun to howl to try and get Sammy to- They do not appreciate it), growling, whining, n at times acting Kiiind of like his wereself, one specific thing is: when Linda or Henry come home from being out- she gets SO HAPPY AND EXCITED TO SEE THEM- Immediately has to get up and rush over to the door to greet them and hug them- He’s very affectionate, and snuggly! He does have a ‘half’ form he will occasionally shift into, Which is pretty much him gaining his claws, sharper teeth and his ears n tail, as well as gettin Kinda fluffie(aka getting some of his fur, specifically going down his back- Soft), In his half form they tend to act more of their wereself at times- and are very excitable!!! jus...good puby..
#Were-Sammy AU#I am mch too nervous to put this in the fandom tag nbnfhngh bYUT HHH YEAH#This au means a l;ot to me. i hav sm fun babbling bout it with my friemd kit!!! he was n is a big help with workinb on the au with me! d:"D#he's the reason i asctuslly did more ewith thr au!!!! he's written tons oif lovely stuff for the au n he's made ws bendy#easily one of my fave au bendys(up there with ss bendy)#HHTHJRFHG D O LET ME KNow if u like the au............i weuld like to hear wht u giys think#MGHHGDG SHY BOUT sharing my au stuff HGBHFHGVG#ENJOY THO GMFMHDHG#I rly love ws au sammy- they mean sm to me now d:> i lov thm............#SORRY IF THIS POST IS. A MESS.
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ACT V: THE LION THAT ONCE WAS.
The ambush happened all too fast. The valiant elf fought hard but they just kept coming and in the end, they overpowered him. They brought the Lion to his knees before her, making him kneel at her feet. At first he didn’t recognize her, thinking she was just another vampire but when he realized she was his maker, despair washed over him. How could this be possible? He killed her, he knows he did. He made sure to. These fleeting thoughts were quickly interrupted as she grabbed his chin, forcing his eyes to meet hers. ❝ Hello Faelmon. ❞ the red head’s voice was laced with malicious glee ❝ It’s been a very long time, has it not? ❞
❝ You should be dead! ❞ the elf barks back, ❝ I killed you! You should be dead! ❞ and that earns a laugh. ❝ Oh I was dead. Quite dead. For a very long time. ❞ she continues, ❝ However, necromancy is a very useful tool it seems. ❞ she says in a sing-song tone. ❝ Though those necromancers weren't as smart as they thought they were. They thought they could control an ancient vampire’s spirit but they were wrong. ❞ A grin forms on her features, ❝ It also helped that their little sacrifice was the spitting image of myself. ❞ That made sense. It was rare but it happens, having a person that looked exactly like you somewhere in the world. He pitied the poor woman who had hers. ❝ Get to the point, Fralda. ❞ the elf huffed. ❝ Why attack me? ❞ a giggle follows in response, ❝ Mainly revenge, but you would also interrupt my plans. ❞ She looks to her fledglings and gives a nod, and they bring the elf back to his feet, but bind him as they begin to lead him somewhere.
He doesn’t know where he’s going and whatever these restraints were he couldn’t break them, even with his vampiric strength. The journey however was not long, within a few hours they lead him to an ancient Nordic ruin, one he hasn’t seen before and push him inside. His maker humming as they venture deeper and deeper into the ruins. They encountered draugr but strangely enough they weren’t hostile to them. It must have been some sort of necromancy spell she casted upon them. Then he sees a sarcophagus with intricate runes and mechanisms he hasn’t quite seen before. ❝ Do you like it? Kalaril made it! ❞ she says motioning to the altmer vampire on his right side. ❝ He’s very smart, you know, studied baneful magic and dwarven mechanics for a couple hundred years now. ❞ He doesn’t like where this is going. ❝ He built it especially for you! Well, I made him make it but it’s still all for you. ❞ Another nod comes from her as she’s done speaking, which prompts them to drag him into the sarcophagus. He struggles to fight back but by the time he can free himself he’s locked in. He bangs and claws at the inside of the lid, screaming for them to let him out, but it’s too late. He’s trapped, and not a soul would know where he was.
The hours passed, and thoughts began swimming in his head, thoughts about his family. Oh Gods, his children. They were alone, he couldn’t be there with them. He left them alone. The Lion breaks down in sobs. He promised them he would always be there for them and now, he couldn’t be. Eventually the elf exhausts himself and passes out.
When he awakes again he notices the dryness in his mouth, the chapness of his lips. The second stage of hunger had begun but with no way out he knew he was going to be left to become blood starved. It scares him but there’s nothing he can do. He exhales and goes back to sleep, hoping maybe he wouldn’t be discovered now. It was probably for the best.
Decades pass when he reawakens again, the vampire hearing the sound of the sarcophagus’ lid bursting open. A hiss escapes him as life flows back into him once more. Then a clawed hand reaches out and grips the side of the it, pulling himself out of it to take a look around. Then he sees who broke the seal, a band of adventurers looking for treasure, but all they found was death. His movements are quick, even a corpse. He grabs the closest one to him, slashing open their neck with his claws, almost decapitating them before drinking the sweet lifeblood that spurted from the wound. He could hear them scream in horror as they watched their friend choke on whatever blood was left in them. He moves again grabbing one that flees and smashes their head into a bloody pulp against the sarcophagus that previously held him prisoner, licking the blood off his hands like some feral animal before moving onto the drain whatever was left in their body. The third adventurer did put up a fight, and a brave one as well but a starving vampire is a very tough adversary and it wasn’t long before the vampire killed them too. Biting open their throat and finishing them off until there was nothing left.
With all that blood in his system he could feel his mind clearing again. He stumbles back, falling on his ass and leans against the tomb. Those black scaleras finally returned to white. He looks around now conscious, and lets out a gasp in horror. He looks at his shaking hands, covered in sticky crimson. He… he did this. He knew this would happen but it still made him feel sick to his stomach. He is quick to remove his armor, throwing himself into a pool of water nearby to wash the blood off him and his clothing.
When the elf finally leaves the tomb he notices how warm it is outside. The bright light of the sun stinging his eyes. The last time he saw the sky it was snowing. Perhaps it’s only been a few months since this all happened he wishfully thinks but that was far from the case. He wandered the wilds of Haafingar, some of the territory he knew, some of it had changed. He eventually wanders enough to find the Thlamor Embassy, or what was left of it. It looked like it had been sieged, skeletons in Elven armor scattered across the grounds. Something happened here, and it happened long ago. Faelmon begins to wonder, how many years had passed when he was in that tomb, then those thoughts of his family come flooding back. His children. He needs to get home.
It’s sunset when he arrives and a sigh of relief leaves him, Solitude still stands. And it stands strong. Faelmon walks through the front gates, the guards stop him but he explains who he is, and they let him pass, though these were not the guards he knew. These were bright-eyed young men and women, a lot more cheerful than their previous incarnations. Okay so maybe it’s only been a couple years. If it had only been a couple years there was still a chance his children still resided in his home, which brought him slight joy.
He walks up to the porch of Proudspire, noticing the changes. The bench that he and his children had painted was gone, along with the plants and pottery that were scattered around it. He takes an old key he had on his person and to his surprise the key still works. He turns it and the door pops open, allowing him inside.
A loud growl as he steps through the door is the first thing he hears, it’s a dog, but not the dog he had given his children. Then the rushing footsteps of someone can be heard above him and moving down the stairs before he’s confronted by a Redguard man, brandishing a sword. His family’s sword. ❝ Halt! ❞ the man shouts, ❝ Who-- ❞ he stops, the sword falls. It takes the moment for the man to realize who the elf was. ❝ Papa…? ❞ Papa? It takes Faelmon a minute before he recognizes him ❝ Alesan. ❞ his son. His boy. Except he wasn’t a boy now. He was a man, a full grown man. ❝ Son… ❞ his son places the sword on a table nearby before stepping closer to him, looking at him to see the tears beginning to form in his eyes, ❝ Is it really you? ❞ he asks him. ❝ Yes, yes of course it’s me. ❞ The elf takes a step closer, a hand reaches out but draws back. He clears his throat ❝ I owe you an explanation. ❞ and more, he had been gone so long. He missed so much. Before he could continue he felt his son’s arms around him, hugging him tightly. It catches him off guard but within moments he finds himself hugging him back, a deep sigh of relief leaving him and soft sobs emitting from Alesan. It’s a good minute before Alesan pulls back from his father, wiping the tears from his face.
It’s a quiet evening, the only sound being the roaring fire in the fireplace. Alesan sits across from his father, petting his dog. ❝ We wondered for so long. ❞ he speaks, disrupting the silence. ❝ We knew you wouldn’t abandon us like that. ❞ hearing that brings relief to the altmer for that was another worry of his, his children resenting him for abandoning him. ❝ Sofie never stopped after we did. ❞ A pause as the Redguard stands from his chair, ❝ In fact… ❞ he walks over to the dining table, grabbing an opened letter and handing it to his father. ❝ She sent me this about a month ago from Hammerfell. ❞ He was amazed, hearing his eldest daughter had traveled that far, but to be fair she was always the adventurous one out of the trio of children. Alesan continues as he sits back down ❝ Lucia studied at the College of Winterhold to become a healer, and ended up in Riften at the Temple of Mara. ❞ He was overjoyed to hear that, his daughter, a healer, it was something so noble and honorable. ❝ And to not brag but I’ve become captain of the city guard. ❞ Faelmon’s features form into a slight smile, his children doing such wonderful things made him so proud. However, the smile quickly fades, realizing how much he’s missed. He missed watching his children grow. ❝ Father? ❞ Alesan asks, ❝ I’ve… missed so much of your lives. ❞ he replies somberly, ❝ I… I’m sorry. ❞ Unintentionally he grips the letter in his hand, crumbling the sides of it. Alesan stands moving to his father once more, a hand places itself upon his shoulder. ❝ It’s alright father. ❞
They chat for a little while longer before they both see the morning light peeking through the curtains, they have been talking since dawn. The elf yawns, exhaustion taking hold of him. ❝ I should probably be going. I need to find a bed to rest on. ❞ He stands and begins to move towards the door when he feels his son’s hand on his shoulder once more. ❝ Wait you only just got here, please, stay until I send word to Sofie and Lucia. I’m sure they’d want to see you again. Besides this is your home, you have a bed here. ❞ He insists, ❝ You can stay in Jordis’ old room. ❞ The elf nods in response, accepting his offer and begins to walk downstairs. Along the way he noticed some chances that had been made to the house, for instance the basement no longer holding a smithing area but instead became a grand library. He turns the corner to find Jordis’ room has been redecorated as well, looking more like a room at an inn. He shuts the door behind and flops down onto the bed, falling asleep.
The next day he makes his way back to the Blue Palace, relieved that it was still the same as it was when he was still thane. He explains to the guards who he was and they let him inside. He walked slowly up the grand staircase, and to his surprise not much had changed except for the people of the Court. He recognized Falk Firebeard now as an old man, Elisif now a woman of middle age, but Sybille however, still remained the same. They were in the middle of an argument when they stopped, turning towards him. ❝ Who interrupts this-- ❞ Falk begins to speak but Elsif stops him. ❝ Faelmon? ❞ she asks, ❝ Yes my Jarl, it is I. ❞ he bows his head in respect. He could hear the court whispering amongst themselves. Elisif stands from her throne, approaching him with a hand outstretched before it reaches his chest. ❝ You were gone for so long. ❞ He nods before placing his hand on hers. ❝ I apologize for that, my Jarl. ❞ A small smile forms on his face, ❝ Things happened that were out of my control, things that if you have the time I’d discuss with you and Falk privately. ❞ which earns him a nod from her in response. Falk walks over to him, placing a hand on his back ❝ We’re glad to have you back. ❞
The months pass, and as they do he ventures back into the wilds of Haafingar like he once did, making sure he is well fed, even taking bottles now in case he can’t get it later. He never wanted to become as feral as he did in that tomb, when he was locked away by his maker. Speaking of his maker, he had gotten word that she had become trapped in the Soul Cairn through word of Sybille Stentor. She didn’t get very far in her plans, whatever they were and that gave the elf solace. Though he wonders what became of the poor vessel that held her soul.
It took almost a year for him to finally be reunited with his family, Lucia and Sofie were overcome with joy when they finally saw him again. They almost knocked him over trying to hug him. They caught up about their adventures, their studies, their careers. Everything they could recall.
The thane takes a less active role in the court too. Eventually he stops coming to the court meetings altogether, only traveling to Skyrim to visit Elisif and Falk. A few more years pass when he and his eldest daughter decide to tackle the adventure of traveling all of Tamriel. Exploring the lands and uncovering their mysteries, and of course sending letters back home to his son, entailing of their findings and recalling their grand adventures.
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Tell how you first met each of the wives and girlfriends and when you knew you were in love with them and when you actually said it. And the same for any boyfriends/male lovers you might have - how did you meet them. Are you in love with them? Inquiring minds want to know.
Oh jeez so quick disclaimer, Leon remembers all of these and while he can’t recite the calendar dates, he knows when they happened and it’s part of why he’s so damned loved. I, however, have a brain wholly reliant on logs and written records, and the logs for both of his wives were devoured in a WoWscribe glitch a few years ago. I roughly remember the sequence of events, but not when exactly these things happened; I can’t even remember the year reliably! Because of that, I/he approximate the story kind of a lot…
AND HOLY SHIT THIS IS LONG WOW
HAVE A CUT
Leon first meets Kaewynn at a get-together he stumbled across in Stranglethorn. It’s one of his earliest interactions in RP, actually; he still introduces himself as Cambor, and is still trapped in worgen form. He’s still homeless, still wanders a lot, and isn’t yet much of a cook. He chats with her a while, and the evening ends with her smooching him. He is mightily pleased with himself. (Fun fact, in Leon’s early months, he got a smooch–or more–from someone every single time I sent him out to RP even though he never once actively sought it, this is why I shake my fist at him for being so GOD DAMN charming)
Leon and Kaewynn just keep on running into each other off and on, mostly because he keeps attending the Meddler-run event, Inkwell, and Kaewynn (a member of the Silver Dragoons) shows up frequently. Eventually they slip away to have some fun together, because they’re both fine with flings and no-strings sex, and they’re both pretty keen on one another. Their first time (I believe) is in a mineshaft at the Dragoon garrison in alternate Draenor.
Time passes, he and Kaewynn get more and more affectionate and more and more time is spent walking off on their own to either talk or fuck or both. After one particularly interesting conversation in which Leon told her his real name and was able to shift out of worgen for for a few seconds, and she told him the meaning of hers, he baffledly admitted to the only witness, “I’m in real trouble, I think I’m in love.”
They went on their first proper Actually a Date in Ulduar, because he’d never been there and Kaewynn wanted to show it to him, having some pretty intimate knowledge of the place (spoiler alert she’s a robot that got hit with the curse of flesh no seriously she actually is).
Leon, despite being warned by a few people who knew Kaewynn that she didn’t really know what to do with the concept of love (long story, but it’s kinda literal–think “Data” here and you’ve got the gist of the problem), eventually confesses that he’s in love with her. This doesn’t go so hot, but she gives him a variation on the “just friends” speech and they both lie to themselves and each other and say that’s fine, and the rest of the night goes as originally intended, ending with Copious Amounts Of Fucking.
They are both emotionally underdeveloped idiots so of course they spend a while feeling more and more awkward and eventually Kaewynn breaks things off with him because she feels like she’s using him and …stuff. Like I said, they’re idiots.
And now we switch focus, and rewind a little because I’m pretty sure this is the part where the timing was both hilarious and infuriating.
Enter Pinapple.
A while back, Leon had seen a gnome woman throwing a bit of a tantrum at one of the Inkwell gatherings, though he hadn’t known why at the time. He eventually found out that it was because she’d been exposed to a shitload of radiation and was in a serious depressive spiral for some pretty good reasons (I don’t think it was actually cancer but it was basically cancer).
Being Leon, and being that he’d been given access to a kitchen and the opportunity to learn to cook, he sent this complete stranger a box of treats because hospital food sucks.
Months down the line, we come to the Silver Dragoons’ Halloween party. Pin has recovered after some risky surgeries n’stuff and is trottin’ about the place, shmoozin’ like y’do, and eventually comes across Leon. They got to talking, he got the chance to introduce himself properly, they eventually sat down to have drinks together. In probably the biggest spike of bravery she’d had for a long time before or since, she hit him with the equivalent of “Nice shoes, wanna fuck?” and they did.
He and Pin have a lot of fun together, and they romp along at a pretty good clip for about a month. Eventually during a bit of pillow talk, Pin accidentally says “I love you, you goofball” and they have a Serious Conversation in which he admits he’s not really at that same place, but it didn’t make things wierd at all. Pin being significantly more emotionally mature than Kaewynn, this works out better, and their friendship does not fall apart.
A bit later on, The Voice Of Reason happens and after he nearly dies and is recovering in the Dragoon garrison infirmary, Leon tells Pin he loves her, too.
LITERALLY THE NEXT DAY Kaewynn tells him she wants to reconcile and asks him to take her back. This was not planned, none of us knew it was going to happen, Kae’s mun didn’t know Leon and Pin had swapped L-words, I nearly threw up laughing. That same night, Leon and Pin and Kaewynn have the single most awkward relationship conversation they could possibly have, because oh by the way did I mention Kaewynn and Pin had been in a relationship once long before Leon ever showed up, and it’d ended because Kaewynn couldn’t do love? Because that’s a thing that happened.
Leon somehow managed not to go bald during all this.
Also he asked them to marry him the following February. Though they both said yes, the ceremony never did happen, and the events of Legion saw Pin dead and both Leon and Kaewynn horribly broken. The two of them sorta gently bullied their mutual friend, Rhiswyn, into performing the marriage between them, because one of the group dying made them worried they’d never get the chance.
Leon and Pin still haven’t formally wed, because after she came back, they were both quietly terrified that if they made it official, something else would rip it apart. They call each other husband and wife, but Pin’s the only one that isn’t actually married out of the trio.
It gets a bit harder for me after this, because I was terrible at tagging things for a while on tumblr and I cannot for the LIFE of me remember how I first encountered @safrona-shadowsun. The earliest posts I actually tagged under her tag, “fizzy,” were confessionals between him and the red courier at the Ledgermaine in Dalaran. Theirs is a very, very complex relationship, but it’s very easy to (over)simplify it:
Leon is a nurturer and he saw a lot of himself in Safrona, which is a terrible thing because he is incredibly depressed and prone to fits of self-loathing. He worried about her a lot when they first started hanging out, and he devoted a lot of energy to trying to draw her out of the incredibly thick shell she’d built around herself. As things progressed over ages and ages and ages, they became business partners, and she directed an acquaintance of hers his way.
Leon’s tradition up to that point had been to put the initials of serious lovers into his collar. Committed but unmarried is engraved (that’s P, for Pin), married is branded (that’s K, for Kaewynn).
Vandrysse… is hard for me to talk about. I only knew her mun for a little over a year before I received word that she had suddenly died.
Vandy is the reason I mention that Leon’s collar still has a nearly-faded “V” on it. She was the third woman he confessed he loved. That conversation was the last time I got to RP with her. I consider it a form of memorial to never let that V actually disappear no matter how long it’s been.
anyway moving on
I cannot actually remember which one happened first, meeting Murkey or confessing his attraction to Safrona, and tracking down the posts for the latter is not easy because Tumblr’s search engine is a JOKE. Regardless, Leon did confess to the courier after some years that he was in love with her, though I’m sure by that time she wasn’t really all that surprised beyond the way he presented it. It was downright artful, the boy was trying. But this is Safrona we’re talking about, and she gently but firmly shut him down, and that was the end of it. Though it made their friendship more than a little tense for a while, they’ve gotten over it by now. He still pines, but wouldn’t you? And he keeps that shit to himself, because not only did he get his answer, she’s now taken and quite happily so.
Murkey snoot-booped her way into Leon’s life one day and never quite left. I actually don’t remember if they met for the first time when she did that, or if he met her at a brothel first. They were both open and poly people, and they still are; he was perfectly okay with her disappearing for weeks or months at a time, as long as she sent word she was all right on occasion, and she was always delighted to find that he was still waiting for her whenever she came back. She’s a romantically skittish thing, so he was actually the first one to confess he had deeper feelings quite a ways into their relationship.
He’d hesitated to do so at all, in part because Safrona had commented that she thought he fell in love too easily and gave it too freely, implying that it wasn’t really that meaningful. Eventually he kicked that feeling in the dick and told her anyway, and though it took a long time, Murkey did eventually tell him she loved him back. She, like him, had realized it far sooner than she’d been willing to admit, for fear of ruining a good thing.
Amber is actually the most recent in the game–I am trying very hard not to call it a harem–and much like Safrona, developed first as a chance meeting that evolved into a business partnership and friendship. She helped design the logos and packaging for the Cookbook, and he sent her plenty of free food and ongoing orders for more boxes. She was a very reserved person, which he thought was kind of refreshing–after a while you sort of want to have some people who are just friends, no matter how fun fuckbuddies are–and she was quite wrapped up with her lover and eventual husband, an elf named Vaerinis.
Amber confessed to him first, and though he wasn’t quite in love with her, he was certainly open to exploring possibilities. These days, he loves her to pieces and though she’s Vae’s first, he is happy to be part of it.
Vaerinis is a happy bonus, too, though he hasn’t had much time to really develop feelings for the man as yet.
Leon doesn’t have a whole lot of male acquaintances in general, actually, and has not yet fallen in love with any or had any fall for him, that he knows about.
my hands hurt, I know I fucked up the timing a few times and I’m tired so I hope i didn’t forget anybody wooph
( @pinpep @shckaewynn @murkeyglglgl @safrona-shadowsun @theengraver @vaerinis )
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O V E R C L O C K
Hello! Mod Seagrass here, posting another story for your viewing pleasure. Hope you enjoy!
OVERCLOCK ( 2.9k ; hurt/comfort)
In the former fic, I explored the details of the interaction between redstone and electricity/lightning. In Overclock, that power is taken to an extreme--with devastating consequences.
TW: injury, electrocution, rather graphic description of pain
They’re all fighting their best. It’s just a skirmish battle, nothing special, but who would they be if they didn’t put 100% into each and every fight? Habituality is the enemy of creativity, Joe’s said, and they’re inclined to stick by what he says even if they are on different sides. He’s always been a smart man.
Speaking of Joe, the other’s hunched over someone’s body trying to heal the nasty after effects of electrocution. He’s sorry, he thinks. But in the words of Joe himself, All’s fair in love and war.
—
Doc had called Mumbo over, with a glint in his eyes, and for a second he panics: had he been found out? Had he been discovered, as the mole he was? It’s an entirely logical path to take, he thinks. After all, Doc’s a pretty scary guy when he’s mad; wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of that.
He can’t hurt Mumbo directly with his element, seeing as how Mumbo would just get powered up by the charge, but he’s got plenty of other teammates that could do whatever damage they wanted without repercussions—and considering the loyalty that they’ve got to their leader (not you not you not you), it wouldn’t be a fun time.
There’s a gentle shk-shk sound, and Mumbo picks his way over to see a stack of papers spread out on the table and a small stack of fireworks. “So, what’s all this for?” He’s relieved out of his mind that those are not his personal papers that somehow Doc had discovered.
“We’ve received intel that they’re going to hit on our southern border at around 20 ticks this night. Not too bad, from what I’ve heard, but still—a loss of a pet bird stings the same as the loss of a loved one.”
Mumbo had known that already, had been warned to stay out of this fight if he could. They didn’t want him getting accidentally hurt in a struggle, and risk outing himself. He’d been very, very careful to avoid taking pain medicine in any way when around team STAR, for fear of his mouth blabbering something the rest of him resolutely did not want to say, but accidents did happen—better to stay on the safe side.
“And we’re going to…?”
“We’re going to fight back, of course. Don’t want to get into another fight, but that’s how it is,” he says with a shrug. “Ready?”
Ah. Damn. “Where’s the others?”
“Don’t need ‘em, I think. I wouldn’t want to bother them, it’s better for them to get their sleep. And just between you and me, we both know you weren’t sleeping tonight anyways.”
His blood runs ice-cold. He couldn’t have, he was so careful—
“Lighten up, man. Meant nothing by it, just wanted to say that I’ve noticed you’re a light sleeper. Now, are we ready or not?”
He nods. Better get this over with. “Yeah, let me just grab my gear. I’ll be ready in a few.”
Tucking a notebook into his suit, Mumbo rushes to grab whatever he can. Emergency supplies, healing items, the like. Hopefully they wouldn’t hit as hard, since they knew him…
—
The moon’s rising high over the swamp, and all that she hears is the sound of crackling thunder striking down again and again. It’s just him and Doc, and he’s fallen easily into his role: provide defense to match Doc’s offense.
He knows that G-Team would have most likely more members than they did, but he couldn’t quite manage to see them, is all. Joe’s here, he knows; wouldn’t want to leave their main healer behind. Iskall’s here, obviously—of course they’d bring him to a damned swamp biome. He suspects Stress is here, he can hear a quiet shattering sound echoing every now and then. And Grian’s here too, giving him a panicked glance before taking off again to try to channel some power towards Mumbo to knock him off his feet.
A powerful group, to be sure. He was almost hoping that he and Doc would be beat quickly and they could go back to the base. Luck, it seemed, had other plans.
—
The tide of battle changes rapidly when Doc realizes the swamp water conducts electricity. So far he’s been directing it at various hermits, most often Grian (he whispers in an aside to Mumbo, take out the leader and you take the whole team out) but it’s been doing minimal damage and Doc’s not willing to use their trump card quite yet.
It’s understandable, then, how his eyes light up upon the crackle that rises from the earth when he slams his trident down in frustration. Eyes darting to the side, he asks a silent question: Do you see? Can you see the potential? Mumbo nods, torn. His team or victory.
Doc’s either too absorbed to notice the conflict, or just doesn’t care. He yells silent victory to the moon, and buries the trident into the earth with a shout: “Have fun!”
It takes a while for it to sink in, but Doc is steadfast. He’s clutching the trident between his hands so tight his knuckles are whitening, supercharging it up with thousands of volts at once and dear lord it’s terrifying to watch. It’s quickly becoming a beacon in the middle of the swamp, and G-Team draws out of the shadows, attracted by the light as moths to a flame.
He almost cries out a warning then, cries out that this will hurt bad. It’s fine for him, he thinks. It’s fine for him to get thousands of volts running through his body—it just recharges him, tips him over his natural limit and grants him a rush of almost unlimited power. For his team? It’ll be bad. Doc won’t hurt them seriously enough to be out of commission forever (for all his power, he’s not a harsh or cruel man), and he sees Joe as a silent sparrow perched in a birch tree, but the experience is still quite harrowing—and he’d prefer to spare his team that pain.
He pushes it down. Pushes down the cry on his lips, and taps Doc on the shoulder—should he take to the trees? Doc responds with a nod. Hit Grian while he’s down, he says in his eyes. Remember. It’s like a house of cards—one falls and they all fall with it. He doesn’t want to, but. They should understand.
He flees.
—
He’s sitting next to Joe, who’s checking him for any injuries and quietly tsk’ing over scratches from months ago. He misses him, he thinks. They’ll be “enemies” again in a second, but it’s nice to snatch moments like this where he can.
Mumbo knows what moment he’s waiting for. Could see it in Doc’s eyes as clear as anything. He’s waiting for Grian to land, to come face Doc in the swamp. Grian’s flight is limited, free as though he might seem, and it must run out eventually.
When Grian lands, knees bent, a picture of perfect poise, several things happen in rapid succession.
Joe tenses up next to him.
The rest of G-Team floods out of the relative safety of the boggy swampland, joining Grian in the water.
A ripple runs along the riverbank, heading for Doc. (Iskall’s a smart one, he thinks. Good man.)
Doc notices the ripple, bares his teeth in some semblance of a grin, and twists the trident.
And then.
And then, electricity lights up the night sky brighter than day.
It arcs and sweeps across the water, jumping and twisting and weaving around like it was almost eager to free itself.
It runs through the water, through the millions of particles of water, and strikes G-Team like star come down from the heavens.
It hits Iskall first. It hits him as he’s attempting to manipulate this biome further into their favor, it hits him underwater and hits him hard. When he comes back up (after a long time, too long, he thinks) he’s gasping and his body is sparking all over like he’s about to explode. The pain’s clear in his eyes, and he flees from the water, dragging himself out with a pained grimace and clenched teeth. One down.
The electricity snakes towards Stress next. She’s got a little more warning, not quite the brutal direct hit Iskall took, but she’s equally ineffective in the face of the combination of devastating power and the perfect medium to deliver it. Ice forms under her feet as she tries to freeze the water fast enough to stop the electricity and fast enough for her to get away, but the speed at which the electricity arrives—it shatters under her like glass. It frames her face in a strange halo for half a second before slamming her to the ground under its force, and she manages to gather her wits enough to stumble off the swamp, thin snow-melt ice under her; hands trembling and voice shaking as she calls a warning to Stay out of the water, for the love of god, (watch yourself watch yourself and maybe you won’t get hurt the way we did).
Joe’s watching, horrified, for half a second before he snaps out of his trance and sprints to them to do what he can. They’re healing up, slowly, and would probably try to get back into battle later—but that doesn’t matter now. What matters is Grian, and Doc standing across from him with the same grin carved into his face.
He’s in shock, Mumbo thinks. At how fast his team was taken out, at how they knew of the attack. It’s the split second of hesitation before he unfurls his wings to try to take off again that seals his fate.
Grian crouches down, ready to leap up, and a single tip of his wings skim the water. Doc twists the trident again, forcefully, and then. Blue lightning leaps up, eagerly waiting to consume and twist and burn whatever it can find. And it happens to find Grian’s wings dipped ever-so-slightly into the water.
There’s a charred scent in the air, and Grian’s eyes are blown wide open. He can see the moon. There’s a little sound, and then. He tips over, falling into the water. Doc hurriedly shuts off the power (that much all over his body would hurt him more than was necessary or recoverable, he thinks) and gestures, searching the trees with his eyes.
Joe’s got his hands tied with the other two, and Grian’s just lying there. Not able to get up, not able to take off, essentially dead in the water, he thinks in some sort of morbid humor. He doesn’t want to hurt Grian. Neither does Doc, he knows, but Mumbo’s got the barrier of his mole status to fight through every single time he looks to injure with intent. He takes a deep breath (sorry sorry sorry) and steps out behind Grian, about to thrust his hand forward and bring him down even further, when.
Stress shouts, “Go! Get up!” and sends a wave of ice through her scream to lift Grian in the air. It boosts him up, launches him into the air, and Grian shakes out his waterlogged, heavily injured wings in the brief time Stress bought him enough to gain a few feet into the air.
No! If he fights, they all fight, and I can’t have the battle continuing. I can’t risk it. (They can’t get hurt further by me and Doc.)
He justifies it that way in his head, justifies leaping up behind his figure silhouetted in the moonlight to deliver a blow with redstone he has ready to Grian’s head—hopefully enough to knock him out.
It’s at that moment Doc lets out a cry of anger, and sends a bolt streaking through the air above Grian’s head to force him to flinch out of the air. It’s at that moment he slams his trident in frustration into the water again. And it’s at that moment that Mumbo accidentally takes the strike meant for Grian, and slams into the water. The still charged water. The water which is currently overflowing with raw elemental power, and looking for an outlet.
He thinks he’s fine for the brief half second he sinks into the water, thinks he’ll be able to stand it as he’s done before and maybe even receive some sort of boost. Those thoughts are dispelled in the next instant.
—
Energy’s flowing through his body and out, circling and cycling through with no regard for the mortal vessel it’s being held in, and he thinks he understands what death is.
he feels the moon
the stars
the water, the sky, the universe, he thinks he tastes blood on his lips.
he can’t taste much of anything now, he thinks. he’s raw power, unfiltered, screaming to be let free to be let out to be uncaged
He thinks he forgot his name. Did he have one?
He’s the universe. He’s the starry night blinking out a message. He’s a signal, a beacon, every single message sent out in the universe, desperately seeking a response, it hurtsithurtsithurts
He’s just a mass of carbon of raw spacedust crumbling as the sky turns and the earth turns or maybe they’re one and the same and he’s just a dot in the universe
He’s falling apart the longer it goes on, he thinks. Or maybe he doesn’t. He can’t tell anymore, the difference between him and the ground and the water he can’t remember what he was doing
He thinks he hears screaming, from far beyond. From the edge of the world, maybe.
There’s too much power arcing through him, too much for him to handle, there’s no way to direct it because how can you direct the ocean? Without direction it’s unhinged, just passing through, using him as a train station, leaving pain and pain and pain in its wake.
Hey, something shouts. Hey, no, wake up, you’re not dying on my watch, d’you hear me? Wake up! Wake up! You have to wake up!
He wants to. Maybe. It’d hurt more if he opened his eyes, right? It’d be a lot easier to just give himself over to the raw power clearly looking to burn and consume anything in its wake. He can’t tell what he wants anymore.
I don’t care if it hurts! Wake UP! Joe, work faster, please, I swear I’m not trying to rush you but do you hear it? The stuff he’s saying?
He doesn’t know what’s happening. Should he be awake? He tries to pry his eyes (eyes?) open, and is immediately greeted with overwhelming pain. Everything is too much, too bright too dark too cold too hot and he can’t stand it, he thinks that the overload that had been streaming through his body would almost be preferable. “Oh, thank God, you’re finally awake.” Who…?
Joe looks up from his work to glare at Mumbo. He gives a small, tight-lipped shake of the head, speaking a thousand words in a gesture. Had G-Team lost then?
“Hey. Hey. Look at me. How many fingers am I holding up.” He’s starting to recognize faces and shapes again, which means he unfortunately has the displeasure of seeing Doc’s face looming over him. “I won’t hesitate to slap you awake again.”
He opens his mouth, hoping he hasn’t forgotten how to talk, and croaks out, “Four.”
“Good. You’re awake and coherent, that’s gotta count for something—right?” Doc’s voice lilts up in worry on the last phrase, and Mumbo wonders: what exactly…happened? “You don’t know?” Oh. He’d said it aloud.
Doc’s face tightens. “To put it in short terms, you took the bolt I aimed above Grian. I was supercharged, already had been from the power I took earlier, and when that combined with you, that hit hard. Hard enough to knock you out of the air. Normally, it would’ve been fine, I like to think.” Oh. Then what— “When you fell down into the water, you took the full force of the power I’d discharged into it. Remember, I slammed my trident into the water earlier? That had kept the water sparking, electricity looking for an outlet. And, well. You happened to be there when you did.”
“Why aren’t I dead, Doc?” He thought he had been, maybe. He didn’t know.
“I think you responded that way to my powers because of the unique way our elements interact. I don’t know. Don’t care, really,” he said. His voice was tight with some emotion—anger? It seemed they’d either lost or reached some sort of draw, seeing as how Joe was currently over at his side.
“Listen, I’m really very sorry for what happened, it was a simple mistake. I’ll work in the future to avoid clashing like that, sorry—” Mumbo gets cut off by Joe standing up.
“You should be stable. Take care of yourself, Mumbo,” he says, giving him another look. “No deaths on my watch.” Joe walks over to G-Team, where Stress and Iskall are supporting a limping Grian, and starts to take the trek back to their base.
Mumbo looks to break the awkward silence settling between them. “Anyways, yeah, like I said, sorry about all that—”
Doc leans over and grabs him in an even more awkward hug, then lets go in an instant.
“I, uh, —”
“Listen. I wasn't mad because we didn’t win the battle or whatever. I was worried, understand?”
Mumbo sits in silence.
“A good leader looks out for their team. Remember that. And, for what it’s worth? I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
“Let’s go back to base. Recuperate before the next battle.”
#elemental!doc#doc#docm77#elemental!mumbo#mumbo#mumbo jumbo#elemental!joe#joe#joe hills#elemental!stress#stress#stressmonster101#elemental!iskall#iskall#iskall85#elemental!grian#grian#grianmc#team star#g-team#hermitcraft civil war#elemental hermits#elemental hermitcraft au#ehcau#hermitcraft#(crying) i. bring you another fic written at 3am#excuse any mistakes please i was VERY tired slkjdfklsdf#mod seagrass#writings
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hey there demons! it’s me, sam ( she / her, 22, est timezone ) aaaand here’s a fourth char, which i’ve never had here but we started accepting older muses and daniel sharman is one of my fave fcs ever so here we are. pls bear with me but ok let’s hop into this! character info under the cut and as always please message me here or @ellvie if you’d like to plot!
╰☆╮ DANIEL SHARMAN ─ AMBROSE LANCASTER identifies as CIS MALE and uses HE/HIM pronouns. they’re a POET/ACTOR, and they’re only TWENTY-EIGHT ! they’re said to be INGENIOUS, but also BROODING. i guess that’s why they’re known as THE WORDSMITH in the tabloids. *mia's older brother wc!
so, this is...ambrosius cyril lancaster. we just don’t know why the lancaster parents gave him such a mouthful of a name and then looked at their second kid and went nah just one ( 1 ) syllable for this one, but it happened and now here we are! he tends to go by ambrose, which is just the simplified version of his actual name and takes less than five fuckin hours to say
anyway, as you might have guessed ambrose is mia’s older brother! they’re about seven years apart which is obviously a significant age gap, but it never really stopped them from being v close!
he was born and raised in los angeles, california where he experienced your typical upper middle class sort of lifestyle during his childhood. his parents divorced when he was a teenager, but it was amicable so he was able to kinda just accept it and move on with his life. he and mia lived with their mother most of the time, but both of their parents are cool and he really doesn’t have any issues with them or any serious childhood tragedies at all really
so growing up he was always kinda quiet and timid, but not painfully so. as his interests in the arts developed, his parents kinda nudged him into doing things like joining the drama club, which helped him to come out of his shell a bit
yes, he was a Theater Kid™ i’m so sorry everyone
he was...v v good at acting to the point where he wound up going to hollywood arts a special performing arts high school in hollywood on an acting scholarship. he starred in many of the school plays which usually had a lot of talent agents and casting directors and producers in the audience so he got noticed without really trying tbh
did a couple small tv appearances when he was 16 - 17 in all of the basic af teen drama shows of the time like pll & tvd & gossip girl. so, nothing special or groundbreaking buuuut it got him noticed by a lot of studios and hollywood people who were offering him much bigger roles in tv and film but he was like nah and went to college instead.
so he took a small break from acting in order to study poetry at columbia university in nyc, but he got bored bc it felt kinda easy to him oops. so he quickly went back to acting on the side while continuing his studies and got himself a steady recurring role on yet another basic teen drama to keep him entertained while he went through school.
he got his mfa in poetry from columbia a few years ago and he’s v proud of it aw i love that for him :’)
however after graduating he really didn’t do much with his writing bc he accidentally bit off more than he could chew by taking on a couple more acting roles bc he figured he’d be able to manage it and still work on his poetry but...nah. as a result his writing has kinda fallen by the wayside but he’s still really passionate about it!
was engaged to torrance keynes for a time and it wound up being v...Messy. she got pregnant more than once, but unfortunately miscarried each time. it was obvs difficult on both of them and it turned out to be too much and so they eventually broke things off. he’s still kind of a wreck over everything but like how could he not be? it’s still a very sore subject for him but like what are you gonna do! he basically just refuses to talk about it and pretends everything is fine haha yikes
he’s kinda been switching between la and nyc ever since he started college bc of school and work and going to see his fam ( especially mia! ) and he’s never really settled in one place or the other? but he’s really fallen in love with nyc and it’s where he spends most of his free time!
might have dipped to la for a little longer than usual after his last break up with torrance, buuuut he’s obvs returned and i think he’s planning to stay put for now
extra fun facts! probs a good thing to read if you’re looking for a tl;dr tbh
he’s probs on a tv show right now. think like american horror story or the walking dead or something? i feel like he gets typecast as a dark/brooding/sarcastic type of character in a lot of ~edgy~ type of shows. lmk if you’ve got any suggestions for a specific role bc rn i’ve got nothing
critics and management and even fans often complain that he’s wasting his immense acting talent on all of these smaller roles, but ambrose is happy with his career rn. he loves acting and he doesn’t want it to start feeling like a chore and he wants freedom and flexibility so that he can finally start focusing on his poetry.
“are you mad?” no that’s just his face
hobbies include boxing, throwing knives, surfing, taking walks, watching pretentious films, hanging out in record stores, and some dabbling in drawing.
loves to read, always carrying a book around and sticking his nose in it if he has a few minutes of free time & it’s not uncommon to see him with a new book every single day, or even more than one book in a single day
he’s kind of a hipster i’m sorry
also just kinda...slightly...a little...very Dramatic™
might do music on the side but like……...very far on the side. he’s probs a drummer?? in some arctic monkeys type of shitty indie rock band but he enjoys it so whatever
a total gentleman and a romantic, but also most likely a Disaster in the relationships department so...watch out for that too ig!
personality: ambrose is quiet, perceptive, intelligent, eloquent, creative, pensive, sarcastic, dramatic, tumultuous, and passionate. he can come across as standoffish but it’s just Resting Bitch Face and the fact that he’s an introvert working against him. just start talking about film or books or something and he’ll warm right up. he’s a v loyal and protective friend, nice and polite to strangers, but noticeably a bit closed off ( especially after the miscarriages and failed engagement ). basically - all you need to know about ambrose is that if someone told you that he was secretly a 500 year old british vampire who likes to surf in his spare time then you would probably believe them.
here are a few lame connection ideas that you should not feel limited by whatsoever!
best friend
friends
frenemies
former costars
enemies
romantic - exes, crushes, pr relationships maybe? & all that stuff
people he attended school with - either in la or at columbia
college roommates?
other members of his little side project indie band?
ok that’s it for now! feel free to message me if you’d like to plot and as always, i’m super excited to write with you all!
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Because I mentioned I was going to eventually get rid of my old shower curtain, my mom surprised me and got me an Edward Gorey one. Gashlycrumb Tinies!
One of the recent ghost books on ghost I read mostly just (intentionally or not) taught me how to fake spooky sh*t at seances but in the entry on mirrors it mentioned looking into one at night was considered bad luck. But that’s kind of hard to avoid. I already knew using candlelight to look into a mirror is considered to be unlucky but I think a cellphone’s flashlight doesn’t count. Anyway, going to the bathroom at night is going to be spookier. :D
Life’s been kind of hectic lately, mostly due to things outside of my control. I want to get a new job this summer. And fix my sleeping schedule. I’ve been getting stress dreams again for the first time in a while. I don’t count a bad dream as a nightmare unless I wake up terrified but it still sucks. Going to ask my doctor if melatonin is a good idea.
My dog (see above) had a nasty cough after getting knocked out for some dental surgery, which is supposed to be normal, but it lasted for a while so we took her to the vet. And it turns out that the reason she was scratching on my door every night to be let outside was because of a UTI. She’s doing better now.
Mm, there’s a lot more things to talk about but I’ll save that for another post.
The Dark Knight: There was a scene where a bunch of men got their uniforms stolen and they were tied up and g*gged. I watched the trilogy out of order. To be honest, I get kind of bored watching these but the villains are cool. Bane’s darling but now that I’ve seen Venom I prefer Eddie Brock. Jonathan Crane is kind of cute, too.
Now I finally get why people like the Joker so much. He gives not a single f*ck. So many things could go wrong at any moment during his plans, he relies so much on luck, but he has so much confidence. I feel like if tried to slide down a hill of money I would hurt myself. The best scene was the Joker walking quickly out and away from the hospital. Also, the bank heist in the beginning.
Crimson Peak started to get good when Edith and Lucille were having the butterfly discussion and ended up being better paced than I thought it would be. But after Carter got his head smashed in, I’m not sure why Edith would go with Thomas after that.
Gothic horror is actually fun to learn about in school because the genre’s progenitors would probably be into yandere and monster f*cking. It’s like... In the first art history class I took, we were looking at Renaissance paintings and there was a fair amount of stuff with a de*th and the maiden motif. The modern equivalent would be a lot of metal album covers.
Brain Damage: I was looking for infestation movies and I’m so glad I stumbled upon this. Not because it’s particularly good but ‘cause the MC is super cute. Basically the talking leechy thing pumps Brian full of an addictive fluid through the the back of his neck and they have a faux symbiotic relationship where Aylmer gorily eats other people’s brains.
There was a scene where Brian’s brother answers the phone lying on his stomach in his und*rwear. Followed by a scene where Brian takes his pants off and you see his t*sh. Also a very brief M/F/M thr*some dream that gets gruesome real quick.
The Stuff: If you’re into The Blob, you’ll probably like this. The mode of killing is a bit different. Stuff’s alive and controls people from the inside.
A Cure for Wellness: Shout out to his movie for showing n*ked/scantily clad old people without getting weird about it. Within the first half hour I was surprised when it didn’t do well at the box office. The visuals draw you in but it was probably too long and could have been better. I wasn’t expecting to it get kind of fantastical. It’s got existentialism, surrealism, mystery... Uhhhh... I’m not sure whether to classify it as fantasy or sci fi.
Venom: Hits so many k*nks. Dan’s cute, Anne has good taste in men. Carlton Drake gets symbioted. Actually, I’m not sure if he or Eddie is sexier. The first guy to get possessed in the Eminem video is also cute. Best line is Venom saying, “Look at her. She has no idea we are going to get her back.” The Rorschach-like ending credits were cool.
Sleepaway Camp: Before I watched this, I already knew the ending. Sort of. To be honest, I expected “Angela” to be an offensive portrayal of a trans woman but the situation was more like David Reimer, minus g*nital m*tilation. The ending itself... Aunt Martha may not have gone on a murder spree but she’s the scariest person in the film. Otherwise I wouldn’t have said there’s anything terribly special about this film. Based on the synopsis of the sequel, I’m probably not going to watch the rest of the franchise.
Hell Fest: Pretty typical modern slasher but the atmosphere is great. It was also funny. I’m just gonna use bullet points for this.
“You know what? He deserves at least some dignity after death.” “Let’s give him a b*ner.”
When asked if he mentioned something about having a f*tish for p*ddles, Gavin answers, “I have never said that in my entire life.”
Why did Asher get hotter while he was struggling and getting stabbed in the eyeball?
It took me a minute to recognize Tony Todd. Sad.
Men in Black II: At no point in the film did Serleena, who is capable of transformation and has tentacles, transform into a male und*rwear model. :’(
Fullmetal Alchemist: (The manga.) A military fantasy that raises some good questions about ethics. And dat solar aesthetic. The chimera designs were so cool. Envy is a cruel, skimpily dressed shapeshifter with a grotesque “true form” and Lin gets willingly possessed by Greed. So that’s right up my alley.
Break My Heart 1,000 Times: Good time to read this. It takes place in February. Read this because I Still See You has Richard Harmon. The book started off decently but I didn’t like the protagonist’s behavior near the end of part three. And there’s some sexism. Like hysterically slapping her love interest and blaming herself for not having any weapons in her room because she’s a girl. Seriously, I keep a bigass King James Bible on my nightstand. If anyone breaks in, they’re getting brained by the Good Book. Or a lamp. Or the nightstand itself. But hopefully my dog would maul an intruder first.
Christine: Wasn’t really into it but you might be if you’re into corruption, e.g. a nerdy guy becoming slightly more physically appealing jerk*ss.
The 100: I got teary-eyed when Clarke and Lexa were saying goodbye and then the latter accidentally gets short. Poor Murphy can’t catch a break, as usual. Started season four the other day.
Hostel: DUMB REASON TO GO “OUT OF BOUNDS”, FELLAS.
Going into this, I thought I’d like Jay Hernandez’s character the most but then I found the other guys cuter until the end then I really liked Paxton. Weirdly enough, I found Alexei cute. There’s decent whump but I’m not into v*mit.
I think I saw an ad with the guy who tortured Paxton when I was in elementary school but I mistook it for something from one of the Saw movies. This was obviously before I had any interest in watching these kinds of movies. XD
Songs of the Day: I’ve been listening to a lot of Dead inside the Chrysalis/Dedderz lately... I’m crushing on Manek Deboto. He should be the one wearing a th*ng in the She’s So Rad music vid! If they ever do “He’s So Rad” they should include Elm Street’s Jesse Walsh and Brian from Brain Damage...
#Tawney talks#horror#whump#g*re#minors do not interact#Edward Gorey#The Dark Knight#Crimson Peak#Brain Damage#The Stuff#Batman#The Blob#A Cure for Wellness#Venom#Marvel#MCU#Sleepaway Camp#Hell Fest#Men in Black II#Men in Black#FMA#Break My Heart 1000 Times#I Still See You#Christine#Stephen King#The 100#Hostel#Saw#Nightmare on Elm Street
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isa’s actual bio is long as hell and also in a really weird format idk why I did that to myself but anyways here is the quick and dirty of it! also here is her pinterest board.
isa lived in a small town in nebraska pretty much all her life until she came to lockland. she was raised by her (horrible, neglectful) mother alone until she was six and her mother abandoned her. isa’s mother was the type to ignore isa when it suited her, leave her by herself for days or weeks when she decided she didn’t want to be around her anymore, leave her with pretty much nothing to eat and a eviction notice on the door until she decided to waltz back in. isa didn’t know why her mother never loved her, she didn’t know what she did wrong, but eventually her mother just stopped coming back and isa was taken by the police and given to her grandmother because her father has never been in the picture
her aunts and grandma literally never knew who this man (her father) was either??? like literally no one knew who he was and everyone was honestly convinced that even isa’s mom didn’t know for sure either if you know what i mean (she was a bit of a hoe tbh). i have a headcannon that he’s a rich guy, like Hella rich guy but he doesn’t even know isa exists tbh, he thought her mother got an abortion and isa has never met him. also on that note, isa’s mother left her and started a brand spankin’ new family in the surburbs. she’s married and has two beautiful children. isa found out around the time she was sixteen and just,,, some part of her froze over i’m not gonna lie. because apparently that horrible woman was capable of love, just not love for her.
isa was taken in by her grandmother (gemini or gem for short) and aunts ( persephone and venus) and pretty much raised by the three women above their family shop. her aunts and grandmother were pretty much the only people who understood her
the sosa’s owned a fortune telling shop that also sold new age merchandise like crystals and talismans etc. isa actually comes from a family of ‘psychics’ (like her aunts are fortune tellers, her grandma was one, her great grandma was one, etc. the only one who really broke the pattern was isa’s mother) so she was always kinda surrounded by weird things and told weird things.
she worked front desk at her family shop since she was about six (kinda illegal but yk dkjdskj) and was the worlds worst receptionist for years and may still be (she might be working for a cousins new age shop here in lockwood maybe folks because i love that for her) for a while was the world’s worst secretary too. after she graduated high school she worked for an actual businessman who owned an art exhibit and was a major douche canoe. he literally was the worst person, cheating people out of their art, being an asshole, hitting on isa inappropriately multiple times. she hated him with a burning passion, so she broke into his house, stole a bunch of his shit, and decided to move cross country in an rv to leave the scene of the crime. she just enrolled in uni for art last semester because of that, like she stopped in lockwood, figured it’d be as good a place as any to lay low for a while and figured she finally might try the secondary education thing because hey now with all this stolen money she can afford it. she’s kinda always lowkey on guard and dodging the cops but she’s mostly sure she’s not gonna get caught at this point. tbh isa has little fear of the police, more on that later folks.
anyways isa was bullied pretty heavily during school when she was younger because she was different. she didn’t really act or dress like the other kids did so they picked on her until isa basically put a stop to that by pretending to cast a spell on a girl who was bullying her. she used pigs blood (that her grandma brought her to their local butcher to get, we love a supportive family) and some really impressive acting for an eight year old in her little performance (her grandma and aunts also helped her come up with the spell for that if that gives you any idea of what kind of family they were sdkjds) so yeah people left her alone after that pretty much for the rest of her school career.
so yeah never really had many friends through school, a bit of a social pariah, you know how it goes
isa’s closest confidant was actually her grandmother growing up and she died a couple of years ago. it hit isa really hard. she didn’t cry at the funeral, and she hasn’t really cried since, and??? you’d never be able to tell because isa doesn’t really Emote but she’s kinda wondering wtf is wrong with her at this point
isa is absolutely planning to reunite with her aunts as soon as things die down. she’s just temporarily in lockwood until the police officially close the case.
CLIFFNOTES
born io salma sosa! has gone by isa since her aunt venus gave her the nickname as a kid though. uses she/her pronouns although she doesn’t fully identify as a girl.
Isa true love is art. she sells her art and you can pretty much consistently catch her doodling. she’ll draw these kiddos and give them little doodles of themselves.
Speaking of doodling, lets talk about doodling on things you shouldn’t (what a smooth transition amiright), Isa is lowkey a graffiti artist. She’s one of those people who thinks that art shouldn’t be contained and that it should be free, so she tends to spray paint and draw everywhere. She has yet to get caught, but she has probably caused a bit of a fuss around town considering that Isa’s art tends to be creepy to say the least. She tends to go for the gory and freaky over the pretty. and recently since moving to a bigger city than small town nebraska people actually care? like people tend to take pictures of it, put it on instagram and twitter and the like. Isa’s actually made quite a name for herself in the online community, with people commenting on her art and discussing it (kind of like banksy but nowhere near as big). They tend to refer to her by a few different names (scythe, tweek, creep, etc) and they have really yet to decide on one. Isa, being the troll she is, occasionally joins the online debates for fun (if you were wondering, Creep is her favourite)
Honestly Isa is a bit of kleptomaniac as well (she used to steal out of necessity (so she’d have clothes without holes in them or art supplies yk, and she still kind of does that, but sometimes she also does it for fun), and she doesn’t actually have the healthiest relationship with her emotions (which is what tends to happen when you know, trauma happens shout out to her mother) but like catch this girl at therapy over her Cold Dead Body, she’ll die before talking about her feelings she really will
Like I said earlier, the Sosa family are psychics and sell new age retail (you name it they have it and they’ll at least try to con you into buying it.) that said, honestly, they aren’t real psychics. One of Isa’s aunts (Venus or Aunt V) knows she isn’t and has gone full con artist with the whole thing, and the other (Persephone or Aunt Percy) thinks she can really see and sense the future which is just a whole other thing but ANYWAY isa is kind of in between them. she doesn’t fully believe in everything but she will charge you a twenty to read your aura yk
apparently chaotic evil according to a test i did one time so there’s that. also an aquarius
has the emotional range of captain holt but like if captain holt was a tiny latina yk
also only 4″11?? not even five foot?? amanda arcuri is tiny af y’all
fun facts: loves aliens, is bi as hell, is also a vegan, very liberal as you might guess, has picnics in cemeteries and might lowkey seem kind of emotionless but i promise she wants to be your friend. truly doesn’t have a mean bone in her body, just likes to mess with people.
WANTED CONNECTIONS ;
exes
friends
a muse (someone who lets isa draw them all the time tbh)
party friend (someone who will go clubbing and drinking with isa, a true ride or die who’ll help her try to break into area 51)
enemies (someone who hates isa that isa is just kind of ??? about because isa doesn’t understand conflict a lot of the time tbh)
#qc:intro#i.s. | intro.#wow i did it#idk why it's so long but i did it#going to have a big sleep now l8r y'all
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Henlo, I just discovered this blog and have been binging thru it like crazy lmao I love the way u go super deep into a characters pyche and how they act? I live for those kind of in depth examinations on behaviour, it's so nice ahh I'm v curious about this girls of virtue story?? If it's gucci, could u give out some general lore about the story? Like maybe some info about the world its set in, race descriptions?? General story plot/themes? Go wild 🤘
Henlo anon I love you for sending this~ (๑・ω-)～♥” I live for writing character analysis/development too, and while the Hollows will always be precious to me, there’s something extra fun about having my own characters to play with o3o I have another GoV ask waiting, and I intend to make that one the more simple, spoiler-free answer. Thus, what I’m writing here will have major spoilers for the story.
And it’s going under the cut in case anyone wants to avoid those~ (｡’▽’｡)
THE WORLD OF FOG
The world that Girls of Virtue is set in is called the World of Fog. It’s an alternate dimension parallel to our world, known as the “real world” within the story, and it is one fucked up place. The World of Fog itself is a parasitic dimension that draws creatures known as subconscious beings out of humans and into itself. It then feeds on the energy and life force of those beings, eventually draining them to the point where they fuse with the world itself. The World of Fog is very literally built on corpses, and while the ever-present fog hides it from the eyes of its inhabitants, the reality is terrifying.
When subconscious beings have been drained, they lose energy and slow down, slowly entering a near-comatose state. When they’ve reached the point where they can no longer move, they start to merge with their surroundings. This process is slow and horrific, and it ends in a still-living subconscious being fused with whatever it was near, slowly sucked into the World of Fog itself to become a permanent energy source. For reasons that I’ll explain in the next section, this effectively kills the human that they were attached to.
The World of Fog is a creepy, miserable place devoid of color and life. The only living things in it are the subconscious beings; there are no animals, and few living plants. The world seems to be endless, but the only thing resembling civilization is an abandoned town that springs up the middle of nowhere. The town is rotting and in terrible disrepair, but it’s the only real shelter available, and thus, what the Girls of Virtue call their home.
SUBCONSCIOUS BEINGS
The only living things in the World of Fog are mysterious creatures known as Subconscious Beings. These beings are the physical manifestations of the worst parts of humans. They’re the hateful, violent, and unstable sides of people given a life of their own, and they’re dangerous.
Since the World of Fog feeds on the energy of these beings, it’s drawn to the strongest negative forces. Thus, very few neutral or positive beings are formed. Each Subconscious Being is tied to the human that they originated from, and if one side of the connection dies, the other will as well. However, Subconscious beings are much tougher than humans. They’re stronger and faster, more agile, with supernatural regeneration levels and some forms of telekinesis. Their abilities vary by individual, but generally, the worse the human that the being came from, the stronger the being is.
When Subconscious Beings are formed, they lack their human memories. They don’t know who or what they are, beyond a name that they can call their own. The current group of Subconscious Beings is lead by a vicious monster called Judgement, who considers herself to be the god of the World of Fog. While not directly said in the story, Judgement has killed all of the Subconscious Beings that were still in the World of Fog when she was formed, in order to leave only herself as leader. From there, she’s carefully selected the followers that she sees as useful, and disposed of any new beings that she doesn’t want to use.
By extension, Judgement has been the death of many humans in the real world, who’s bodies would have shut down when their subconscious was killed. Judgement herself is the strongest being to have been formed, and is easily powerful enough to kill all of the others combined. She’s a monstrous tyrant, and one who considers herself a god.
PLOT DETAILS
Judgment has the unique ability to open gateways between the World of Fog and the real world. At first, she’s only able to do this when she has an object to hold the gates open with, and the gates themselves are temporary but as she grows stronger, she’s eventually able to hold the gateways open on her own, with no anchor needed.
The plan that Judgement has is to enter the real world and kill the humans that she deems unworthy of life. Judgement seeks to destroy, and she uses the group that she’s assembled-- the Girls of Virtue, as she ironically calls them-- to cross into the real world and wreak as much havoc as they can. However, her plan is threatened when the newest arrival to the World of Fog, Beginning, a being who’s clearly out of place, decides that she’s going to stand up to Judgement. Beginning is kinder and more human than any of the rest, and her kindness is the one thing the heartless girls aren’t prepared to deal with.
Beginning spreads discord throughout the Girls of Virtue, confusing and bewildering the girls who only know how to respond to hate and violence. All the while, she seeks to know who she is, and why she was brought to the World of Fog in the first place, when she so clearly doesn’t belong.
In the end, Beginning regains her memories of her human self, and with her true name, Change, goes on to reveal to Judgement and her followers the true nature of what they are... and exactly what their world is doing to them. The girls’ panic leaves the World of Fog off balance, and when the ever-present fog finally lifts, they all see the true, horrifying nature of the World of Fog. Through tearing apart their twisted worldviews, Change forces the girls out of the World of Fog and back to their human selves, thus saving both them and the real world that they were set on destroying.
Change wakes up as her human self when the World of Fog collapses, no longer having any living beings to sustain it. The only problem now? The Girls of Virtue are loose in the human world, with physical bodies and all of their memories intact. And Judgement is among them.
THEMES/MEANING
The story itself is very, very personal to me. I’d have to go into a lot of detail to explain it all, but the short answer is that the whole thing symbolizes the struggles of mental illness, and the road to living with and recovering from the worst things that your brain can throw at you.
The Subconscious Beings represent a distorted view of one’s self; the way that we see our worst parts as defining us. Their traits are the ways that our minds turn against us, and many of them represent symptoms and struggles that mental illness brings. Judgement herself, the leader of them all, is the force that thinks itself to be god, the voice that tries to tell us that we’re unworthy of life and love and happiness. Judgement is the dark, destructive nature of the illnesses that torment people.
Thus, the story is one of positivity and recovery. Change is the force that allows us to heal and move on; the person choosing to face their demons and fight for the life that they want to live. Through facing and accepting the Girls of Virtue, she grabs them by the shoulders, and just like her name suggests, drags them towards something better. Even Judgement is bested by the will to see reality and break free of the voice that says that you’re better off dead. By breaking down the World of Fog and returning the Girls to who and what they really are, Change destroys the distorted perceptions that allow them to make the world-- and themselves-- suffer.
There will be a second book at some point, featuring the Girls’ human selves and their recovery. That book will also feature Marina (Change) and Adora (Judgement)’s dynamic evolving from what is was as Change and Judgement, to something positive and healthy.
I could go on for a lot longer, but this post is already pretty massive... >.> Thank you so much for the wonderful questions, anon!!!
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