#like damn in MCD he just does not help at all even after saying he would.
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So, been thinking about Mystreet again. And I always assumed in the early days that everything that happened in MCD would eventually happen in Mystreet as well. That didn't end up happening but just... bare with me for a sec.
Imagine for a second, what finding Lilith would be like in Mystreet. I think about that so, so often. And how SO much could have been talked about had it happened along with cannon events.
Aaron, who had been driving for hours after coming back from somewhere, a concert, or something equally modern and kinda boring. Aphmau half falling asleep in the passenger seat, starting and stopping songs that she'd sing under her breath. And Laurance dead asleep in the back, laying on his back without a seat belt, lightly snoring.
Then. Aphmau looks up, nearly screams because at that moment Aaron had glanced away from the road to ask her something.
"CAR!"
Aaron pounds the fucking break like it owes him money and Laurance is thrown into the back of their chairs like a ragdoll, and he yelps from the backseat as Aphmau tries not to fly through the windshield by gripping the console. Aaron's arm in front of her like it would do anything instead of break at her weight hitting it at the speed they were going (because Aaron has a lead foot and speeds like he's going through a mid-life crisis.)
And there's this flipped car in front of them, right in the middle of the road and A and A just look at each other like "Well what do we do?" And Laurance has been half- knocked out from the speed his face met the back of the drivers seat and he's groaning from the back in pain.
So they get out, minus Laur, and do the classic, look around to see wtf happened here. And there's broken glass and oil everywhere but the car is cold and had been there seemingly awhile.
And then they hear crying, coming from the ditch just below them, and Aphmau's the first one down it because of course she would be. And Aaron hears her gasp but he doesn't want to face-plant because the ditch is soaked and the ground keeps moving beneath him.
And he gets there and Aph is holding a fucking baby, like it just appeared out of thin air. And she's trying to calm it down while looking just as flabbergasted as he does. And his brain doesn't want to work because truly, what the actual fuck?
He looks around and there's a carseat that had been upside-down, but there's still no sign of the adults that actually crashed the damn thing and all that's in his head is "They wouldn't leave a baby right?" while thinking about his parents and doubling back like "Well they might." All the while there's little golden salamanders everywhere, and they're just as distracting as the crying.
So he wraps the little one in his red jacket and A and A climb back up the side of the ditch and Laurance is crouched down by the driver's window looking like he is about to hurl. And they meet eyes and Aaron winces because it's the look of someone who just saw a mangled corpse.
You get it right? Like the "dragons found a baby and tried to capture a cow to feed it" is just WEIRD, and only fits within the weird lore of MCD. If you wanna do it in Mystreet it has to become way fucking darker, they'd have to call 911 and watch as corpses get dragged out of the car and follow them to the hospital.
And then the baby would have to get a checkup, and that trio is just there. At the hospital, and shit sucks because that's way more traumatic then just "finding a baby." It's "I found a gruesome accident and a baby that just lost it's parents." Furthermore. Aaron and Aphmau would be, at this point. Just freinds if we're following the MCD route. And they would struggle heavily with the whole orphanage/foster care system because they're unmarried and unrelated to the baby.
I don't know, I just kinda wish I could've seen that. So much character development, so much angst. I might write it properly some day just to get it out of my thought rotation.
#aarmau#aphmau#mystreet#aphblr#aphmau mcd#aphverse#aaron lycan#I feel like Laurance would become more of an Uncle#like damn in MCD he just does not help at all even after saying he would.
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wip wednesday
I wasn't gonna post anything until I get back from my vacation but I'm reading the prequel to "they both die at the end" and it prompted an idea of a little crossover sad fic with a tragic mcd ending and I'm gonna break my own heart with this one for sure 😂 (@thebravebitch said what I have so far is good and I trust her judgment lol ❤️)
so here's a little snippet I wrote on my phone bc I couldn't help myself and wait a few days 😂
______
His phone ringing wakes him up. At first he's confused, not registering it's his phone, since it's not even his ringtone. It takes him a few seconds to recognize it, and when he does, he looks at his phone and freezes, the words "DEATH-CAST" showing up as the caller ID.
He doesn't panic. When he answers the call, they'll tell him he's going to die in the next twenty four hours - or, twenty two hours, since it's after 2am already, they took their time to deliver this news. But he doesn't panic, he doesn't worry, he just freezes, and wonders if he should answer the call at all. After all, he's not even sure he believes in this whole damn thing.
One thing he does know is that no one will even try to convince him that he's going to die soon. They don't know shit.
*
It's not a new information that Eddie Diaz is what can be classified as a skeptic. He's not a believer in supernatural forces, magic, jinxes, ghosts, lately he even struggles with religion, despite his abuela's best efforts. Everyone in his life is aware of that.
So when this dude showed up out of nowhere claiming he can predict when people are gonna die, with no details or explanation, and give them one last day to sort out their affairs and say goodbye - Eddie called bullshit. He wasn't about to spend money on the off chance that they'll let him know when he's about to die. With being in the army, shot at every day, and even now with being a firefighter, he's aware of his own mortality more than your average person, he's already had more brushes with death than most people.
But he bought the subscription anyway, for his whole family. He had his parents, his abuela, his tía, and his wife trying to convince him, and they didn't succeed - he still thinks it's bullshit - but at least that got them to shut up about it. So, since then they spent thousands every year on subscribtions to this dumb service for himself, Shannon, and Christopher, and it was a waste of money, in Eddie's opinion.
And then, shortly after he moved to LA with his son, when he reconnected with his estranged wife, trying to see where this would go, but no matter what, his son was getting his mom back, and things were starting to look up again - Shannon got the call.
Eddie didn't belive it, but she did, and she decided to live this day like it's her last - which it ended up being, after all, but Eddie's still not sure if it wasn't some freak coincident.
That's what he's trying to tell her, when she's asking for a divorce that they don't have time to get finalized before he becomes a widower. She looks at him over the table in the little café they met, and there's nothing but peaceful acceptance, mixed with a bit of sorrowful regret for what she'll miss, in her eyes.
"Please make sure Christopher remembers I love him. I loved him, and I'll continue to love him from wherever we go after." she says with feeling, but at the same time she's almost casual about it. As if the prospect of dying within who knows how many hours wasn't a big deal. As if the only big deal is leaving her child once again, this time permanently.
Eddie can't take this. He won't believe this.
He still has trouble believing when he arrives on a call to a car accident later, and sees Shannon lying there on the street. Logically, he knows it makes sense, there's been a lot of people he's heard about who got the call and died, there's no reason not to believe it. But there's also not a lot of reasons to believe it, it might all just be a coincidence. Eddie's not about lose Shannon. Chris is not about to lose his mom. It's not fair. And he can't help blaming the stupid Death-Cast program.
____
No pressure tags (I'm on vacation and I'm barely on here so I really have no idea who already did it lmao) @panbuckley @honestlydarkprincess @jamietarts @shortsighted-owl @elvensorceress @translasso @alyxmastershipper @silentxxsoul @mrevanbuckley @buck-tartt
#wip wednesday#buddie#buddie fic#fic excerpt#fic sneak peek#wikiangela writes#my writing#upcoming fic#new oneshot#death cast#death cast buddie au
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Thank you @martsonmars and @you-remind-me-of-the-babe for the tag, reminding me it’s Sunday. I am here to make up for last Wednesday, when I had nothing to show. I have three things for you today!
First, six sentences from Time After Time/“damn Baz, you live like this?”. It was pretty hard to pick them, since I don’t want to spoil where the story is heading to, but I think these are vague enough:
I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow, silently asking what is going on.
“Simon?”
“I love you,” he blurts out. I can’t help it. I start to smile, even though I notice that he doesn’t smile along. In fact, he looks desperate, as if he needs to me to know that he loves me.
The full chapter will go up tomorrow, because I finished it in time! In fact, I have finished writing the fic! I can’t believe it either, because I’ve been stuck on this fic for over a damn year, but I have @facewithoutheart (and Doctor Who season 9 oop) to thank for shoving me in the right direction. I think I also know what to do with the two endings: both. I added an eleventh chapter called [REDACTED] so that I could still sort of post ending no. 2 as a separate thing from ending no. 1! Excited!
And look who’s back, back again? Klaine! I really want to participate in the Klaine Word Scramble, and a random idea came to me. I haven’t written anything else but these six sentences, so I definitely will not post the story according to the schedule, but that is okay:
Blaine is proud of his position within the community. Everyone loves his homemade scented candles. His stand is a staple in the local farmers market.
But now a new neighbour has opened his own business. Kurt Hummel sells his handmade soaps and all of Blaine’s clients are flocking his stand. Jealousy does not look good on Blaine, but he can’t help it.
Now I just need to find a damn title.
And lastly, my dude MCD (Matt Christopher Davis) has thoughts on Simon:
I take a look at the Chosen One. He has only been part of the World of Mages for a few months, but he’s already gotten himself in a lot of trouble because of this whole Insidious Humdrum shit. He’s constantly missing classes and Miss Possibelf says he’s on missions for the Mage and the Coven.
But honestly, I don’t care. I mean, I care about the Humdrum, because that thing eats magic, but our Chosen One can be the hero who saves the day. The rest of us just lives here, you know?
Tagging @quizasvivamos @blurglesmurfklaine @coffeegleek @esperantoauthor @otherworldsivelivedin @bookish-bogwitch @caramelcoffeeaddict @sillyunicorn @wellbelesbian @artsyunderstudy @bazzybelle @dragoneggo @captain-aralias @ivelovedhimthroughworse @cutestkilla @raenestee @takitalks @urban-sith (Tumblr tried to make me tag undertale for some reason) @facewithoutheart @tea-brigade @thnxforknowingme @confused-bi-queer @tectonicduck (I don’t know if you write, but you always like my damn Baz stuff, so here ya go!)
#six sentence sunday#i am... emotional#over finishing damn baz#i mean as always i will probably make some small rewrites every here and then#but the main story is def finished#as in i see it as finished#it is done#TIME TO DELVE INTO THE MCD FIC#no i jest i kinda wanna try and figure out what to do with the klaine one#i want it to have a similar vibe to the bakery fic but i have zero (0) plot points in my head so we'll see#tagged in
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@bozowrites :Saw your headcanons for the bugs and I couldnt relate more to the reader 😂 damn bugs. Anyways, can I request some headcanons for Bakugou, shotou and shinso with a reader who has social anxiety? If you're not comfortable with writing for mental illnesses, maybe just a very shy s/o? Thanks a bunch in advance!! 💞
Masterlist | Request rules | Gen. Taglist
Katsuki Bakugou:
He’s kinda a dickwad at first
He just doesn’t understand why a bunch of extras is scary
You’ll be perfectly fine one moment than he’ll ask you to get the food and you'll be next to tears
Like “strangers??? Bad??? No??”
He really doesn’t understand, tells you to quote unquote “get over yourself” and he thinks that is that
Later on he’ll realise he is wrong
Like you gripping his sleeve in the hallway
You panicking over a presentation over every little thing
Social events you’ll be standing in a corner nervously fiddling with a necklace or a bracelet
Birthday parties are extremely small and limited to close friends and family
Sometimes you’ll mumble your insecurities and worries before after and during events
He does pick up on these eventually and realise that “oh shit it’s an actual problem that deeply affects them”
It’s 3am and he is knocking on your window so he can apologize and you guys can talk it out
From then on he is better about it but is still trying
He sees the trembling, sweaty hands in public? “When will you get it through your head that I don’t mind a sweaty hand” yoinks hand
Talks to all the cashiers and salespeople for you
Before, during, and after any event he is constantly praising you (in his own way), making you laugh, and talking with and for you
He’ll never force you to be the center of attention with him, and will always direct attention given towards you to him
He expects payment though
Payment in the form of kisses, cuddles, hugs, and other things
Ofc he expects the affection in private
although if you do it in public he’ll be a super proud and blushy dumb dumb.
Shouto Todoroki:
While he isn’t outright “deal with it” like Bakugou
He also doesn’t get it.
Like it’s a bunch of people you’ll most likely never ever see again what’s the point???
Lmao “most likely” keyword what if I do see them again??? Huh???
He’ll offer his right side to help with the sweating and the flushing if it bothers you that much
He’ll offer to talk to strangers for you but that doesn’t mean he understands why he does it.
Mans is trying but he doesn’t get it
It will take a while for him to realise it’s bad
He’ll hear you criticizing your own performance after talking to a McDs cashier or after a party
He sees the way your breath catches in a crowd and how your eyes dart everywhere
Whenever he is the center of attention you do your best to stay small and unnoticeable
And when that impossible you’ll just disappear
“oh, it’s not okay”
He will talk to you about it, offering to be your ear and crutch when you need it.
At parties he’ll always compliment you honestly and bluntly
“oh your eyeshadow really compliments your eye color love””your outfit suits you well, you’re the most stunning person in this room love”
If you ever PDA even with the anxiety? Mans will be sent to the moon and back
One time you kissed his cheek before a party and mans was smiling all night long
Later in life people will take note that you are perfectly content to have Shouto talk for you and think you’re a trophy spouse of some kind and will be discarded eventually
Shouto point blank tells them to shut the fuck up with the nastiest look on his face
Shinsou Hitoshi:
Now listen
He’s definitely an introvert with a small social battery
But
He doesn’t get social anxiety all too well
(He made himself the center of attention to threaten a class, mans definitely doesn’t have anxiety y’all can fight me)
He may hate people but he can definitely tolerate people
So when you’re like “yeah I have really bad social anxiety”
He’s like “oh??? Doesn’t everyone have some social anxiety?”
Like no babe like an actual diagnosed disorder
He is a introvert that dislikes ppl so he loves dates where all you do is lay around the house just talking and cuddling
That’s how all of your dates until now have been- just you two.
When you finally go on a date outside he’s surprised by how anxious you are
Stammering and flushing with the cashier, arms shaky
Gripping his arm and not his hand because your palms are sweaty
Legs and knees trembling, steps unsteady
After an hour of this behavior he promptly says “fuck it” and drags you back home
He says he can wait longer for an outside date and not to rush it
Down the line where you’re comfortable enough around him to where the anxiety smoothes out a bit
You have an outside date and he distracts you from everyone and everything so you can have fun
He is the best at handling social anxiety but that doesn’t say much💀
Tagged: @mssyprsn
#bnha#mha#todoroki shouto x reader#todoroki shoto headcanons#todoroki shoto x you#todoroki x reader#shouto x reader#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugou x reader#bakugou headcanons#bakugou katsuki headcanons#katsuki x reader#shinsou hitoshi x reader#shinsou x reader#shinsou headcanons#shinsou hitoshi x you
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Day 19 Bonus: Buster Bros!!! vs Dotsutaire Honpo
I’m gonna start with the music this time because just writing like one of the story/character bit...was taking a while. So in terms of music...I have to give it over to the Buster Bros. With their individual albums, it just got so much better for the Buster Bros as they’re becoming more distinct with their personality in their sound. Like Break the Wall is one of my top solos and y’all just unfortunate that Saburo used like one of the classical pieces I thought fucking slapped even before he messed with it. And I’m so happy for them.
DH has a bit of a disadvantage of being a new group and thus having less to compare. But so far....eh. I think DH is very hit or miss for me. Like Matenrou, they have such differing talents and subject matters that it either turns into a strange symphony or some mishmash that just makes it eh. Which is generally my feeling with their group songs as I really love Ah, Osaka Dreaming Night but I am not impressed with Wara Osaka. And I am okay with their solo songs but to be fair to them, a lot of the songs I prefer for the already established group was their second solo, not the first, which is their introductory ones.
As for Joy for Struggle, yeah, Buster Bros took that for me. DH I get is supposed to be more carefree than a lot of the other teams that are a bit more serious but I think that attitude really bit them in the ass for this battle. And BB did not have time to be playing around. I thought Saburo had more confidence this time and let that truly nasty attitude leave some spikes behind. Saburo really was like ‘How many times we gotta teach you this lesson, old man?!’ Jiro actually had some good retorts! I’m so sorry, I love him I swear but he had so much to grow in terms of coming with bite and it’s starting to show! The chihuahua vs tiger comparison! And while I do appreciate that Rosho and Sasara stay true in their manzai act...it really just didn’t land for me in the battle and Jiro and Saburo were quick to gnaw at it.
And then...there’s the verse against Ichiro. I won’t say they stick with me as well as War War War but quite frankly Ichiro vs Sasara and later Rei are more of a battle of ideals. And to me, Ichiro poured more into his than those two. Because Rei’s were just belittling the boys because they’re younger and like they went down some wrong path. Both Saburo and Ichiro weren’t having any of that. Like who the fuck are you to step in and tell us off? At least MTC were more of like ‘come back when you’re more polished.’ And with Sasara, I think Ichiro delivered the line that is my entire thing with this battle: ‘Floaty words like that won’t sting us at all.’ I feel like DH lacked enough bite against BB and it shows. The only real bite back is from Rei and even he doesn’t seem to have that much that actually phased BB in my opinion.
In terms of story/character wise...it’s really hard to make a decision. Because for all the teams, it’s really a matter of the dynamics against the others. And DH have it so stacked for them just because of Rei. Sure, I may not like him but he is very interesting in terms of being a vehicle for developments to happen. He seems to know a lot of things and people so he becomes such a presence that could tempt so many things into happening. Like if it was DH vs FP, he knows the fuck about Ramuda! He fucking made him! And I have little doubt it was him on the phone with Ramuda in Catch Us If You Can drama track. And at the end of the previous DRB...at least what sticks out in my mind and I may have to double check but I think he mentioned some interest in Ramuda after telling about how the true hypnosis mic being used would’ve shot Chuuoku in the foot. Also added to that, Rei likely knows Gentaro. For what reason? We don’t quite know but it can be assumed it’s because he’s doing something for Gentaro. Either looking into Ramuda since the ‘legal’ way wasn’t reaping anything or if Gentaro is hiding something, then Rei might be helping him hide it. Also also, Rei is one of the few rappers that know who Dice is! He and Otome were talking about their kids! That’s HUGE since Dice hasn’t told anyone about this aspect of his life. Rei alone would make such a juggernaut for FP.
I honestly can’t think of anything for DH vs BAT, sorry. They don’t seem to have any history besides Kuko and Sasara both being in MCD for a time...but I don’t recall that time really being elaborated on soooooo yeah.
If it were DH vs MTC, that’s more of a dynamic between Sasara and Samatoki. Which I think would be the time to figure things out between them. Because Samatoki was left with why and never got an answer. And seeing him again, Sasara can’t run away. He can try but pretty sure that Samatoki could outrun him. It also would be a time of like Sasara’s dynamic between the two men that have been his partners, Samatoki and Rosho. The people that were close to Sasara and whom he feels the most towards. I honestly can’t think of much else besides that but I’m sure KR will find a way to have the guys piss each other off. I’m just here for SamaSasa and SasaRo shenanigans. (I guess we could see if Rio does know Rei since in theory he SHOULD know who he is since it sounds like the hypmic was in development when Rio was serving and he tested some aspect of it).
I think DH vs MTR would be kinda funny. Like for some reason I think that Sasara and Rosho would get really fucking mad at how Hifumi and Doppo just naturally have that manzai energy by virtue of being best friends and roommates. I have personal experience of people being like ‘this IS a show’ of just watching and listening to me and my best friend and roommate just going back and forth. I feel like it’d just be so damn funny if it was over something not as serious I guess? But then that’d all be ruined because I feel like Rei would either expose to Hifumi and Doppo of Jakurai’s cooperation with Chuuoku, which while they don’t have any personal reason to really hate Chuuoku, wouldn’t feel comfortable with it either. Or. OR, my god, let him expose Jakurai’s assassin past, something he seems to feel nothing but shame for and also ruining his perfect image. Because Rei just seems like he’d be willing to do that.
So yeah, a lot of drama that could happen because of frickin’ Rei and some loose ends to deal with from Sasara. By comparison, BB has some things but they wouldn’t be as dire as DH’s. Like with BB vs BAT, this could be the chance for Ichiro to get his answers from Kuko. He never got an answer either. He was left with heartbreak and never given the why. And Kuko either has rationalized or will be in for a rude awakening having to go head on with Ichiro. Because they were close. Kuko had to care about Ichiro in some capacity to willingly help some group he knew was sketch and didn’t like. Why did that change? He had to have meditated on this at some point! Meanwhile, I really hope that Jiro and Jyushi and Kuko can get along if the reconciliation with Ichiro doesn’t happen! They’d be such an eclectic group but would be so much trouble too! (And please let Jiro and Jyushi play together. Ever since someone wrote about it, it lives in my head rent free) I really am hoping for it. All the while, Hitoya is like ‘shit, now I gotta adopt MORE kids. Why are there so many of these little shits running around without supervision???’
I can’t think of much for BB vs FP since I just don’t see their circles running that close and it just didn’t feel like Ichiro was close to Ramuda even back with TDD. Most I can think of is Jiro, who is also pretty thoughtless, saying the wrong thing to Gentaro and it’s The Rivalry 2.0. But overall can’t think of anything too specific.
It’d hurt me if it was BB vs MTR. Because for some reason I see that most of MTR treat the BB like their little siblings and in Jakurai’s case, it’s like going to go fight his kids (I will go down on the hill of occasional dadkurai shenanigans!). And while Saburo and Jiro have and still do make fun of Doppo, I think he also has their respect because he looks out for them in a different way but still same energy as Ichiro does. Probably because he is an older brother. I don’t really think any of the guys can say anything to bother Hifumi and it’s more of Hifumi being fucking thoughtless and saying the wrong thing. I feel like he’d piss off Saburo somehow. And with Jakurai and Ichiro...it’s a ‘nothing personal, just business’ although I think Jakurai would be proud of Ichiro either way.
And then there’s just rematch energy if it’s BB vs MTC. Honestly? The real thing I would love to see from if this happened is for Jiro and Saburo to have a reevaluation of MTC. Because the main reason they were so aggressive and hostile towards them is because of Ichiro’s grudge with Samatoki. They just took it as ‘if they’re Ichi-nii’s enemy, they’re our enemy.’ But since they’re taking this step of coming on their own, they also need to think about if they can still dislike these guys because Ichiro’s beef isn’t theirs. I mean, Jiro probably still doesn’t like Jyuto because he’s a delinquent and fuck cops y’know sorta rebelliousness. And I don’t think Saburo particularly dislikes Rio and vice versa. The thing with Ichiro and Samatoki is honestly secondary to this. And I feel would be the time for Samatoki to let go since he KNOWS now that it wasn’t Ichiro that got Nemu to leave but Ramuda but it’s a matter of if his pride would allow him. And Ichiro would have to realize that while he lost their fight...he won in the end since he’s the one that kept his brothers while Samatoki lost Nemu. He’s gotta feel for him and understand why Samatoki was/is mad at him. (Also long shot but if they could talk about how Samatoki also exacerbated his hesitance to trust others, that’d be greeeeaaattttt).
So yeah, I’ve thought about how these dynamics and things and you’d think weighing them all would make this choice easy. And it is. In a way. Because for me, I’d choose Buster Bros. I do like Sasara a lot and Rosho I think is fine but their third really sours for me. I know some can keep that bias aside and look, I did talk about what all he can do...but he alone can’t carry the sound for the team. Story, sure, but not the music. While I really would like some of the threads that Rei brings...it’s not completely impossible for him to still be around if any of the other teams do advance. I mean, they’re all the only men stuck in Chuuoku for the time of the DRB and having to pass each other while going to their own rooms or box seating. He has ways. So yeah, if I had voted on DH vs BB, this is what I would’ve gone with.
#30 days of hypmic challenge#buster bros#dotsuitare hompo#Ichiro Yamada#jiro yamada#saburo yamada#sasara nurude#rosho tsutsujimori#rei amayado
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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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Scarred Bark, Broken Heart
15x18 coda/alternate ending of sorts || WC 2580, also read on AO3 here
MCD, depressed Dean, (Tree!Cas ???), brief mention of suicidal tendencies, open but hopeful ending, part one of a two part series, Canon divergence
Dean doesn't know what made him decide on the tree. They didn’t have a body to burn, not this time. They didn’t have a six-foot hole to dig and he felt odd putting a marker over unmarred earth. So when he stumbled upon a tree in the woods surrounding the bunker, one with a beehive tucked nine feet up he didn’t even realize he had popped out his pocket knife and started carving until the first three letters were written in the wet bark.
His throat burned as he worked. The same knife sliced skin wide so that protection could be painted onto a door that was never going to hold. Cas was always ready to bleed for him, always ready to do whatever he needed to keep him safe.
Tears threatened to ruin his work by blocking his field of view but each time he tilted his head to the sky and tried to breathe through it.
The squared-off letters seem to mock him once he finishes, if Cas’d been here the letters would have been beautiful, a burst of power and it could have been script etched into the wood. Instead, it's his blocky ugly writing.
Something hideous rears its head in his chest, and staring at the letters, staring at the name. He always deserved more than Dean could give him, than this world could give him. He deserves more than a scar in some bark in a forest hardly anyone treks into. He deserves more than to die without knowing—to die thinking he wasn’t loved.
Dean doesn't look to the sky as his eyes fill again. Sam always said he needed to let himself feel. That ignoring your trauma isn't the same as dealing with it. But he worries that if he gives into it fully he’ll never resurface. Drowned in his own mind with the pain and regret, the fear and the sadness that washes in like the tide when his guard drops.
So he doesn’t let himself sink, he treads as best he can, hearing Bobby’s gruff voice in his head just like when he was a kid, ‘keep your ears above water son, that’s the only way to make sure you stay alive out there’, it’s like Bobby knew exactly why he needed that information. Like he knew it wasn't about swimming.
He’s not sure how long he spends looking at the carving, or when the wind picks up and shakes shivers through his body. He’s not sure when the tears dry and the wracking sobs take over.
Cas looked at peace when it came for him, and it ruins him to know that. To know that loving him brought him to the one moment of true happiness. Loving a worthless, broken, fucked up killer—no. No, Cas said he wasn’t a killer, he wasn’t a monster or a tool to be used and thrown aside, and yet he killed another hadn’t he? Killed him by doing nothing at all because that's what happens, that’s his legacy, people get close to him and they get killed. They always get killed.
Dean’s not sure when he heads inside again, or how he finds himself at the tree almost every day, week in and week out.
For the longest time he can do nothing but look, words that fight to break free, stay trapped behind the years of burying what he always felt, stay tapped behind the last dam he has standing in his soul the soul Cas saved—a good lot that did. He knows the dam won’t hold forever and all he can do is imagine the damage when it does finally break.
He doesn't always go alone either. Sam takes trips to the tree by himself sometimes but mostly he goes when Dean does. Jack trails after him every once in a while too but they usually let him go alone.
The first snow of the season begins to fall as he stands at the tree, the beehive long since gone dormant, its occupants burrowing in for their months-long sleep. And God how Dean envies their ability to escape reality for longer than it takes to sleep off a hangover.
It’s early for the first snow, weeks too soon but the world has been colder since—well since.
It’s been a while since he last talked while he visited, the dam broke finally or rather the levels grew too high on one side and it began to leak. Still, back then he hadn’t said much of anything.
He tries to talk now, he tries to do the same as what he did at his father's grave all those years ago trapped in a djinn dream, trapped in a world that seemed so perfect until he peeled back its layers. Kinda just like the one he actually lived in.
“Ca-s,” his voice breaks before he manages to speak the single syllable. No one is around to notice though, no matter how much he wishes he was speaking to a person instead of an unfeeling unrelenting piece of wood. Still though, it's easier to talk when no one is there to hear it, he doesn't have to hold as much back.
“Cas, I-,” Dean lets out a rough hum as he collects himself. This speech is going to be different. He can feel it, the emotions within him seem to grow choppy, spilling over the dam wall more and more and he just knows that whatever happens, he won’t be returning to the bunker whole.
“I keep thinking, y’know, back to that night you walked into that barn in Illinois, you told me that good things do happen, and I mean it’s not like I expected you to, but you didn’t believe me when I told you that nothing good happens to me. I don’t know if in the time from then to no—I don’t know if you ever figured out that I was right or not but I think that the one good thing that happened to me was the worst thing to happen to me too.” Dean stares at his name, willing it to actually be him. The cold bites at his fingers and his nose. His toes grow cold in his boots but he doesn’t move to leave he barely even feels it anyways.
“When Chuck told us that you were the one who never listened,” he chokes out a broken laugh, “it honestly made perfect sense, you did always say that it was our story, that we were the thing that was real in a world of manufactured realities. And when he said it I swear it was like I was standing in that ratty kitchen, minutes before Lucifer rose, minutes before you di—died for the first time. And I thought as Chuck went on and on how maybe I wasn’t dreaming it up, maybe it wasn't Chuck’s doing, and I was going to try to talk to you about it, after a shit ton of booze mind you.” He’s quiet for a long time, the snow begins to blanket the space around him and he thinks about how he’ll never get to brush snow off of the lapel of Cas’ stupid trench coat.
Just the thought starts a domino effect, his mind rushing through everything he wanted and everything he’ll never get now and it’s so overwhelming it sends him to his knees. Of course, because he clearly will never be able to catch a break all it does is remind him of the last time they were in purgatory together, the fear and heartbreak that shook him to his core, the devastation of Cas brushing off what he wanted to say because fuck it was so much more than his prayer.
“You beat me to it though, and then—well we both know what happened next.” His fingers are ice when they wipe the tears from his eyes. They jolt him, a shock to his system.
“You never gave me a chance to respond, didn’t even give me a damn moment to process any of it. And you’re a selfish son of a bitch for that because that wasn’t fair, that wasn’t—. I needed you to stay, I needed you to hear it too. I won’t ever be able to stay mad at you because I never have been, not for any of the shit you pulled in the past. But that? That was a new low.” He sniffles from the cold or from his tears he doesn't know but he does it all the same.
“Y’know if you were here right now you’d tell me to go inside because humans catch colds so easily and you don’t know how fucking much I need to hear that now Cas.” His heart plummets in his chest again. He feels sick all over again so he clenches his jaw to keep from heading too far down that road.
“I remember the first time you got sick, god you were a nightmare the entire time and I dealt with Sam getting sick every year since I was old enough to open kids cold medicine,” Dean laughs thickly, tears lodged in his throat. The strain of holding it all back shreds at the muscle and it screams with every breath he manages to shake into his lungs.
“I remember everything Cas, all of it, every fight, every drink, every goddamn time we looked at each other. And yet I can’t recall a fucking thing because I thought I had more time. After everything we’d gone through, I still thought we would have more time. It's all broken and jumbled and set to static and I can’t handle it because it's crystal clear and as muddy as anything because I thought I’d be able to make more, replace what got muddled. I thought you had more time.”
He shuffles around and presses his back against the trunk of the tree. His ass is uncomfortable as hell what with the roots and the wet cold earth below him but his knees appreciate the switch.
“I’m having a hard time this time because a part of me thinks just like it did after the whole leviathan fiasco. I swear you’re going to come back, that this is all a mix-up, that if I wait just a little longer, hold on a little longer, put my gun down just one more night that you’ll be back. But it’s been weeks Cas and nothing’s changed. I wake up and I go to sleep in a world that doesn’t have you in it and I was always okay before because you were just there even if I didn’t have you like I wanted I still got to see you, watch you, lo—be with you. But now it’s all empty, and no matter how ironically appropriate that is given the dumbass move you made a year and a half ago, I’m hanging on by a thread man. And Sam doesn't know how to help, even with all his dead girlfriends as experience to draw from.” He’s quiet for a long time, chewing on his lip, flexing his fingers together as he just sits.
“He says I need to stop making jokes to cover it all up but that's all I know how to do. I mean you can’t mourn your mom if you have a baby brother to take care of so you joke. You can’t talk about what the internet says is PTSD because there are monsters to hunt and people to save so you joke. You can’t let yourself be vulnerable because that means death so you joke. You can't tell your best friend what you need to so you joke. You hide behind something safe because no one wants you to show what's really there.” Dean's mind is a mess right now, jumping from one point to another, skipping ahead and falling behind. He has so much he wants to say and it’s like he’s trying to say it all at once.
He can almost hear Cas’ voice admonishing him for thinking that he didn't have a support system, that he didn't have people who loved him and wanted him to be okay and it strips him raw. Because it’s only been a few months, how could he already be forgetting his voice, or which way he tilted his head when he didn’t understand some random human action, which foot he started with when he stood up from a chair, if he liked smooth or crunchy peanut butter better even if it was all molecules to him, what his arms felt like wrapped around him, how he sighed when Dean was being an idiot, what his smiles looked like as he sat at their kitchen table talking with Jack.
How was he already forgetting all of the little things that made him fall for the fallen angel, heaven's most loved, heaven's most corrupted.
His chest is cracked so wide every part of him falls inside, his very soul falls into the pit, tumbles down and down and down because there are a million things that he and Cas will never get to do but there are a billion things Cas will never do again.
Sure Cas’ll never learn to dance but he’ll never smile again. He’ll never have the chance to memorize the words to the songs Dean showed him but he’ll never feel the sun on his skin again. Or laugh or cry or sleep in late. He’s never going to make another milk run, be it a monster hunt or an actual milk run. He’ll never watch another bee documentary or hug his son again.
Cas lived hundreds of millions of years and yet there was so much he left unfinished, he’s been around for eons and yet he still died too soon.
It takes him a moment to remember that even if Cas had been around since the Cambrian explosion in reality he’d only experienced humanity for eleven years. And all of it was spent fighting, shouldn't he get a fucking chance to just live for a fucking second. Let himself relax, shake the weight off his shoulders, just be finally?
Dean turns and looks from his position at Cas' name, the angle is atrocious so he can barely see the etchings.
There are a billion things he’ll never do again, a million things he’ll never get to experience. And for someone who's given all that Cas has given to this world, that just won’t do.
“You told me love drove me, you said that I fought for everything because of love, that I taught you how to and fuck Cas I don’t know how that's possible. But I’ve fought for nearly forty years because of love and there's no way in hell I am stopping that now. I’m going to fight for you, I’ll fight Chuck for you, I’ll fight against the anger that still lives inside me and dammit I’ll fight to get you back because no fucking way am I losing you forever after that speech. If love drives me Cas then you, you…” Dean takes a deep breath. “Happiness is in just saying it, but I can’t tell a piece of wood, so I’ll wait until you are back, because I will get you back. I don’t care what it takes. You need to hear it, you deserve to hear it. You deserve to know.”
I’m working on a rewritten ending for Supernatural that is set after this little alt ending to 15x18 because the actual ending... left a lot to be desired. Turns out spite was in fact enough to get me writing again! So that’s good right??
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no road home [kylux, rated T]
PROMPTS: stranded - bug - break down by @kyluxxoxo
SUMMARY: When Hux gets bitten by a venomous insect on an unfamiliar planet, it falls on Kylo to bring them both back home—alive.
FANDOM: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
TAGS: Near Death Experiences, Stranded, Angst, Mutual Pining, Pre-Slash, Hopeful Ending, Protective Kylo Ren, Timeline What Timeline, Mentioned Brendol Hux, The Author Regrets Everything
NOTES:
Disclaimer: Research told me I could have either a very well-researched WIP or an unrealistic fic. I chose the fic. If you know anything at all about insect bites or survival, please accept this as my formal apology.
Heads-up for Hux trying to talk Kylo into leaving him for dead. No MCD or suicidal tendencies, because that's not how I roll; but Hux does temporarily give up somewhere in there.
2.5K || ALSO ON AO3
Hux collapses just outside the clearing.
Panic seizing his chest, Kylo breaks his fall with the Force on instinct—manages to catch Hux’s head, the rest of his body hitting the ground with a thud that echoes in Kylo’s skull. Kriffing hells. Be conscious, be conscious, please you infuriating—
Hux is conscious—thank stars he is, lying there with his eyes wide open and face pinched tight in his agony. He might not be breathing.
Placing Hux’s head down gently, he drops on a knee next to him. “Hux?”
Hux closes his eyes and empties his lungs on one, long exhale. “My knees gave way,” he mutters, irritation and anger underlying his tone at his body’s apparent betrayal. “It’s all right. Just give me a moment.”
Stark relief courses through Kylo, the grip around his heart loosening.
Hux takes minutes on the ground, working his body—rolling his ankles, clenching and unclenching his hands, turning his head. Once satisfied with his findings, he pushes himself up to a half-roll, then a sitting position. Kylo helps him with a hand between his shoulder blades—Hux hisses at the pressure, flinching away from his touch. No. It must be the fall; it can’t have already—
Stomach at his feet, “Let me see,” Kylo says, tugging at Hux’s sleeve. Exposing more of Hux’s skin might not be smart, considering; but he needs to see for himself—needs to know how much longer they have left.
At Hux’s questioning look, “We should keep track of how far it’s developed,” he adds. A half-lie, at worst. “The research team will need the data.” Useless as it will be, with no way to capture it without their datapads.
Hux frowns deeper, sizing him up through the corner of his eye—weighing Kylo’s sincerity. Kylo steels himself against the sting of Hux’s distrust—justified as it may be—and tugs again.
Releasing another long sigh, Hux shifts into a steadier position, raising his knees. His hands are trembling as he makes short work of his belt and the hidden clasps of his tunic—lightly enough to dismiss, if it were anyone else. The tight undershirt comes off last, pulled carefully away from Hux’s skin.
Blood freezes in Kylo’s veins.
The rash has spread from the bug bite high at his nape, the purple boils extending to Hux’s upper arms and halfway down his torso in thick cords, the skin around some red and broken where Hux must have scratched them behind Kylo’s back. No signs of development up or around Hux’s throat; but gut feeling says it’s a matter of yet.
They need to get Hux into the medbay before that happens.
-------------
After the first sun’s set, fever and nausea enter into the equation.
They were expecting it. The insect, whatever it might be, injected some sort of toxin into Hux’s system. Logic follows that the body will want to fight it through whatever means necessary.
If only he could make it easier on Hux.
Left up to him, he would have just thrown Hux over his shoulder instead of letting him exert himself further, the general’s useless pride be damned—better yet, they wouldn’t have had to rescue themselves from this backwater planet in the first place. As it is, his options are limited to pushing water into Hux’s hands and biting his tongue as Hux’s steps slow down the longer they go.
He doesn’t let himself ask to see the rash again, either. He just watches Hux’s hand drift lower and lower.
-------------
Without a map and unfamiliar with the terrain—Hux’s unnecessarily extensive dossiers would have come in handy here, were he given the time to prepare one before they were dropped planetside for a fool’s errand—he relies mostly on the Force’s guidance to find their way out. Much to Hux’s displeasure. Hitting flowing water like Kylo said they would put an end to the snide comments; but Hux still won’t try the berries the Force deemed safe.
Not that there would be a point to it, now.
Hux is on his knees next to a tree again, dry-heaving. Kylo’s own stomach aches with how hard Hux’s body is trying to cough up nothing; even river water barely stayed down long enough to count as success.
Once done, Hux practically drops against the tree trunk. His skin is dotted with sweat; he wipes it on a clean corner of the tunic he didn’t put back on. “That’s it,” he chokes—clears his throat. “I need a break.”
They both could use one. Kylo could keep going if he had to; but they’re playing the long game here—he needs to save his energy just in case. He won’t be any good to Hux if he exhausts himself unnecessarily.
They can’t afford to linger long, though. Hux’s breathing has been growing shallower since the third sun’s rise, his skin losing what little color it had; every minute is against them.
“We can take ten minutes,” he allows. “Then we have to get back on the road.”
Hux rests his head against the trunk with a sigh, closing his eyes. Without the strength to keep his mental shields up, his thoughts are laid out in front of Kylo—and what a glorious minefield it is. Hux thinks in stark visuals: of his father, rank stripes they shared, Phasma, his vibroblades, an orange tabby Kylo had thought to be just a rumor; of Hux himself on an unfamiliar throne and Kylo standing next to him, of Kylo’s broken body on the snow, Kylo floating in a bacta tank with an oxygen mask covering most of his face—circling back to Brendol Hux in that same tank, dissolving too slowly and painlessly for Hux’s liking.
Kylo wanders a little deeper into Hux’s mind and finds those tendrils of tenderness and affection again, gently redirecting Hux’s thoughts to the cat. Her name is Millicent, apparently—Millie, who likes to sleep behind Hux, in the crook of his knees. Millie, who costs a small fortune to feed, without taking Phasma’s treats into account that Hux pretends not to know about. Millie, who won’t show herself to any of Hux’s visitors but Mitaka.
Millicent, whom Hux might never see again.
Breathing deep to chase away the tightness in his chest, “Time’s up,” Kylo says, pushing himself off the ground. Hux watches him slap dust off his robes and heft what remains of their supplies with misty eyes. “Come on, Hux. You can sit around as much as you want when we get back to the base.” Just watch anyone besides the medical personnel try to come twenty feet near him.
“If we get back to the base,” Hux corrects him through a hoarse throat, not unkindly. “Are you sure we’re headed in the right direction?”
“Yes.” Mostly. Individual Force signatures are nearly impossible to identify from this distance; but they are headed towards a large group of people. Even if it’s just locals, they might know something about the venom flowing through Hux. With any luck, they might have an antidote or at least some relief to provide for Hux while Kylo figures out how to send a message to the base. It’s better than what they currently have, at any rate.
Hux raises a brow in disbelief, the heat of his glare diminished by the slackness of his face as his expression fails to tighten into its usual lines. He tilts his head up, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his folded arms on them. “How much farther?”
Kylo anchors his senses on the strongest signature, a wildfire among torches and candles. By their progress so far, he would estimate… longer than what they have left of daylight. Kriff. If only he had his helmet.
“A couple hours,” he lies. Hux will have his head when he realizes it; but he’s suffered a lot more for a lot less. “Less if we pick up the pace.”
Hux nods slowly at the sky, making no move to get up. “Certainly you realize,” he starts, a new weight to his measured tone. “I don’t have another couple hours’ trek in me. Let alone picking up the pace.”
Dread fills his guts, dark and heavy. “Come on, General,” he tries with a low chuckle, aiming for mocking. “All your scheming, all your grand plans of ruling the galaxy—was it all just so you can waste away in the middle of nowhere?”
An image of snow flashes in Hux’s mind—blindingly white and oppressive, vivid enough to send a shiver down Kylo’s spine. The remains of the Starkiller Base shakes under their feet as Hux half-carries, half-drags Kylo’s barely conscious bulk across the snow, taking stumbling steps towards safety.
The slash across his face burning anew, Kylo flees from Hux’s mind, not brave enough to face Hux’s account of Kylo’s biggest failure.
Hux grimaces, sending him a look that says careful, Ren. “I appreciate your efforts,” Hux continues in that same, carefully neutral tone. “Truly, I do. Not many would have lasted this long. With a dead weight on their side—” Bile rises in Kylo’s throat. “—not many would have even tried.” Hux meets his gaze, steel in his eyes. “Thank you for having tried, Kylo Ren.”
No. No, that can’t be Hux. General Armitage Hux is a survivor before anything—he would have stared death down than sit and wait for it. “I don’t know what the hells has gotten into you,” Kylo spits, the words leaving a bitter taste at the back of his mouth. “But I’m not returning alone.”
“You weren’t given a choice in this matter.” Hux sighs—in his usual, bone-weary exasperation. Kylo latches onto the Hux-ness of the gesture in the middle of this foreign everything. “It is not failure to accept what you couldn’t have prevented, Ren. You are just cutting your losses. I’m sure Leader Snoke will understand.”
“Shut up, Hux,” he hisses, his hands curled into trembling fists. His insides are liquid fire, churning and boiling like lava.
“Not even you can win against nature, Ren. Leader Snoke—”
“Damn Snoke to the void!”
The silence rings between them—or it might be Kylo’s ears. His breath tears out of his chest, coming in short puffs. Hux thinks—Hux expects that Kylo will leave him for dead and go back to the base by himself—the base with its mindless soldiers and stupider minions and no one to walk beside him through the endless hallways, no one to find him when he needs to not be alone the most and to put him back together—
Hux blinks at him, trying to school his features into a scowl. “Why are you fighting me on this?” he snaps. “I won’t find my way out of these woods, not alive—and you risk stranding yourself by trying to make me. There’s no reason for both of us to die here.”
“We will not.” Kylo won’t let it—by stars, he won’t, no matter what comes.
“I thought you would be relieved,” Hux says, his tone pitching higher in accusation—as if trying to save his kriffing life is one of Kylo’s bigger shortcomings. “You’ve been trying to get me out of your way since day one—and now that—” He draws in a shallow, effortful breath—Kylo’s lungs tense with it. “Now that you can without drawing Snoke’s ire, you try your damnedest to save me. Why?”
Because the future of the galaxy depends on you, Kylo should say—should stroke Hux’s ego enough to bring him back from whatever messed up, morbid headspace he’s fallen into. Because the First Order needs you. Because I— “Save your energy for the trip, Hux.”
“No,” Hux barks, every bit the stern general commanding his bridge, even half-undressed and sitting three steps from his own mess. “Tell me why you insist on keeping me alive.”
All too aware of his heartbeat, “What do you care?” Kylo snarls. “I’m making sure you’ll live to see your petty dreams through. Does it kriffing matter why?”
Hux looks at him intently, as if trying to see through him—to take him apart. His thoughts are so loud when he wants them to be, reaching; if he were Force-sensitive, he would have been screaming his thoughts into Kylo’s mind.
Taking it as an invitation, Kylo slips back into Hux’s mind—like a guest most welcome, instead of an intruder who found the door unlocked. Hux is thinking about the Starkiller Base again, but the memory is of Kylo lying on the snow this time, his breath ghosting over him the only sign he’s even alive. Fear fills Kylo’s—no, Hux’s heart at the sight, dizzying and amplified, coming from the center of his being. The bloodstain on the snow as he lifts Kylo’s torso off the ground with considerable strain, careful of his injuries. The medbay, watching Kylo float in the bacta tank with a heavy heart and raw palms. Seeing Kylo for the first time after his release from the medbay, in the Supreme Leader’s throne room, sans the helmet that still irritates Kylo’s facial wound—cold hit of relief that he quickly smothers, composing himself before approaching the two of them with sharp clicks of heels.
Oh.
“Yes,” Hux says, his unblinking gaze daring Kylo to look away—the many scenarios of potential humiliation at Kylo’s hands flickering just beyond his awareness. “As a matter of fact, it does.”
Kylo breathes—breathes again, mind reeling. He reaches into Hux’s mind again, just to make sure he’s not reading this wrong—but no, the feelings are all there. Buried deep, deep enough to escape Kylo’s notice unless he went looking for them—deep enough for Hux to ignore unless he chose to. That, more than anything, convinces Kylo of their authenticity.
Stepping closer, he sinks onto one knee in front of Hux, separated by Hux’s bony knees between them. He reaches to cup a careful hand over Hux’s face—sure of his welcome, yet no less hesitant for it.
“I’ll tell you at the base,” Kylo says softly, running a thumb over Hux’s hot, damp cheekbone. Disbelief rises in Hux—disbelief and suspicion and dangerous, dangerous hope. “How about that, General? Live for me and I’ll tell you why.”
The long look Hux gives him is the same as before, careful and calculating. Appraising. Kylo kneels and lets himself be judged, wishing deeply, desperately, to be found honest and true for once in his wretched life.
Something clicks in Hux’s eyes, his expression shuttering. Kylo doesn’t know what it means—but Hux is leaning forward in the next moment, putting his arm over Kylo’s shoulders and Kylo just doesn’t kriffing care.
Kylo wraps his own arm around Hux’s slim waist, keeping the pressure light on the boils he can feel under the thin fabric as Hux finally, finally helps himself up on shaky arms and legs. It takes two false starts to get him to stand by himself—and this time, when Hux’s knees buckle under him, Kylo is there to hold him up.ba
#Kylux Summer Fest 2020#kylux#Kylo Ren#Armitage Hux#Star Wars#Cai does words#finished fics#kyluxxoxo just hit me on the head and demanded I write something for it#so here we are#I finished this in record time for me#now it's time to get back to my KBB work
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I am someone who believes that most stories would do better if there was a character (specifically protagonist) who just puts all of there points into charisma. Like, I love villains that are just Manipulative Bastards (like MCD Zane, brilliant character and villian. A dick, but well written), but honest to god having protagonists doing those things is equally as awesome to me.
And there’s also kinda this thing with Oscar ending up giving characters morality crises (I specifically saw on thing with Neo and Cinder as like a ‘what if Neo and Cinder ended up kidnapping Oscar but he just ends up giving them a morality crises) because baby. But then I thought, okay that, but more on purpose. Like specifically trying to get people to have morality crises or just not kill him.
So of course I put two and two together, and ended creating a list of reasons I think it makes sense for Oscar to be the kind of character with all point into charisma and such.
1) It fits his actually character so far.
Oscar from what we’ve seen always tends to try talking over nearly any other plan. In V5 he got Ruby to kinda open up a bit. Durning his fight with Hazel in V5 after learning Hazel’s story he tries to convince Hazel to move on and not blame anyone other then his sister for it (“did she know the risks?”). V6 he tried talking to Jaune after the group told JNR about Salem. And in V7, while everyone else was either fighting someone or trying to get to safety, he went to talk to and convince Ironwood to stop what he’s doing. There have been quite a few times where this tactic has failed, but the point still being it’s what he nearly always defaults to. Talk and convince other as opposed to jumping to punching them. Also, in V7 when everything was kinda falling apart in Atlas while they were at the party and James was panicking because the plan was falling apart, Oscar was the one to help James realize (maybe even help come up with a plan) that this isn’t as bad as it seems and that they can turn in around. This isn’t just plain optimism, this is taking the scene and finding a way to make in work in your favor. Which I’m sure is something that will come real handy soon. On that note, since (I’m like 90% sure) we’re out of act two and into act three, things will start to look up a bit more for our protagonists. And by most means they are in a very bad situation right about now. But as we’ve seen, bad situations can be turned good in you think right.
1.5) Also, he’s not the best fighter. And he knows this. In volumn six he specifically comes into the ship with Maria to help by watching from above. He doesn’t work well by being in the front lines, and he knows that. Besides this group needs someone who can deal with, ya know, people and most of them not really seem to fill that role quite that best (I know ruby can deliver her speeches in moments if need, but could she handle a professional meeting or discussion? I think not).
2) It’s not a typical story path.
These traits of making situations work better for you and convincing other to do things you’d like (ie.dont kill me) tend to be traits more given to villains as opposed to heroes. Think about it. How many villain to you know that manipulated and cunning compared to heroes. Not much in this day and age. But RWBY has done this kind of thing before. Take Ruby for example. Just looking at her we see dark colors, a cloak, a not typical hero weapon. But then we meet her and? It’s a bouncy girl who loves weapons, loyal to her friends, and with a spark that just won’t go out. She does not seem like what we’d expect by just given her design. Oscar himself already does this to some degree. He is the actual definition of a chosen one protagonist. And yet he is not the protagonist at all, and honestly that makes this idea even more fun. As I said, this is a trait that villains tend to get. Chosen one heroes never really get this, they fight to cunning villain instead. So seeing that flipping of traits and breaking of tropes is wonderful to me, and I love it and I hope RWBY never stop doing it.
3) Greek Mythology:
There are two main kinds of heroes in Greek mythology (at least as we’ve been able to find and collect, mythology is Fucking Weird sometimes. Most times history and time don’t really help much). The prideful one, who gets destroyed by their own hubris and the cunning one. Salem falls very much into the first of those. She’s like a Bellerophon, trying to reach the gods but being struck down, or an Icarus flying to close to the sun. Oscar on the other hand seems to be a bit more like Odysseus, may not physically be the strongest, but damn he was smart enough to get out of many bad situations. Or Heracles who, despite what modern media tends to show him as, was really fricken smart. The dude managed to trick Atlas into taking the sky back by basically saying he’d take it back but then went “fun fact! I lied. Bye!”. He figured out how to take down enemies many thought were immortal though smarts and figuring out their weaknesses. He realized when he couldn’t physically do something, found a way to do it, and won some horse along the way. Ancient Greece really liked to say, Brawns won’t do you shit if you don’t have the brains to back then up, and even when as far to go with that brains were more important then brawns at points. Also, remember that story with Atlas and Heracles I just told you? Well I mean they are in Atlas and they need to find some shiny relics...
4) There will be no victory in strength:
One of the main themes in RWBY is how you can’t just fight your way out of everything. Now the main group hasn’t quite realized this yet, hence why they were so upset about the Salem thing. But Oscar is the epitome of this idea. He doesn’t go straight to fighting the majority of the time, and tries to talk with people and convince them to change. Now I’m not saying he should try that with Salem, I highly doubt that’ll work, but honestly it would probably work with most of the other antagonists in the series. (“I don’t need to be able to beat you in a fight, I just need to be able to convince you to fight someone else”).
5) Plans
Honestly, quite a few of the groups in RWBY are not the best planners. The protagonists a) tend to only think about what to do immediately and b) go to fighting first. They also don’t really back up plans, just kinda wing it of plan A doesn’t work. Ironwood is very rigid in his plans, both as not being able to deal well is the plan fails, and in letting other people bring up other ways to handle something. But as I say earlier, Oscar was the one to convince Ironwood that not all hope was lost and that new plans can be made out if the ashes of the old one. It’s sort of a “think ten steps ahead, but also look out for any opening and play with the hand you’re dealt” kind of thing. Because taking chances when you see that and bending a situation to fit what you need is very much a more manipulative move, but also can be very helpful. Especially is current plans are failing. Or everything is very very bad at the moment. And Oscar is the only we’ve really seen to something like that. Everyone else just tends to find a way that works and just stick with it, not really making room to be flexible. Flexibility is important you guys.
6) Possible Semblance:
I think one thing most of us all agree on is that there is no way that Oscar can just be holding in all of his emotions and just, like, be fully mentally ok at this point in time (okay honestly none if the kids are) and I at least would like for him to just snap. And I think a main part of that will be not having people listen to him (ie. James just shooting him instead of listen to what he had to say) and not being seen as himself and who he is. And we know that Semblances tend to relfect in a person. With all that being said, there is a power that could manage to not only hit that current issues Oscar’s having mentally, but also with the while ‘convincing others’ part. Glamour. Now I might be the only one that read about this because of what I’ve found online, but Fae Glamour, as well as being able to make you look different, can also ness with peoples brains a bit. Just like, some making you believe something different here, some changing if your perspective on reality there ya know? Oh if you’ve ever read the series, The Invisible Library (I recommend you do if you like fantasy, the multiverse, fae, dragons, etc.), the librarians in that have the ability to make this to things, the farther from what it’s normally be like the more effort it takes. Kinda like that. This also ties in with Oz general Fae-like thing. I’m not joking he’s very much like a Fae. (This would also tie into my next point woo transitions).
7) Conflict:
As has been said before, these sorts of things are not usually hero traits. And there are definitely people on the group who may not be the most okay with someone doing things that aren’t fully morally right all the time and that could very well cause some issues. Issue that is even occur would probably be dealt with in a more timely manor but still. (Also the FNDM might not like it as much as well, cause no one seems to understand that morality isn’t just black and white).
I think that’s all? I might end up adding more is I remember or think of it. Well thanks for surviving my ramble if you did read it all
#rwby#oscar pine#rwby theory#basically he’s a slytherin#like a Manipulative Bastard but Neutal Good instead Neutal/Lawful Evil#part of me is like#he wouldnt use much cause precious cinnamon roll#but another part is#MCD Zane but just on the good side of dnd allinment chart#itd be fun if that were the case#i doubt it but itd be fun#also this whole thing would probably make him a bit more involed with planning and such#so thats good for the lancer thing
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Hello again ☺️Yes, that would have been really cool! I already read two of your recomnendations and i love them so thank you again for sharing! I can understand you being unsure of your writing but i bet there are people who will love it. Judging from how you answer your asks and how much you love John i have no doubt that i would love it. But if you dont wanna post it anywhere i would completely understand too. (1)
Im glad i came around to like Root cause otherwise it would have been hard to watch season 4 & 5 cause she appears a lot. I think part of it is cause i watched it witch my family and my dad loves her so i started to like her more too (you know who you love sth cause someone else loves it?) and then eventually i liked her to. Shaw i loved from day one and i loved her sibling energy with John. The John and Shaw dynamic was one of my favorites. I love their teasing and their chaotic energy (2)
As for Shoot i think its kinda cool that the writers just went with it cause of the chemistry and i like Shoot a lot. John and Harold would be amazing too (i mean whats better than one queer couple? Two queer couples!) And there are some parallels between the ships so there was room for both of them. Eventhough Harold and Grace is cute too. And i feel John has chemistry with almost everyone (not always romantic chemistry but also platonic chemistry if thats a Thing 😂) and (3)
in Addition to rinch i also really liked John with Zoe. The only one he had zero chemistry with was the theraphist imo. That ship was just weird. I wish they would have used that time for more Rinch scenes instead. -- yes someone who agrees about the happy end! I dont understand people who wish for a sad end. Like John is my fave character ever and i just want him to be happy with his newfound odd family and maybe someday adopt a cute baby with Harold or become an uncle or idk just be happy (4)
But in my Imagination he didnt die and someday he and Harold retired and started their quieter Happy life with Bear. --- yeah poi Reddit loves the later seasons and hates the first and i noticed they can get a bit mean with people who dont agree (thats why i only read and never write anything). Also said you could skip most of S1 which is just sad cause its a great season 😔 i will accept that i lost validity (is this even a Word?) for liking Root 😂 also yea 4x20 is the ep with the carter hallucinations so check it out. But a warning: Root appears :D sorry this ask got so long, but i just love talking to you and i always look forward to your replies :)
Hi !! Happy to see you're back :)
Glad you liked my recs ! I think there's quite an amount of fics with suicidal John out there actually. Not that surprising since it's canon.
I appreciate your support ! In the long run idk if it's healthy for me. Like a few months ago I fell back into ace attorney and I read a lot of fics about Miles being suicidal and it affected me negatively. Sometimes I purposefully seek out suicide fics. And it may not be the most healthy thing to do. So I'm not sure about that fic. Bc I do wanna write it, but idk if it'd be healthy, as catharsis, or unhealthy, as rumination. I mean I've been writing that body horror fic with some projection of my body issues and it's fine. But yeah I'm pretty sure that if I ever finish it I think I'll post it – after all I posted a fic in which John jumped off a bridge a long while ago before I got suicidal (foreshadowing my own life here lmao). I also wanna try to work on my other wips
Yeah I see, that's understandable. Ngl Root makes me not motivated to get to these seasons during my rewatch (which technically wouldn't be a rewatch). It's wild how I feel nothing for Shaw (she do be kinda hot tho,,,, muscles,,,,,) but I think it's mostly bc I wasn't that interested in her back then and it's been so long since I watched the show I don't remember shit about her. She'd be able to grow on me I think. Yeah I've seen a lot of posts about that "mayhem twins" dynamic around here it does sound cool. Also it's refreshing to have a male/female relationship that isn't turned into a forced romance. But I'll always have a soft spot for S1 and its four core characters.
It's nice if they have chemistry, I didn't feel like they did. Yeah I'm still disappointed that they didn't go for Rinch too. I mean come on their chemistry is so painfully obvious ! I dislike the word queer but mood pls just give me canon Rinch I'm fucking begging hhhhhhh. I'm quite sure the notion of chemistry works with non romantic relationships as well. John is definitely good with people. He looks scary and brooding but he's just a good man who wants to help people ! I love him so much and same he's my fav character of all time !! Also I love seeing him interact with kids he's so good with them. But I also love when he's being an absolute badass. Damn I always forget about Grace gkjdfkjfd I don't have anything against her though, Harold and her are cute together. (Not much into the grace/harold/john OT3 tho, I've seen it around after return 0 but :/ not my thing. But hey good for people who like it.)
I liked John and Zoe too. Even if he had chemistry with Iris it's so cringe, didn't think poi would fall as low as portraying such a relationship between a therapist and a patient. Guess that shows the decrease in quality in the later seasons. Sad they did that shit when as you said they could have showed more Rinch. Like come ooon Rinch is just. Right fucking here. Just make it canon you cowards.
Yeah fuck sad endings (John didn't die obviously) I want my men to be happy and in love and live a good life together with their dog is that too much to ask. Like sometimes I read fics with MCD bc why not but most of the time I just want happiness. Fluffy domestic Rinch is so good ! Gives me so much life. I have a soft spot for married Rinch as well. Also while we're at it let me rec this domestic fluff fic:
Yeah not surprised. And you're right don't waste your time arguing on reddit lol it's not worth it. It baffles me when people say S1 is boring like ??? Where ?? There's literally soooo many eps I love in this season !! 📣📣📣number crunch is the best ep📣📣📣 Glad they stay over on reddit with their last seasons and their shit opinions about S1 smh. Like imagine being a fan of a show and disregarding the season that created the basis of the show and developed characters and relationships. Big brain time uh
I'm quite sure validity is an actual word, and that's how it be if you like root :/ I don't make the rules :/ you're the half valid anon now 😂
Oh well I shall endure root if it's a good ep ^^
It's cool !! I love your long asks !! I hope I didn't get lost in my own reply lmao
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Good Intentions: Season Premiere (Episode 1 of 6)
Prompt: Bucky is a Hunter who is in a relationship with Tony who is either an Angel or Demon.
I drew a lot on lore (and plot elements) from the show Supernatural (for obvious reasons), but it’s not a crossover. Warning for MCD. It doesn’t stick, but it does happen.
Also on AO3!
~Dracusfyre
“This is a stupid idea!” Bucky called over his shoulder at Natasha, who was leaning against the hood of the car keeping an eye out for any other vehicles.
“But it will make a funny story later, so quit complaining,” Natasha called back. Bucky scowled at the small hole he’d already dug and compared it to the size of the shoebox he was trying to bury. Scowling, he wondered if he could just dump out the contents into the hole.
“’Saw it on the internet’,” he grumbled as he chipped away at the packed dirt with the crowbar from the car and then scooped it out of the hole with his hands. “’I know just the place,’ he says. ‘Could be fun.’ Hey, Tash, if this was your idea how come I’m the one digging the hole?”
“Because you’re the one that said you’d sell your soul for a good lay.”
Bucky wished he was as drunk now as he’d been then. But despite his complaining, it wasn’t too much longer before he was done, so he stood and brushed the dirt off his hands. “Ok, now what? Do I gotta say something?”
“A hello would be nice,” a voice purred behind him.
(More after the break!)
Bucky jumped and gave a startled yelp as he turned to see who said that. Standing in the middle of the intersection was a young man, about Bucky’s age, wearing an Iron Maiden shirt over low-slung jeans and looking unremarkable until you notice that even though the moon was full he didn’t cast a shadow. When he got closer Bucky could see that his eyes seemed to shine silver, but maybe that was just a trick of the moonlight. Bucky pulled his eyes away and looked around but the intersection was just as deserted as it had been when they got here; only fields as far as the eye could see, no other cars or vehicles in sight. “Who the hell are you?”
The man didn’t answer, he just tapped his foot on the pile of loose dirt over the box Bucky buried and raised his eyebrows. “This is one of the most fucked up summoning spells I’ve ever seen. I mean, the spell asks for the bones of a black cat and you put in a stuffed animal.”
For some reason that offended Bucky’s sensibilities, even if he had just thought the spell was a joke. “Oh, seen a lot, have you? Do you know how hard it is to get those ingredients? Especially on short notice?”
“I know it’s harder than it used to be. But you wanna make a deal with the devil, you should put a little effort into it. This isn’t eBay.”
Bucky crossed his arms. “Well you’re here, aren’t you?”
“Only because I heard the words, ‘sell your soul for a good lay’ and I thought to myself, that’s my kind of deal. Not because of that stupid…I can’t even call it a spell.”
“Hey, fuck you, ok? It’s not like I thought it was real.”
“Well, it is, for certain values of the word, and now I’m here. So about that lay.” The man started pulling off his shirt as he glanced around at the deserted intersection. “I mean, it’s not the most romantic location, but the moonlight is nice enough.”
Bucky stared at his lean chest, the ropy muscles and smooth curve of his shoulders and biceps before jerking his eyes back up to look the man in the face. “What? No, that was just – never mind.”
The man paused with his hand on the button of his jeans. “Are you sure?” Bucky started to shake his head then stopped and nodded, feeling his face get hot when a slow smile spread across the man’s face. “Because I’m not the one that summoned a crossroads demon for good sex.”
“You’re not…demons aren’t real,” Bucky said, stubbornly ignoring the blush until he felt the heat fade. It would help if this guy would put his damn shirt back on because his body was built in all of Bucky’s favorite ways and, well, it had been a while since Bucky got laid.
He jumped when he felt an arm wrap around his shoulders. The man was suddenly standing next to him, fully dressed. “You know, it’s probably best that you keep thinking that,” the man said, steering Bucky back to the car where Natasha was sitting on the hood and looking at her phone. “Red pill, blue pill, you know.”
Bucky looked at the man’s face, so close to his own, the full curve of his bottom lip and the barely-there stubble along his jaw, gaze trailing up to see that the man’s eyes were completely black. A black that seemed to absorb the moonlight and not reflect it, as if where his eyes should have been there were only dark pits. He only realized that he had been walking when he stopped, gaping as the man turned to face him. The man raised his eyebrow and smiled, and when he blinked the darkness was gone. He gave Bucky a tiny shove back towards Natasha. “Now shoo, and the next time you try summoning a demon, don’t be so half-assed about it, they’re not all as nice as I am.”
Bucky walked back to the car in a daze, trying to convince himself that what he’d seen had been a trick of the light. He stopped and turned but the man was gone.
Natasha glanced up when she heard his feet on the gravel. “Done already?” she smirked, sliding off the hood and getting in the car. “Who were you talking to?”
Bucky stared at Natasha in disbelief. “What?
“I heard you out there talking to someone. Who called you this time of night?”
“You didn’t-” Bucky stopped when Tasha just looked at him curiously. “It was Steve. Steve called and wanted to know what in the hell we are doing.”
Hidden from mortal sight, Tony rocked on his heels and watched the pair drive away. He summoned the shoebox with the spell ingredients from the dirt loosely piled over it, pulling out the picture that the human had put inside. It looked like the kind of photo you would get for a yearbook or a school ID; flipping it over, Tony read the name written on the back. “James Buchannan Barnes,” he said out loud. “Huh.” He tucked the photo into his back pocket and kicked the dirt back into the hole at the crossroads before leaving.
#winteriron#tony x bucky#tony stark#bucky barnes#supernatural#non-permanent major character death#prompts#dracusfyre
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Last Pairing Tag Game
@potteresque-ire tagged me for this one!
RULES: You must answer the questions below about the last ship that you read/wrote about, regardless of whether or not you like this ship, then tag anyone you want.
Last thing I wrote was Victuuri for a wip I’m working on, so here we go!
1. What domestic thing are they most guilty of?
They’re hardcore morning cuddlers, often completed by Makka worming his way between them from the bottom of the bed so that they’re one big happy dog pile. Victor likes to kiss Yuuri awake with the softest of kisses that he leaves like a loving treasure map on Yuuri’s skin until his nose scrunches up and his eyes blink open blearily (because Yuuri is Not A Morning Person, but it’s ok because Yuuri gets his revenge every night when they go to sleep because Victor is Not A Night Owl), giving Victor a baleful look that only lasts a moment before Yuuri’s annoyance at being awake at whatever fuck-you hour Victor has woken him up at is soothed by the fact that Victor is there in his arms and he’s in love with him.
2. Who is enabler in the relationship? (eg: “I shouldn’t eat the cake.” “Eat the damn cake. You know you wanna.” “Damn, you’re right.”)
Victor is absolutely the enabler. For as much as he can go into Coach Mode, Yuuri knows he’s still not a perfect coach, and will always try to get Yuuri to have a drink or eat something he restricts himself from before competitions because Victor is more about experiencing life and having a good time, and he wants to do those things with Yuuri.
3. What is their song?
This one’s easy since the show provides it, Stammi Vicino is their first song, the one that brings them (back) together. More importantly, I think that they both like to hum the melody when they pull each other into a slow dance, swaying around the room with their cheeks pressed together. Whenever one of them is away, they’ll substitute Makka in as their dance partner.
4. In a battle, would they fight back-to-back, or sporadically, watching out for each other?
Back to back, if only because neither of them would be capable of leaving each other’s side in a situation like that.
5. In death fics, which person is the one that usually dies/you choose to kill off?
NOPE. BYE. MCD AND VICTUURI DON’T EXIST IN THE SAME SENTENCE. BYYEEEEEE.
6. What would a reverse verse look like?
Reverse ‘verse isn’t my favorite, but I imagine this a couple of different and maybe a bit more unconventional ways since it strays from the nature of the reverse trope - the first is that they retain their ages and Victor is a skater who is losing all of his motivation and drive but is inspired by Yuuri, a skater who has made a splash since his first time on the ice and never fails to dazzle and surprise the audience (and who is secretly Victor’s inspiration), but Yuuri is still shy and reserved and always seems out of Victor’s reach so they’ve never talked. After a magical night together at the banquet, Victor is sort of crushed when he doesn’t hear from Yuuri again, thinking that they’d made a connection, when in fact Yuuri just doesn’t remember that he agreed to be Victor’s coach. When a youtube video goes viral of Yuuri skating Victor’s Stammi Vicino skate from the GPF (and skating it with more passion and emotionality than Victor was ever able to infuse it with), Victor is on the next plane to Japan and shows up much as he did in canon assuming Yuuri means to coach him, that he does remember his agreement to help Victor reach his potential before he ages out of competitive skating. Yuuri in this verse would still be shy, reserved, and secretly think he’s not good enough no matter how hard he works to please the audience, but he regains his spark of inspiration and love for the sport when Victor blows into his life.
The second way would sort of be the typical one, Victor as the younger skater and Yuuri as the older one, but Victor is the one making the GPF for the first time and making a big splash while Yuuri fails at the GPF and requests Victor to come be his student at the banquet because he needs something to bring back the reason he fell in love with figure skating and he sees it in Victor’s skating.
7. If you had to put them into any other fandom of yours, which would it be and how would it work out for them?
My gut instinct is to say stick them in HP but even with that I’m not sure it feels like the right fit for them. I feel like their story could translate pretty well to the BNHA verse, though, where Yuuri and Izuku share feelings of inadequacy that they struggle to overcome and Victor and All Might share the pressure of the public perception of them vs how they really are out of the spotlight while training someone else to help them be their best.
8. Are they the “touchy-feely” couple or the “witty, sometimes insulting banter” couple?
Definitely touchy-feely, Victor is basically all over Yuuri all the time, but Yuuri also has his moments where he likes to remind the world that Victor’s love is Yuuri’s to hold onto.
9. Would they want marriage? Kids? Or are they more comfortable without those things?
I think Yuuri would be happy if they were just together, as long as he’s with Victor he’ll be content, but Victor is a giant romantic who wants it all -- marriage, (dog) children, matching mugs, but we know it’s Yuuri who proposes to Victor and surprises him.
Victor can’t even wait for the five golds that Yuuri promised him. When Yuuri wins all. the. gold. at FCC, All Japan, and Worlds, Victor flies them back to Hasetsu to get married on the beach with their family and friends looking on. Half of the Men’s figure skating roster is there. Yuri Plisetsky fights Phichit over which of them cheered louder when Victor pulled Yuuri into a big kiss, dipping him backwards and Yakov can be seen accepting a handkerchief from Celestino when he gets gruff and quiet, eyes shiny with emotion while Victor beams out at the small crowd, hand clutching Yuuri’s.
10. What are most of their dates like?
Very sweet affairs, but also usually pretty simple. They go for runs together, walk the dogs on the beach, take a couple of hours to spend in the onsen when it’s empty, watch movies curled up together under the same blanket. What’s more important to them is spending time together.
11. Do they have a secret language? Inside jokes?
The only secret language they have is the silent communication through their eyes and eyebrows, where Victor tries to get what he wants with puppy eyes and Yuuri informs him when they need to make a hasty retreat to somewhere quiet or he’s going to feel Victor up in public, regardless of Victor’s inability to be quiet.
12. What do their morning routines look like? Are they harmonious? Do they fight each other for space? Do they help each other get ready?
Victor defines his space as anything that involves him being attached to Yuuri like an octopus, so it’s not so much that they fight each other for space as Yuuri happily gives in to Victor’s clinging, even years into their marriage, because he likes the way Victor’s stubble feels scraping against his neck when Victor nuzzles there from behind. Victor is usually the first to wake up and will slip out of bed to make Yuuri a pot of tea before slipping back into bed with his offering. He kisses Yuuri awake and they spend some time cuddling until Yuuri stops grumbling about being awake. (This is always sped along by Victor’s touches trailing lower until Yuuri is quite alert) After a shower together, they’ll circle each other and hand off things like belts, shirts, and track jackets depending on where their schedule is taking them for the day. Yuuri stands before Victor and smiles fondly at him when he does up the buttons on Victor’s shirt and Victor will zip Yuuri into his track jacket and pull him in by the collar for a kiss before they’re deemed ready for the day.
13. Assuming that some family members are alive (related or no), how did each family react to the couple?
All of Yuuri’s family and close friends grow to adore Victor and his special brand of loving Yuuri, especially Yuuri’s mother, who shares a special bond with Victor.
14. What is your favorite AU for them?
My extremely indulgent guilty pleasure are Canon Divergent AUs, especially Banquet AUs or post-GPF AUs where they either meet or get together earlier than in canon. For the few actual AUs I’ve read, I like politically-focused A/B/O stories and Medieval Arranged Marriage AUs.
15. Finally, what trope works better for the couple as they are in canon? (If they’ve never met, which one do you think would work best if they know each other?)
Pining, god allllll the pining, also pick and choose: slow burn, soulmates, fake dating/marriage (or accidental), mistaken identity, memory loss, injury/sick fic, miscommunication, language barriers, unreliable narrator (though this one is barely a trope since it’s straight up canon), Victor’s Impulsive Decisions
I’m unsure of who has or hasn’t been tagged recently for this one since I’ve been away, but I’ll just leave it at whoever wants to do it, consider yourself tagged!
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Mar 2021 Wins
1 - Work againn except the medical record ran out. So we went back at 12 am. Relaxeddd at home. Fasted today (still got 2 fasting debts to go). Meeting with dr dafsah dr bayushi and dr debby at 20:30. I embarrassed myself lmao,,, and what you can say as "asal bunyi". Let the overthinking and fear begin. I actually woke up 3 times during the night, lmaoo is it anxiety? Never happened to me before.
2 - we need to take care of administrations to get more medical record so we did. Wasted almost half of the day but we finally managed. Immediately fell asleep at home lmao
3 - the usual day in harkit. Asked more medical records. Planned to go to cp to see slip ons but the tj i wanted to ride went straight to kalideres so like the sane person i am of course i went back home. Timing is very222 great sometimes in life. Zoom meeting with the ever so kind dr eva. Mahmud and dela joined the assistant gang
4 - magang. Met dr eva in pediatric icu. late late evening lunch was kungpao chicken sec bowl (which i exclaimed as sweet. And then my friend said kungpao is supposed to taste like that. Huh). I was picked up after maghrib. Laid down in bed, playing my phone until 22ish and i fell asleep. Damn i shouldve slept earlier yknow
5 - magang. Ate spicy salmon onigiri from lawson for lunch. Went to btkv basecamp with mahmud since RM was a bit crowded. Not even 10 mins in, and we excused ourselves because misuh2 btkv near the computer on our table. Went to nonama in le meridien after magang with ara ness gen cal hanin amal alya. The sushi was so so (too much rice). Yay for lots of sashimi. Salmon kushiage was tasty. Salmon aburi cheesy stuff was tasty. Soba so so. Takoyaki explodes in your mouth. While waiting for mom, saw live piano performance in the lobby. Shes playing alone. I hope she knows someone out there appreciates it *oddly melancholic*
6 - slept in. Felt good. Hurriedly showered and got ready bcs i thot it was getting a bit late and turns out i arrived in halte kalideres 9:11 am lmao. Breakfast slash lunch was penyetan cok ayam. The sambal was not THAT spicy but my tongue has weakened now. Picked up some data in RM. Went to central park with my heavy ass bag to search for slip ons. Didnt find one yet. Went to kkv for the first time. Went back home and its heavy rain on the tj but dry in kalideres. Snacked on fitz cookies (its basically vegan tuffis) on the bus since i felt hungryyy. Juan bought chicken satay and when i arrived theyre all eating but i didnt feel like eating with them lmao (its been a while since i last did) so i just went upstairs, finished that fitz cookies, fell asleep in my mukena (after maghrib) and skipping isya :(
7 - didnt feel like doing anything when i woke up, but forced myself to open laptop for nemo. Played a bit of keyboard. Ate last nights satay. Rly was in a rut until i managed to shower (i last showered yesterday morning,,,) and felt a bit better. Even did night skin care and mask (which i didnt do lately)
8 - magang as usual while listening to curhat babu. I was still feeling "off" even though i was outside already. Felt a bit more normal after i had lawson's ice arabica gayo covfefe. Lunch was spicy sec bowl with extra chicken. Coffee's effect is amazing im just blown away. Like im not tired. I feel normal. I dont feel like immediately going to bed when i arrive at the house. Read and finished starving anonymous before bed. Its... A lot to take in. Especially before bed lmaoo
9 - mencret2 in the morning and i blame it on spicy sec bowl. my pace in magang is so slow why :( lunch is carbonara spaghetti from Barilla (29k with discount). It does make you feel full, and it is creamy. But the beef bacon is so few 😐 it will be more delish if it has more bacon. Picked up by mom after maghrib today. At 19:30 ish my stomach hurtedddd bcs of rising acid.its been a while since it happened. Thankfully mom bought tan ek tjoan and brownies. The ache dissipated after i finished my bread. Its so cold in the car tfff or is it my poor metabolism
10 - magang til after isya since tomorrow is a holiday. powered by lawson’s arabica gayo after lunch (good habit’s minimal-taste fried rice lol). while on the way back, kapjagiii ukmppd result announcement. alhamdulillah i passed. congratulated by some. slept late seeing people’s social media update.
11 - woke up late. didnt feel hungry, so i ate at 13:00 ish (tuna, peanut-chocolate sandwich). slept after eating. ghosted mahmuda calling me regarding after zuhur liqo. didnt pick up atikah’s calls. cant seem to talk lmao. rly rly tried to do dr dafsah’s excel this day, but cant seem to start my day. i was like “i’ll take a shower” but i didnt. “i’ll start the excel at 20:00″ i didnt. i just slept. and woke. and slept. dreamed about going to dufan with clara but we bailed since there was no promo. i practically didnt no anything today lol
12 - finally showered (that was supposedly done yesterday lmao). my pink flats broke down. i was the only one who come lmao. did dr dafsah’s excel and finished at 10. went to TA and tried popolamama’s ayce. tried chicken arabiatta (very tomato-ey taste, not a fan), pepperoni, bolognese and banana caramel with vanilla ice cream. Managed to eat 4 small pizza out of 9 flavor choices. While eating i remembered i came to celebrate passing ukmppd. so in my mind i pat myself in the back and said (not out loud) congrats for passing ukmppd. it felt bittersweet, but a nice validation. tried to search for slip ons again but didnt find one. bought a black top in uniqlo. started reading here you are
13 - lazed and lazed and jhs friends wanted to meet up but i cant even muster the courage to shower lmao. after zuhur was the meet up time but i slept at 12. lets go. come on. out. suddenly i have to build up a will to socialize just like with running. and i managed. left the house at 13:30-ish. went to ali kopi dm and got thai tea. slowly warming up my social battery. and then things felt a bit better. and we moved to flavola (got the somay). and talked we did, until suddenly its near isya. and then i had to go back bcs mom was being restrictive as usual. if it werent for that i would stay longer w atikah and pupuy. felt energized afterwards, read more of here you are and slept at 00:00 ish
14 - woke up, played some keyboard. im not prepared for another monday. Mangago is down. Unboxed my knockoff airpods that arrived couple of days ago. The sound and function was ok. Showered near the end of zuhur.
15 - magang as usual. Got out of my gloomy (felt a bit better) after going out. Lunch was ayam pedas lawson with added fried chicken. Also bought arabica gayo. Went back home before maghrib. Why must i be here while my dad talk about whatever before sholat maghrib. I hate it here. Ara and redita stayed over bcs theyre 'supposedly' going to rsut to pick up samples. Except it was cancelled and in the morning they went back to rscm,,,
16 - its only morning but i yapped abt worrying in our future to poor ekal who just sat there lmaoo. I told him how i realized im easily bored. Tried K-Chop for lunch, bought kimchi bokkeumbap, pajeon and kimchi jeon. The fried rice tasted like fried rice but with a hint of kimchi. Kimchi jeon was good and refreshing. the pajeon was basically egg with added ingredients. But it did make me feel full. Suddenly felt like singing life goes on with the keyboard.
17 - tried fitfut for lunch. Got mushroom chicken steak and katsu wrap. Their katsu is,,, simply put, tasteless. Like those HEALTHY healthy foods. The (small) chicken steak was ok. The mushroom sauce tasted good. Zoom call with dr dafsah at 12 am. More work i guess,,,
18 - fasted today. Still got 1 debt to go. Sahur was indomie, banana and protein shake. Did not feel hungry in magang but i kinda felt lightheaded. And then i cant take it anymore and went home at 2 pm. Arrived after ashar. Theres PLENTY of time to do stuff, right? Nope. I just laid in bed playing my phone til maghrib (iftar was chicken noodle) and continued until i fell asleep. My dream was absurd lmaoooo
19 - had custom salad hut for lunch. felt suuuper fult. bought pop cookies since it was the last day of grabfood’s 50% promo. was picked up after isya by mom. we talked with the resident who’s doing his thesis stuff and it turns out he’s from the same shs as mahmuda lmao. he bought kopsus and donat kampung for us, how kinddd :”) i said “mantap ni kakak kelasnya mahmud” and he said “kamu kan adek kelas saya juga”. kind seniors. i hope they have great careers and be successful and im learning to be kind from kind people. i dont know, im just easily touched by simple gestures lmaoo. first time trying tuku’s coffee. it’s smooth and creamy (like the milk and coffee unites (?)) and it doesnt separate when you leave it. its milky but has a strong coffee taste. Slept at 11 pm-ish, playing my phone
20 - lazed. saw long covid webinar. ate mom’s salmon mentai, pop cookies matcha cream cheese and dark chocolate. the dark chocolate one, especially a bit cold, taste soooo good wtf. concentrated sugar and chocolate at its finest. played some keyboard. saw youtube vids about the genius jacob collier. lent my byu phone number so ara could use it to catfish in coffee and bagel lol. bought sbux green tea and caramel macchiato 1 L for 100k + delivery fee and my bro said it tasted good
21 - tried pop cookies red velvet this time. Its super sweet yall and i thought martabak orins was the epitome of d40 bolus. did pamela reif 10 mins calorie burn that wont kill you. except i got doms WITHIN the day of work out. also attempted sun salutation and my leg is so damn stiff. did some work on sunday!!! wow!!!! (after wasting 2 weekends) finished skimming air gear lol. it still made me feel glorious.
22 - volunteered to help vaccination at rptra planet senen w akis els yud kind. Finished at about 13:30. We got chicken noodle, nasi padang and mcd lol. Went to senen bus station. Prayed there. Called mahmud and turns out theres no new medical record so i went straight home. Ate the mcd and lazed in bed
23 - vaccine volunteer again, this time in sd 01 kramat, w regen nagit red adita. Observation table again. Except its twice the amount of pt compared to yesterday. Nebeng redita to gang IX and walked to nessa's place. Went to GI and we watched violet evergarden (tif gen ness kris indah ara). The ac in the screenX cgv theater wasnt even on. Picked up by mom at 20:30 ish so i hurried down. The movie was hilarious w indah's commentary
24 - sooo sleepy and lazy but finally went to harkit. Waiting for pak oji to get medicak records, i shopped at sociolla lol. Bought eyebrow pencil, eyeshadow palette, blush since i dont have those (i only have cheap 3 color mizzu eyeshadow). Did some work. Met kiki in RM. "planned" to do the rest of magang work at home and arrivd back at 3-ish pm but we all know thats a lie. Lazed. Maghrib. Bought sbux 1L to have some caffeine through the green tea. Sinau airway class by dr zeta (focused thanks to the caffeine). Had some "awake time" left and did not feel sleepy til 10:30ish pm but i had to sleep since i got 1 more fasting to go 2mrw. No progress on magang work aaaaa
25 - had indomie, boiled egg, banana and protein powder for sahur. magang. emir took a while to pick me up even though i already told him the time im arriving and i ended up ordering grab lmao and he showed up right before the grab. liqo w kak kartika and mahmud while sipping caramel macchiato. did some translation (job by dr triya)
26 - picked up pld medal, gown and buavita (lol) at salemba and then went to harkit. met kiki again. lunch was k-chop. quite good and fulfilling. waiting for mom to pick me up before maghrib. Was lazying around at night and it turns out clara came w kefas. She called but dumb ass me had my phone on silent. She surprised me and came all the wayyy with a little tayo cake and a line friends pillow. I was awkward w kefas bcs im awkward w new people :):):) she went back and then i cried afterwards in my room. Fianti sent me a wish before midnight (somehow havent fell asleep) and then i close my eyes and go to the dream world
27 - had mie goreng for breakfast. fell asleep again. woke to silvi and racheel calling me and as usual my phone was not ringing. there’s racil silvi devi reza outside the door lmao. they (including atikah) surprised me with gift (a bag). i asked them to come with me to gi since im gonna eat w regen. we tried yakiniku like and the meat was juicy and yum, better then kintan. racil dkk ate marugame udon just below. wanted to get banban but it was so crowded. went back by grab. racil and atikah stayed over. talked until like 12 am. forced myself to pray isya.
28 - talked for hours like we usually do, tried some makeup bcs i need to practice for pld lol. tarik tiga to their place bcs i needed to borrow pld clothes lol. rearranged my room and i was sweating. i should’ve drank macchiato and did some work but i cant bring myself to so i just sleep. hangovers post feeling normal are never the best feeling
29 - woke up super late. cant bring myself to go to harkit. i feel like shit. sick and tired of feeling sick and tired ((quoting jhene aiko)). mustered some will to shower. rode my on bike pretending im going to harkit except im going to mcd. got big breakfast and lemon tea. went to flavola, ordered kopsus coklat and indomie + telor. Went back home after isya.
30 - Binge watching sean and kaycee’s vids lol it all began with their leave the door open dance :). went to harkit by TJ after the redcap was unaccessible at 09:30ish. lunch was truffle belly chicken mushroom (somehow there’s 50% disc). Took some needed data and went back home at 14:20. did (new) translation for dr Triya. finally drank homemade matcha latte after a while.
31 - originally intended to go to flavola after zuhur, but i just cant muster the strength. did dr triya’s translation work. didnt do any ecmocard today. felt like shit. ate the tayo small cake from clara. quite good and not too heavy. gladi kotor pld today. did green screen using mukena lol. fell asleep. skipped isya and the next morning’s subuh :( basically i ended march feeling like utter shit lol
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That was so fucking awful...
And I get to do it every week for the rest of forever. Great.
My Nana is diabetic and has heart disease. There might be some other conditions she’s got that I have not been made privy to - but those two, I know for sure. She is on a full page of medication. This is not an exaggeration. She has a complete lined paper filled, top to bottom, with her daily medication regimen.
It would be a lot even for a fully able-bodied, neurotypical, mentally healthy person to manage. My Nana is not able-bodied, nor is her mental health or memory as great as it used to be. She used to be able to manage, though. Before her memory started getting a big sloppy.
Now Pop-Pop is trying to shoulder all responsibility, while also blaming Nana for the medications she’s on, and being impossibly stubborn about any suggestions on how to better help or manage the situation.
My one aunt is the only one who actually understands the full scope of what each medication does, what dosage Nana is supposed to take, and how often. There are a few (like Nana’s insulin) that are supposed to have fluctuating dosages based on Nana’s current blood sugar... except, Nana doesn’t always test her blood sugar. She just goes ahead and takes some mid-point standard insulin dosage, I guess. And she’s not supposed to do that. But she’s also lucky to remember to take it - and take it only once - with each meal.
Basically they’re both struggling to be independent despite really, really needing better communication and teamwork. Nana feels, very understandably, trapped and stripped of a lot of her own value. Even when she was in better shape, she was somewhat house-bound. She never had a license, definitely can’t ride a bike any more, and couldn’t go very far on foot. Now, she’s not mobile. She’s on oxygen, with a literal plastic leash tethering her to the house. She can’t even manage most household chores any more, because the heat or moisture will mess with her breathing - and that’s assuming she could move or stand long enough to do it in the first place.
So Pop-Pop is shouldering it all - which is honestly mostly reasonable. Nana took care of it all for over fifty fucking years by herself, PLUS raising four kids and running daycare from home while he was still working. They’re retired now, so it’s not like there’s some nine-to-five or house full of kids otherwise demanding his time on top of normal household routine chores. BUT he’s being such a whiny little shit about it - complaining about ~having~ to make the bed, ~having~ to do the laundry, ~having~ to vacuum, ~having~ to... cook! COOK!
Like... if you were single, you’re telling me you wouldn’t be doing any of that shit? You’d leave your bed a mess? You’d never wash your own damn clothes? You’d leave your floors full of tracked-in dirt, mud, hair, and whatever else?? You’d... never fucking feed yourself?? PLEASE!
The toxicity of 50′s straight marriage is definitely a big factor in the unhappiness - and mutual emotional abuse, honestly - in their marriage. I can chalk up around 99.9999999% of Pop-Pop’s indignation to the manufactured narrative that “the wife does this shit, the husband sits on his ass at home!” You can’t tell them that, of course. Even Nana will agree when Pop-Pop says, “Yeah, well, things were different back then!!” Yes, Pop-Pop, I know... segregation was still a thing. I’m well aware of how “different” things were.
All of that is a mess in its own right, right? Yeah. But is that all I get to deal with? LMAO OF COURSE NOT.
So, when I locked in that I’d be going over every Friday, we decided on what was going to be for dinner and a few tasks we’d be tackling. Or, that I’d be tacking to the best of my ability while trying to keep them both from doing it themselves. Lil sis originally was going to tag along, and mom joked about showing up for dinner (Pop-Pop said he was going to set a big pot roast up with a bunch of veggies). So there was some vague “maybe two more people will join us for dinner” anxiety that Pop-Pop was struggling with. And me, too, honestly.
So today, before I even managed to get out of bed, lil sis sent me a message (as I more or less expected) around 1 PM, saying she had homework to do instead of being able to tag along. Sure, okay. I didn’t fully believe that was the reason, but I wasn’t gonna stress myself over it. (She later hit mom up for money to go to the movies with her friends, so... yeah)
I asked my bro if he wanted to come along, because he’d felt bad about missing Pop-Pop’s birthday visit for a friend thing that ended up falling through. But he was resting from a headache and decline. Alright. Fine. Not a big deal.
I ended up getting there a bit late because 1: I slept like trash and didn’t get up in time to fully prepare myself, and 2: I blew six bucks at McD’s to get coffee and a quick lunch because... (see point 1 again).
As soon as I walked in, Nana was busy making an apple pie. Which she wasn’t supposed to make. Despite professing it was a treat for Pop-Pop, it doesn’t fool anyone that she’s just as invested in having pie for herself. And it’s not like it was a from-scratch pie that she could control the syrups or sugars in - she used canned pie filling.
She’s diabetic. She literally shouldn’t be having that crap because it can kill her.
But, circling back to her struggle to feel purpose, and her desire to make her husband happy (and also feel happy, herself) she likes baking. She likes baked treats. “I’m gonna die anyway, at least let me have good food!” she’s said on more than one occasion.
And I get it. The compromise ends up being small servings accompanied by some extra insulin.
But that doesn’t work any more, either, because her memory is slipping. She used to self-manage the insulin amounts. Now, she sometimes forgets, or takes the wrong dose. And because she’s used to being - and still trying to be - somewhat self-sufficient, she doesn’t communicate if/when she’s having trouble remembering things, or when she does remember and takes a dose.
THEN, because she’s on SO FUCKING MANY MEDICATIONS, the times she DOES communicate that she’s taken her medications... often causes Pop-Pop to fly off the handle, because he automatically jumps to the conclusion that she’s taken the wrong things at the wrong times and/or has screwed up her dosages.
They don’t quite shout at each other regularly - but sometimes they do. And what they’ve gotten in the habit of lately, is calling each other “stupid” or “idiot.” Or calling themselves (mostly Nana, in this case) those things. Because she knows her memory is slipping, and she hates it and can’t do anything about it, and feels awful and like even more of a burden because of it.
Right before I was fixing to set the table for dinner, they were spatting over the pie. Nana said something about “I tried to surprise you with a nice pie, and you don’t even appreciate that,” and Pop-Pop mis-heard “pie” as “party” and immediately jumped to the conclusion that “19 to 20 people” were going to be showing up. He huffed and puffed, and I thought he went to the bathroom - but it turned out he just fucking left. Left the house completely. Drove away.
I had been setting the table, so Nana and I waited after I got everything out. Nana gave a shout to ask if he was okay, and got no answer, so I investigated. The bathroom was open, but the bedroom door seemed to be mostly closed. I let Nana know and suggested he might be getting changed? So we waited a bit more. And waited. Nana wondered if he’d gone to bed instead. I went to knock on the door and find out. No answer from the knock. The lights were out, so it was possible that he was in bed. But nope. The room was empty. Walking back to the dining table, I looked out front and finally realized Pop-Pop’s car was missing.
So just Nana and I had dinner together. It was delicious, but hard to really enjoy, given the circumstances. Pop-Pop called in the middle of it, to check if Nana had taken her mealtime meds, to remind her that “You realize you chased me away, right?” and “Tell Kristin I’m not mad at her.” He said he’d be home around ten or something.
I wanted to cry.
Actually, that’s putting it lightly. I’d already been there for three hours and I was screaming on the inside. Desperate to leave, but unable to abandon them after I promised to help, and especially unwilling to leave Nana alone, when she’s stuck there by herself so much already.
He came back around 8, when Nana and I were just about done with the evening’s dishes. He repeated that he wasn’t angry with me, then said some more nasty shit to Nana. At that point she took herself to bed - the only escape she really has, to be honest - and I stayed a small while longer with Pop-Pop so he could have some vent/social time, too.
Mostly it was all the shit I already knew - just phrased differently. Nana’s medications were overwhelming to manage - but he phrased it like it was her fault for needing it all, her fault for getting old with him. Everything was ~his~ responsibility - except it’s not, it just seems that way because he’s too stubborn to accept any significant help, and too scared that he’ll be left in the dark about important things if/when he IS the only one around to help.
I get it.
I have no idea what will actually help them, because I sure the fuck don’t have the ability to implement the only real solutions I can come up with myself. And so much of the stress and drama and strife is basic fucking communication that they’re both screwing up on.
I don’t know how I’m not bawling my ass off from the anxiety this whole deal caused me, personally. Probably full of too much anger to let it out. Too guilty to let it be about me for even a second.
I’ll break down later, probably.
And do it all again next week.
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Young God
Pairing: Ivar x OC (Modern AU)
Rating: E
Warnings: Contains sexual content, MCD, depression and anxiety, triggers.
Note: I got the VIP seat on the angst train right now and I’m heading straight to that wall over there. I will regret this when waking up tomorrow.
Got insipred af by Halsey’s Young God and my own depression. Guess it’s good for something.
And the greatest hug I can muster to all you out there fighting with that same crippling depression as I. I love you all (yeah this is the worst way showing it but I suck) You are the strongest people I know of ,breathing every day. You are strong!
__
He was the dark side of the moon. She was the brightest day of sun.
He was the crippled mess messing around even more to the point it pained him to the core.
She was the good girl always making her bed when she woke up each morning to give her mother the daily kiss on her rosy cheek.
He drank his coffee black with a cigarette from the corner of his mouth and she was the one drinking green tea and running an hour before bed.
He was dark, she was light. He was bad, she was good.
He was determined to ruin her completely and she kept telling her heart she didn't need it so badly.
"This is a bad idea." Line grunts when he grins over his broad shoulder; head covered by the grey hood of his shirt.
"My middle name, baby girl." He limps onward until they find themselves in the backyard of the old abandoned house; the empty pool full of debris and the blue paint chipped.
"Why here?" She looks around like someone would care and he purrs like a cat stretching in that specific spot of warm sun at her being so insecure.
"Why not?" He throw the crutches away after sitting down on the stair leading down to the bottom of the pool.
One step at the time he heaved himself and with arms crossed she is watching him with arms stretched over his head when finally at the bottom amongst the leaves, empty bottles and memories left for the wind.
She was always around him whenever he asked it of her and he always did. She needed his ruining touch as much as he needed her mending kindness.
There was this silent, constant little war of who would win. Would she help him out of his misery laced with the weed and the alcohol or would he drag her down with him to the bottom of that dry pool without water to drown her in his own thirst for redemption?
"Why can't we go see a movie like normal people or cook, or whatever?" She squirms on her spot looking down at him.
She never did however: not once did she ever look down on him.
Throughout his depressions deepest pits, when crawling over her lawn drunk as ever or when he could barely keep his hands off of her. Never did she ever blame him.
"Because we are not normal people." He grins and she loves it, how it makes her feel.
He's so sure of himself outwardly. He always tells her stories about how they will be the greatest and how one day people will no longer laugh at them.
He's been to heaven he says, the first time she allowed him to kiss her. She thinks it's cute but stupid. Her kiss is nothing like heaven although Ivar says so. Ivar talks a lot however.
"Come on pet, just a little wine and then we can watch the stars all night or whatever is your perfect picture of a date." He teases and she rolls her honey eyes at him before finally descending to his level; at least a bit.
"Don't be scared, the water is amazing!" He pretends to play around in the nonexistent water and draws laughter from her. A sound he is most fond of. It reminds him of being happy, not constantly feeling the need to suffocate his pain with stupid and reckless shit in all honesty just making it worse.
She loves his laugh because she knows he can feel a bit of it when he allows it. She desperately hopes he will find it one day. The light.
The cork of the wine jumps away and he puts the green bottle to his rich lips and she stares. Oh he knows how she stares at him when she thinks he can't see.
He stares too but he doesn't care if she sees it or not. Never have she allowed him to touch her underneath those proper clothes so he's in his full right staring.
"Now you." He offers her the bottle, the sweet scent of red wine reminding her of the first and only time he got her drunk. "I bought a good one this time, try." His lips indeed tastes of the wine and her heart rate is going of charts like it always does.
She secretly wishes for him to have her break so she can give herself fully to him.. but the silver ring on her finger reminds her of the promise she made; not to ever touch a man before married.
God or Ivar? It was a choice harder than he could wrap his head around.
He swore to her God that they would make him look small and pointless if she just let him show her the realm of young Gods. Or reckless youths as Line always called them.
When his lips leave hers she takes a swig of the wine but it would never taste as good as when from his own mouth.
Her entire being already wanted him to be as close to her as humanly possible and knowing the wine would make it harder to resist she simply decline having more.
With a grunt and a shrug he drinks by himself, not minding. That is what he does.
Ivar drinks, Ivar smokes, Ivar is hurting himself in any way possible in futile hope it would sooner or later release him from the real pain inside of him.
Line didn't know what depression and anxiety was like. She has been sad about small things in comparison and so angry at times she thought it impossible for it to be worse. Then she had met Ivar.
Three years and she had held him so many times whilst screaming and praying for death to come just so he wouldn't have to feel himself die anymore.
So many shirts had been smeared with snot, tears and saliva and sometimes even blood.
She knew there was scars on his prominent hipbones causing the tempting V of his abdomen to look even sharper.
She knew there were records in the hospital of numerous times they had to empty his stomach of pills.
She knew she wasn't one of those Gods he always talked of them being but still she was there, constantly trying to save him just one more day.
"You know-" he whispers when darkness slowly crawled up the sky; letting it slowly shift in different colors until they could finally spot the first stars as he had promised her.
"-sometimes I think you're the most pretty thing on earth." He muses, his face blank where they lay on their backs in the pool.
His one arm is under her neck and resting her head on his chest she tilts it up to look at him.
"Sometimes?" She giggles and she can see a shy smile tugging at his lips.
He should smile more, for so many reasons. He should smile more because he would feel better she'd think but mostly because there was nothing so astonishing as his blue eyes radiating nothing but light and joy when he did.
"Sure. Because sometimes you are the most pretty thing in the entire universe." He adds, as if she was stupid for not getting that from the start.
Her heart swells in that specific way only Ivar can cause it to swell and the heat inside her chest is so intense he must truly feel it.
He was good giving her compliments so covered in sugar even the smallest child would scream in horror of the exaggerated amount.
But it was his way; always too much or nothing at all. Black or white, good or bad.
"You haven't seen everyone in the universe, not even earth." She points out, painting lazy figures on his slowly heaving chest when he sighs.
"Why would I want to when you're right here?" She giggles and smiles in his absolute favorite way.
He rolls them over, his upper body held up by his one arm beside her head.
He never fully understood why she wanted him so bad. He could be exiting and fun for her sure, being so damned proper all the time.
But three years? Three years of knowing what he truly is?
"I will always be right here, Ivar." She whispers, running her fingers through his dark hair and she can feel the fine hairs on his neck rise in their wake.
"Don't promise things you can't keep." He frowns, his face pained and she attempts a comforting smile.
Outwardly Ivar is secure, sure of himself and the fucking king of the world; nothing could bring him down.. nothing but himself and now Line.
"I'll be the judge of that, not you with your crappy judgement. I wouldn't lend you my bike and feel safe." She teases and she earns a airy laugh before he leans down to kiss the tip of her nose; small freckles to be found when the sun had kissed her long enough.
"You don't have a bike." He whispers, planting soft and delicate open mouth kisses along her one cheekbone, down over her ear and back along her jaw.
"Because you broke it." She points out in a hushed moan; something that causes his entire body to stiffen.
His hands eager but skilled in holding himself at bay, roams her chest and the way he cups her small breasts through her shirt is making her heart pound its way out of her chest right into his. Where it truly belongs.
Once he'd told her his heart was broken and in a sheepish moment she told him he could have hers; because hers would break if his didn't heal.
He'd cried for two hours. He'd screamed and shouted in a fit of such pain it had scared the shit out of her.
Causing her pain was the only thing he feared more than his own.
"Ivar." She holds his hand back and the heavy sigh fanning her face cause her to roll her eyes; faking that she's so strong and can resist him without maximum effort.
"You and your stupid ring." He groans and she swats the back of his head playfully. "Do I really need to put another ring on that finger to touch you?" He looks puzzled as he always did when he actually stopped and thought about that she so strongly held onto her beliefs.
"I'm afraid so." If he only knew how close he was each time having her break that promise seemingly stupid even to her when his hands so curiously tried to discover her mysterious body.
"Fine then." His one hand disappears in the pocket of his jeans and brings back a circular bubblegum box of blue plastic. It looks old and the sticker on it is chipped and the colors faded.
"What is that?" Her brows knit together when she stares at the little box between his fingers and he shakes it; something creating a sound from inside.
"Apparently my ticket to touch you, silly girl." He smirks, nodding for her to take the box and hesitantly she does.
Inside there's a ring. Simple, probably too big for her fingers and covered in the sweet and sticky scent of bubblegum although the box is old.
"I will go back to work soon and then I'll buy you a nicer one." Now he looks worried when she lay on her back underneath him with the ring in front of her eyes. She studies it as if it was an alien item unknown to her.
"Are you serious?" Her hair is like a golden halo around her head and the dim lights still hanging on to the world drains it from light. She looks like the fallen angel she is to him.
"No I was only joking. I was thinking about giving it to the girl next door because you know, her boobs looks great and I'd bet she let me touch her-" he rants, taking the ring from between her fingers and attempts rolling off of her.
"No!" She laughs, catching his hand between hers and she pulls him back up. A soft kiss is placed on his knuckles and he knows what love is when she looks at him then.
"Yes, she does have nice boobs." He mocks and she rolls her eyes.
"If you're giving me a ring I don't like you to talk about other girls boobs." She pouts playfully and his smile is back.
"Well you haven't let me see yours properly so I can hardly talk about them." His whisper close to her ear sends a familiar shiver through her and it curls up like a hot little knot in her abdomen.
"Like you said, the ring changes that; doesn't it?" Her voice is almost useless when she can feel his hand move from her hip up her side, her shirt getting stuck on his wrist and follows his hand up.
His skin is warm on hers and when his thumb feathers over her nipple her back arches and she gasps.
"You have to tell your mother about the ring you know." He reminds her before taking her earlobe between his lips, sucking gently.
"I will have to tell a lot of people but I don't care." She turns her head, her lips finding his and they stop caring together for a second.
His hand moves down her thigh, squeezing it through her jeans before it dips down its inside and force it apart from the other.
"I know you deserve to be fucked properly." He groans to her neck when he palms her sex through her jeans; causing her to buck into his touch. "But I will do my best." He bites down her skin and she couldn't care less he would never be able to be inside of her.
She lift her hips when he unbutton her jeans and pull them down just enough for him to dip his fingers in under her panties.
She gasps hushed, holding onto him for dear life where his mouth feasts on her breasts and his one finger parts her folds to discover the secret wetness.
One finger didn't hurt because god knows she had done that herself thinking about him when she was alone. She had imagined his fingers curl inside and slowly pump her all the way to his stupid idea of heaven.
The second finger was pure bliss stretching her walls and when he moved his face to between her legs she was ready to explode of sensations right on his wicked tongue.
Her fingers tugged at his hair, sometimes pressing him even closer when his tongue dipped inside her warmth so that her eyes rolled back and she saw stars not of this world.
Her release was nothing like the one she had brought upon herself so many times, Ivar constantly in mind. The one he brought her she realizes she'd been waiting for, for three years.
She didn't care the entire neighborhood probably heard her scream his name and the vibration his moans sent though her sex was enough to have her blank for a second.
"I love you, do you remember that?" He mumbles almost asleep when her head is back on his chest and she's hiding inside his large hoodie. She can't stop thinking about that he must be cold in just his t-shirt but his skin so burning and soft against her through the fabric she can't find it in her to move.
"I do." She assures him, planting a tired kiss randomly on his chest. It's easy to say this would be her favorite memory of him but also the one that would cause her the most pain.
_____
The photo of him smiling so wide she could see his white teeth straight and glistening is her favorite.
He stands with his older brother and she had stolen it from his drawer the first year of dating.
She can't stop staring at it when sitting like a ball under the covers in her bed.
His mother had called her and the tears in her voice matched the ones running down her cheeks perfectly.
"He did it. Oh Line he did it my poor boy!" She had cried in the phone and after that she don't remember much more.
It had ended so quickly and she find herself thinking that she really thought she could've saved him.
Every smile, every time he called her just so he wouldn't have to be alone in his torment she thought he really wanted to make it.
But it had gotten too much, hadn't it? It must have because he's not here anymore.
The silent tears like soft rain makes her face red and puffy.
She hates him for leaving her and she hates him for giving up just like that, without a word.
He had told his mother about the ring and he promised her to hold her hand when she told her own. But they never got that far.. because he gave up.
It's hard for her to wrap her head around how he could do that to her. Give her that ring with his promise and then leave her.
Since the day they met he'd been so keen to have her around, to show her his world and she whines silently when she thinks of the way he promised her heaven like she never heard of it before. He'd promise her to be a god, to be loved and to be with him for the rest of her life.
But he went to be that young God without her. He's up there watching everyone he knew run around in sadness and grief.
He left her down here and not until know, when he's finally gone she starts to think that he actually succeeded bringing her down to his world. Becaus this pain, could one truly live with it?
#ivars heathen army#ivar the boneless#ivar lothbrok#modern au#ivar ragnarsson#ivar x oc#ivar fanfic#vikings fanfic#oneshot#ivar oneshot#vikings#ivar's heathen army#angst train#don't kill me#fanfic#ktf vikings
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Contents: James in a graveyard.
Warnings: Angst, canon MCD references
There’s a sweet perfume to the air that speaks of spring and green, growing things. James, for once in his life, wishes for rain. It would fit his mood. Six months - he’d waited six months to come here.
He supposed if he put it off long enough it wouldn’t be true - that she’d come striding back into the office ordering everyone about with that no-nonsense tone and arse-kicking attitude.
He’d come back from the dead, after all.
But after six months, it’s time to face facts: she’s cold in the ground, and he’d better pay his last respects. She expected nothing less, and he knows she’d haul herself out of the afterlife to kick his arse if he didn’t. And that would make her a bit more cross than usual.
The headstone is tasteful; grey marble, not ostentatious but clearly quality. Her husband’s name and dates settled comfortably next to hers in a serif font (oh and wouldn’t Q be pleased that James knows that?).
He sets the flowers on top of the stone, then uncaps the Glenlivet and pours out a shot over her side of the grave before leaning back against the stone and taking a long pull from the bottle.
“He’s not as sharp as you are,” he begins. “His edges are smoother. I’m not sure I like that.” He chuckles and takes another pull. “He pulled us through, though, I’ll say that for him. And I’ll work for him, just like you knew I would. You knew me better than I did, and I always sort of hated you for it.”
James watches the sky for a bit, counting clouds. He isn’t quite sure what he wants to say next, but he isn’t done and he isn’t ready to leave. This might be the only time he got around to actually doing this.
“I skipped the funeral,” he says finally. “I didn’t want other people’s memories of you. I’m sure you understand.” He takes another long pull from the bottle. It had been more than that, if he wants to be honest. He’d done quite enough crying in front of other people, thank you very much, and he didn’t fancy swallowing his tears. He’d spent the day drunk and watching bad telly - which he supposed was a step up from ‘drunk and gambling’ but he wasn’t sure by how much.
“You were right about Q, too. Because you’re always right about people. It probably wouldn’t even surprise you to know that he’s helped the most, after. He reminds me of you, in a way.”
And he hadn’t realized it until he said it, but Q’s no-nonsense attitude and snark did remind him of some of her best qualities. Not as polished, of course, but give him time…
But none of this is what he needs to say. Not really. He shifts his feet, rearranging his arse on the edge of the stone, and leans forward so his elbows rest on his knees. He clasps the bottle in folded hands between his knees. To an outside observer it would appear that he’s praying, and the idea strikes him as hilarious.
“I haven’t prayed for years,” he mutters. “It doesn’t change a damn thing. But I’d start right now if it could. That puts you on a very short list, you know.”
His parents.
Hannes.
Vesper.
Mathis.
It’s a very exclusive list.
“I wish there’d been another way. Taking you out there was the only thing I could think of. You put up a damn good fight, though. The lightbulb thing was ingenious. But I should have known better. I know you offered yourself as bait - who the hell does that at your age? - but I shouldn’t have let you. And for that…” he pauses, swallows, takes several deep breaths. “For that I’m truly sorry. It is what it is, I know. Regret is unprofessional - god how many times have I heard you say that?” He chuckles wetly, unshed tears barely held back. “But it doesn’t quite smooth it all away.”
“I think you knew that, too. But it was all you had to give.” He pats the stone beneath him and levers himself up.
“Thank you,” he says, facing the stone. “For everything. M.”
From this.
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