#me: wow you could make a heartbreaking poetry post out of this!
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And now art thou cursed from the earth, which hath opened her mouth to receive thy brother's blood from thy hand.
After Abel, Dante Émile / “Start Here,” Caitlyn Siehl / After Abel, Dante Émile / “A Brother Named Gethsemane,” Natalie Diaz / “Genesis,” Valzhyna Mort
#the owl house#toh#toh spoilers#philip wittebane#caleb wittebane#the golden guard#web weaving#me: *gets new images of ghost caleb and golden guards haunting belos*#me: wow you could make a heartbreaking poetry post out of this!#and so I did#anyway the belos scenes were the best and most compelling of this particular special and I stand by this
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boyGENIUS!!!!
boygenius, a superstar trio of indie artists including phoebe bridgers, julien baker, and lucy dacus, recently released their debut album, and it is truly nothing short of genius. in a moment that was about as culturally significant to me as the signing of the declaration of independence, these three women utterly changed the course of my life and the lives of thousands of other melodramatic girlies. this lil post, despite being a healthy 3-ish weeks after the actual release of the record, will compile some of my standout thoughts on each track of the album. hope you enjoy! ;)
1: without you without them
one thing about me, i LOVE some boygenius harmonies. in a similar manner as my beloved favorite track from their 2018 EP, ketchum ID, without you without them provokes a deep sense of peace and emotion combined. “speak to me, until your history’s no mystery to me” is the cutest cleverest little lyric. the perfect opening track.
2: $20
0:01 seconds in, any seasoned boygenius fan immediately goes “julien!!!” her signature heavier guitar and drums sets her apart from the jump and creates the catchiest hook. plus the screaming at the end?? oh my god??? (that video of phoebe recording I KNOW!!!!! YOU HAVE!!!!! 20 DOLLARS!!!!!! has actually not left my head since i saw it)
3: emily i’m sorry
i will forever be unapologetically weak in the knees for phoebe bridgers. she captures so many emotions so beautifully in this, between loving someone so much it destroys you and feeling completely out of control of your life. i love the progression between “i can feel myself becoming someone only you could want” and “i can feel myself becoming somebody i’m not, i’m not” between the two choruses.
4: true blue
more songs about platonic love!!!! PLEASE!!!! this track is devastatingly adorable. “i can’t hide from you like i hide from myself,” is the perfect lyric to make you think of that friend who will tell you that you don’t have to say “its ok” when you’re miserable over something. the bridge also makes me feel like i’m floating. i love lucy!!!!
5: cool about it
WOW. unquestionably in the top three, immediately. i’m a sucker for a boygenius song where they all have equal verses (souvenier-esque) and this one HITS. i’ve seen so many different interpretations of this one, including but not limited to: 1: the feeling of knowing an old friendship is slowly drifting apart, 2: a heartbreak that you swallow and smile through for the other person, and 3: clinging to someone that you know is bad for you because you can’t imagine yourself without them. all of them are so fitting, and i find so much beauty in the open-endedness.
6: not strong enough
LUCY AT THE END. LITERALLY JUST. LUCY’S PART AT THE END.
makes me go actually crazy every time. they ate this one up. a depressing song in an upbeat major key melody is an incredible combination. sneaks up on ya.
7: revolution 0
this is such a genuinely beautiful song. another one where they just nailed the harmonies. “i used to think if i’d just close my eyes, i will disappear” reminds me so much of “i used to think you could hear the ocean in a seashell, what a childish thing” in phoebe’s single “sidelines.” definitely a lie on the floor and ponder existence while tracing the cracks in your ceiling type jam.
8: leonard cohen
i love a short little song. and this is a fantastic one. “i am not an old man having an existential crisis at a buddhist monastery, writing horny poetry, but i agree” is incredibly boygenius-coded. their tendency towards the occasional silly little lyric is something i can always get behind. my favorite fact about this one is that the story at the beginning is 100% true-and that phoebe was the one driving the car.
9: satanist
as the text that my best friend sent to me at the release of the album reads, “satanist BANGS” and it’s true. satanist does in fact, bang. another distinct julien standout, it provides a sick little head-bangy intermission to all the introspective, staring-at-the-ceiling pondering. “will you be a nihilist with me? if nothing matters, man that’s a relief” has got to be the realest thing i’ve heard in a minute.
10: we’re in love
dunno if this song has too much of a tinge of sadness to be my first dance song at my wedding…..but i certainly want it to be. i’d have to claim this one as my favorite from the album. everything about it is just stunning, from the lyrics and the story they convey to the vocals and simple instrumental backing. the verse about finding each other in the next life actually made me tear up in the public record store where i first heard the album. “i can’t imagine you without the same smile in your eyes, there is something about you that i will always recognize” ARE YOU KIDDING?!! so heart-stoppingly beautiful.
11: anti-curse
i’d love to drive down an empty highway with this song playing. there’s something so magical about a song that has a dramatic build-up, and there’s nobody that does a dramatic build-up better than these three right here (shout out not strong enough again). the instrumental swells at “i guess i did alright considering” and “i’m swimmin back” feel like such a true release of emotion, you can’t help but feel it alongside the band.
12: letter to an old poet
INSANE. easily a standout track, between the parallel to the past “me and my dog,” from the band’s debut EP, to the gut-wrenching lyricism delivered in phoebe’s smooth vocals, it’s seriously unforgettable-especially for old fans of the band. “and i love you, i don’t know why, i just do” is a poignantly simple capture of a feeling we’ve all faced at one point or another. the combination of love, hurt, and rage is such an intriguing combination and draws the listener in from the first moment. also a BIG fan of “you don’t get to tell me to calm down.” remember to never let anyone invalidate how you feel, my friends. and also remember to…
STAY COOL!!!!!
K-MURPH
listen here:
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This is gonna be a long post, y'all, mostly cause I like sharing things I like on the internet. So here is
A List of my Top Ten Favorite Albums (So Far) and Why (In No Particular Order)
#1: I Love You Like a Brother - Alex Lahey
Released: October 6, 2017
Genre: Alternative Indie/ Rock
Ahhh, I recently discovered this album (after knowing only the titular track for, like, a year) and it is so good. A running theme will be alternative, rock-ish albums and this is the perfect example of an alternative rock album. I won't get too hung up on genres but this album is fantastic. There's, honestly, nothing overly spectacular and wowing about it but that's what I like about it. It's so simple and I love it for that. It sounds like the soundtrack to a cool, indie movie.
#2: Razzmatazz - I Dont Know How But They Found Me
Released: October 23, 2020
Genre: Indie pop/synth-pop/pop rock
I adore this album. This is in the top 3, if I were to narrow down this list. I went through a period where I listened to this album on repeat for two weeks. Don't get me wrong, 1981 Extended Play was fantastic, I love all of IDKHow's work. But this. Razzmatazz is so unafraid to be weird. There's all sorts of instruments in here that you wouldn't expect but they just work. Saxophone solos? In 2020? It works better than you think. And don't even get me started on Clusterhug.
#3: Hesitant Alien - Gerard Way
Released: September 29, 2014
Genres: Alternative rock/Britpop
Also another album I have listened to for two weeks straight. Where do I start? Like almost every song on here is so unique and different from the other. The Britpop feel is immaculate. Action Cat and How It's Going to Be are some of my favorite songs ever. Brother...speaks for itself. I could go on and on about what I love about Hesitant Alien but it would be so long so I will refrain.
#4: Revolution Radio - Green Day
Released: October 7, 2016
Genres: Punk rock/alternative rock
This album shaped my entire junior high career. I listened to this album (and all of Green Day's discography) non stop. I don't listen to it as much anymore but anytime a song off of it plays, I remember how much I love this album. I don't particularly think it's Green Day's best album (that title will always go to American Idiot) but Revolution Radio just holds a special place in my heart. It was the soundtrack to my life during 7th and 8th grade and introduced me to so many other bands (like My Chemical Romance).
#5: Blurryface - Twenty One Pilots
Released: May 17, 2015
Genres: Rock/Pop/Pop rap
I know, I know, Twenty One Pilots. I'm sorry. But Blurryface is really good. Like, with every other TOP album, I skip a track or two but there is not a bad song on this album. It's so intense sometimes and then, boom, Tear in my Heart and We Don't Believe What's on TV. So good.
#6: The Black Parade - My Chemical Romance
Released: October 20, 2006
Genres: Rock/Punk rock/Alternative Rock
I had the hardest time choosing between The Black Parade and Danger Days. Don't get me wrong, I adore Danger Days. The storyline, the energy, the different sound. But The Black Parade is poetic. It is theatrical and heartbreaking and angry. Dare I say, one of the greatest concept albums ever. There are no lulls. It does not miss a beat, even with Teenagers. Danger Days may contain my favorite song ever but The Black Parade is immeasurably stunning. An absolute masterpiece, if you will. Such a fabulous album.
#7: Melophobia - Cage the Elephant
Released: October 3, 2013
Genres: Alternative rock/Indie rock
I have really grown to love Cage the Elephant and Melophobia is absolutely amazing. This album feels kind of different from the all of the other ones on this list and I can't quite put my finger on why. Hell, I can't really explain why I like it so much. Melophobia is just different and I like it. Every track is so good, the rough sound on some of the songs gives a garage band vibe. The poetry at the end of Teeth is so cool and Cigarette Daydreams is the epitome of every rom-com indie movie soundtrack.
#8: The Click - AJR
Released: June 9, 2017
Genres: Alternative indie/Pop
Apparently people don't like AJR or think they're cringy or something...? I don't care, I love this album. It tackles so many topics about growing up, wanting to just skip to the good part of life, and feeling so lost in adulthood (and sort of life, in general). Plus, AJR's sound is strange but I really like it. They use a lot of trumpets, which is great. And they do this in a living room! The Click just handles itself so well and tries to make you feel okay about being grown and it doesn't care if it fails.
#9: Hawaii: Part II - ミラクルミュージカル (Miracle Musical)
Released: December 12, 2012
Genres: Pop/Ballads/Electronic/Just kind of everything
Literally the weirdest music I listen to and man, is it great. Hawaii: Part II is interesting, to say the least. I think you're bound to like at least one song on here just because it has a bit of everything on it. It is just sort of a trip to listen to. A good one, mind you. Nothing can really describe this album, you just kind of have to listen to it.
#10: Rumours - Fleetwood Mac
Released: February 4, 1977
Genres: Pop rock/soft rock
What a classic, honestly. I wish I had been listening to this sooner (I only recently started listening to Fleetwood Mac) because Rumours is a masterpiece. The entire album feels like the soundtrack to an indie movie (if you couldn't tell, I'm really into indie movies). Never Going Back Again is such a flawless song. The Chain is badass. Second Hand News? Dreams? Just every song is great. And Fleetwood Mac is such a badass band, too. I could rave about Rumours for a while so I'll stop now.
Honorable Mentions:
Danger Days - My Chemical Romance
Back to Black - Amy Winehouse
When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go? - Billie Eilish
Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace - Foo Fighters
Save Rock and Roll - Fall Out Boy
(This doesn't even include musicals cause there would be a few of those making the list)
Um, if you made it down to here, thanks for reading. 10/10, would recommend all of these albums, give 'em a listen.
#october must be the prime time for releasing new albums cause holy shit#alex lahey#idkhow#i dont know how but they found me#gerard way#hesitant alien#green day#twenty one pilots#mcr#my chemical romance#cage the elephant#ajr#the click#hawaii part 2#hawaii part ii#miracle musical#fleetwood mac#rumours
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October Fic Rec
I’ve been super slack in doing my monthly fic recs of late (sorry!) so this list covers the last 3 months and there’s lots of lovely fics to devour!
In this instalment, there are fics from @lesbianiconharrystyles @kingsofeverything @mediawhorefics @lululawrence @harryanthus @evilovesyou @fallinglikethis @cocoalou @gaycousinlarry @comebackassholes @daggerandrose @allwaswell16 @sadaveniren @all-these-larrythings @wait4ever @jaerie @laynefaire @harrybridgers and @missandrogyny.
Thank you to all the writers for sharing their wonderful talent with us. Please don’t forget to leave kudos and a comment if you enjoy their work. 💜
New Reads
💜 Ever Since I Tried Your Way | @lesbianiconharrystyles / flowercrownfemme | E | 26k | June 2020 | 1940′s/50′s, farm/ranch, farmer Louis, farmer Harry, virgin Harry, gay cowboys, repression, internalised homophobia, hurt/comfort, gender exploration, marriage kink, feminisation, romantic face shaving, body worship, country music | As soon as I started this fic I knew it wouldn’t be able to put it down. It’s just... gosh. The writing is stunning and I was completely immersed from the first page to the last.
💜 Have Love, Will Travel | @kingsofeverything | E | 97k | Sept 2020 | road trip, camping, friends to lovers, smut, humour, youtube, POV Louis, slow burn | God, this story was everything I wanted it to be and so much more. Amazing relationship building and great communication. Hilarious, brilliant dialogue, heartwarming.
💜 Love You In The Dark | Perzikje | E | 10k | Oct 2020 | wedding night, arranged marriage, smut, dubious consent | Sexual exploration and first times. Check authors note.
💜 All These Lights | @mediawhorefics | E | 35k | Nov 2015 | ABO, X Factor, consensual under age sex, omega Harry, alpha Louis, angst with a happy ending, smut | I’m a sucker for a good ABO fic and this one didn’t disappoint.
💜 I Go Down Blazing, Feeling Like I’m Going Crazy (series) | @lululawrence | NR | 30k | Niall / Rory McIlroy | Oct 2020 | soulmates, famous/famous, singer Niall, golfer Rory, pining, diet angst, no smut, heartbreak weather, based on Dear Patience and Bend The Rules | This was my first time reading Niall/Rory and I adored it. Brilliant take on the soulmate trope too, heartwarming and tender.
💜 Who Do You Burn For | @harryanthus | NR | 4k | Oct 2020 | strangers to lovers, implied/referenced drug use, references to addition | I am such a massive fan of this author and I will inhale anything they publish. More like poetry than prose. So evocative.
💜 Point. Drop, Call. | @evilovesyou / 4ureyesonly28 | G | 1.6k | Jan 2020 | summer, best friends, summer romance, first kiss, party games, mutual crushes, coming out | This was absolutely adorable and managed to provide a whole-ass story in 1,610 words. All the summer feels.
💜 Eat Your Vegetables | bananaheathen | M | 9k | Aug 2020 | soccer player Louis, nutritionist Harry, shopping, banter, sexual realisation, smut | This fic sucked me in from the very first page, so much so that when I went back to grab the link to add to this post I ended up re-reading the entire thing. So witty and sweet and all the goodness in the world.
💜 For Wanting | anonymous | E | 5k | Oct 2020 | post mpreg Louis, male lactation, body worship, lactation kink, strangers to lovers, neighbours, dirty talk | Really sweet and hot, beautifully written.
💜 Pillow Talk | @fallinglikethis | E | 26k | Feb 2016 | friends to lovers, sexuality crisis, first time, mutual pining | I have no idea how I’ve never read this fic. Such a clever plot and perfectly delivered. Hot and funny and sweet and all the loveliness.
💜 The End | @harryanthus | T | 5k | Aug 2020 | post-war, selectively mute Louis, soldier Harry, psychological trauma, hopeful ending, non-specific time period | This is everything I usually avoid reading but this writer’s words just do something to my brain and I let down all of my protective barriers and dive in not caring about what I’m going to be faced with. I’m yet to be disappointed. When I read their fics I always feel like I’m floating or drowning or... I don’t even know how to describe it, but yeah. Wow.
💜 The Anticipation of Knowing You | @cocoalou / sweetrevenge | T | 13k | Sept 2020 | strangers to lovers, neighbours, pen pals, love letters, baked goods as a wooing technique | This was all kinds of lovely and funny and sweet. The premise is brilliant and I understand that we’re to be blessed with parts 2 and 3 in the near future, so yay!
💜 It’s Halftime. Are You Ready To Go? | @gaycousinlarry / momentofclarity | E | 12k | Oct 2017 | friends to lovers, awkward boners, pining, banter, flirting, dirty talk, body worship, smut, watching football as a seduction technique, Niall texts Harry terrible sporting innuendos to make him sweat, jockstraps | So fucking good. Sexy and cute and funny. Could read this one again and again.
💜 Salvation Let’s Their Wings Unfold | twoshipstiedup | M | 14k | May 2019 | angels and demons, heaven and hell, angel Louis, demon Harry, humour, fluff, romance | So much love for this fic. Way less heavy than the tags suggest. Niall is both supremely unhelpful and the captain of the ship as always. Fluffy and fun and romantic.
💜 Dom Louis (series) | @comebackassholes / dimpled_halo | E | 12k | Mar 2020 | dom Louis, sub Marcel, BDSM, kink negotiation | God. This series is amazing. Hot and sweet and nnnrrgggh. Really hope we get more in this universe.
💜 For You I’d Bleed Myself Dry | @daggerandrose / amomentoflove | E | 50k | May 2019 | vampire Louis, human Harry, soulmates, king Louis, angst, depression, blood drinking, past abuse, past kidnapping | I absolutely loved this fic. Beautifully written and so thick with emotion. Check tags, summary and author notes.
💜 Interview With The Vampire | @allwaswell16 | E | 4k | Louis / Robert Pattinson | Sept 2020 | ABO, omega Louis, alpha Rob, journalist Louis, actor, Rob, interviews, humour, bad cooking, bad flirting, scenting, knotting, smut | The rare pair I never knew I needed. Wow. Brilliantly told story. Cute and cheeky and fluffy and hot. Loved it.
💜 Fellowship of Eroda | @sadaveniren | E | 5k | Feb 2020 | dungeons and dragons, gaming, hate to love, BDSM, face slapping, facials, wrestling, choking, spanking, Louis is a brat, so is Harry a bit | Adored this. Such a clever plot and the writing is amazing as always.
💜 Brooklyn Saw Me | alreadyhome | E | 29k | Nov 2017 | homeless Louis, uni student Harry, no-graphic violence, homophobia, angst, slow burn, hurt/comfort, NYC | Painfully beautiful and so well written. Loved it from start to finish.
💜 It Feels Different When You’re With Me | @all-these-larrythings / rearviewdreamer | M | 45k | May 2020 | deaf Louis, sign language instructor Harry, slow burn, mentions of major character injury in the past | God. This fic is amazing. Gorgeous writing and so romantic and sweet.
💜 You’re Music To My Eyes | @fallinglikethis @wait4ever / recycledstardust | T | 6k | July 2020 | blind Louis, Be My Eyes app, volunteer Harry, TPWK | This fic is truly wonderful, romantic and so sweet. It even encouraged me to sign up for the app and I’ve taken two calls already!
💜 We’ll Be Alright | @jaerie | E | 20k | Feb 2020 | ABO, alpha Harry, omega Louis, major illness, sick Harry, sex therapist Louis, dubious ethics, sexual dysfunction, depression, recovery, mating, knotting, unplanned pregnancy | Gosh. So good. So hot. So lovely.
💜 Let Me Be Your Everlasting Light | @laynefaire | M | 12k | Aug 2020 | established relationship, northern lights, Norway, romance, proposal | Loved every beautiful word of this. So romantic and sweet. Can I go to Norway please?
Re-Reads
💜 Here In The Afterglow | @harrybridgers / fondleeds | E | 89k | Dec 2016 | 1970′s AU, small town America, gay rights movement, period-typical homophobia, strange to friends to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, bullying, high school | Re-read of an old fave which hits differently each time I revisit it. Hauntingly beautiful and heartbreaking in some parts, but ultimately uplifting and hopeful.
💜 Led By Your Beating Heart | @missandrogyny | E | 30k | Oct 2015 | famous Harry, non-famous Louis, Call or Delete, Cute Lou from the Loo, coming out, smut, banter, romance | Still one of my all time faves. The plot is delicious and the flow of the whole story just makes me smile throughout. I find myself going back to this one every few months. Romantic and fluffy and sexy as all hell.
💜 Is This Seat Taken? | Lainy122 | E 35k | Dec 2015 | famous Harry, non-famous Louis, popstar Harry, seat-filler Louis (eventually), Louis and Zayn make bets, penis-shaped cashew nuts, miscommunication, shitty PR tactics | One of my all-time fave fics. I must’ve read this one more than ten times by now and it never disappoints. Funny and sweet and hot.
💜 When The Sun Won’t Let You Sleep | @allwaswell16 | E | 30k | July 2018 | enemies to lovers, scientist Louis, scientist Harry, Antarctica, sexual tension, smut, diet angst | Such an interesting plot that is handled so beautifully. I adore all of this authors work but this definitely up there with my faves.
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High School Musical: The Musical: The Series: The Rewatch pt. 5
Technically, I shouldn't be doing this right now. But who are we kidding? I miss my Wildcats and this seems like the only thing I can do to see them again right now. So here goes
1x8: The contractually obligated emotional rollercoaster
This episode sure is a lot... I don't know if I'm ready. But it makes no sense to skip this one. I never skip through stuff I love, even when some parts are borderline traumatising. Plus I remember this episode having a bunch of hilarious moments that are definitely worth it.
'I'm really not sure what to say' — Me neither, Miss Jenn, me neither. I'm just sitting here watching this and I know I'm supposed to comment, but I just can't think of what to say. Sometimes the silence just speaks for itself.
'The Lucky Ducky Puppet Pavilion' — I can never overlook that line. Not when I know how much it took for Matt to deliver it. Fun fact: one of my cats is called Lucky, so when his siblings were about to be born, I briefly considered naming them Ducky, Puppet and Pavilion as a joke.
Ah, the El Rey. The place where Miss Jenn totally did not suffer a professional heartbreak. Things are about to get real here. And by real I mean... real dramatic.
I've got to say, I love the duality of Big Red (well, I do love everything about him so that was a no-brainer, but still): doesn't know how to hang a light, but sure does know how to light up a room; amazing with power tools, but took three weeks to make a paper-mache basketball because he kept gluing his fingers together (that last part is far more relatable than I care to admit). I just love him, ok?
The way Carlos acts about Miss Jenn's box of production notes... honestly, I totally get it. I feel like if there's one person at that point who cares about the show much more than anyone else, it's him. And I fully understand why that is. That poor boy has been lonely for too long, and this show is giving him the chance to be part of an accepting community for what feels like the first time in a long time. Just... give my boy Carlito all the hugs.
For a place that allegedly hasn't been used in so long, the El Rey is not nearly dusty enough. I mean, you should see my room if I forget to hoover for longer than a week. And we're talking about years here. There's allegedly mould in that place, but I don't even see dust. Oh well, maybe I would, if it weren't for that lighting — or lack thereof, more like.
'Whatever it says in Miss Jenn's audition file, I am me, and that is the only me I need to be.' — A beautiful sentiment, my dearest EJ. Now maybe hold on to it for a while... just a suggestion.
'Lacks emotional connection to the material' — well, I do have to agree. My first impression of EJ when I was watching the first couple of episodes for the first time was that he was 'too polished to be Troy'. Too much Technician, too little Performer. And I do love my Performers over my Technicians.
Wait, is that a Redlyn background moment I see? I mean, everything is super chaotic and fast-paced, and my two ginger babies are just sitting together on the side of it all. Bonding, I assume. Good for them.
Seb being the only one to know why Natalie is absent, along with the two of them sitting together in 1x1, makes me think... Natalie and Seb are totally besties! I mean, he's basically besties with everyone he ever talks to, so... what can I say, that boy is sunshine incarnate. He deserves all the love and appreciation.
'I know how to hang... out' — gosh, I love this one. And I can only hope everyone was laughing with him, not at him. Because there's nothing to laugh at. My boy got dragged into this whole crew stuff, it's not his fault he doesn't know everything. He's more of an on-stage person than a backstage person anyway. Maybe put him in the spotlight next time and prepare to get your socks knocked off.
No, Ash, your baking club is not at all irrelevant! Honestly, I have nothing but immense admiration for how Ashlyn manages to be in the top two students most dedicated to theatre and do all those other extracurriculars. And she probably has a 4.-something GPA, too. I don't know what the Caswells are feeding their children, but I need it this instant.
'I just don't know how to make things light up' — 'You walk into a room?' — I just... this is one of my favourite Redlyn moments in the history of Redlyn. See, the thing about Ashlyn's line here is the tone in which she says it. She doesn't mean it as a compliment, but as a statement of the absolute truth. You can hear that in her voice. And with good reason, too, because she isn't lying at all. My boy Reddy sure does light up a room by walking into it. Both of them do, really. They're soulmates, you know.
'This place is not creepy at all...' — Yeah, and things between Ricky and Nini are not totally awkward at all, either. I'm living for this.
'I can do Troy!' — Sure you can, Eej. Sure you can. Emotional connection to the material and all.
Ok, but this entire scene... Carlos marking Gabriella's lines completely flatly, EJ emoting like he's in a freaking telenovela and also chopping onions... Carlos' reaction to the latter... I'm living for all of this.
Big Red just suddenly appearing next to Miss Jenn has me rolling... and also kind of wishing he could appear like that next to me too. I mean, it's not like I've visualised that so many times... certainly not every time I have to pass by a stray dog, or give a blood sample, or talk to people, or whatever... why do you ask?
'I never really loved the name Nina anyway' — listen, I relate to the sentiment of not being super fond of your given name, but... what was that stuff in s2 about, then? I mean, I do understand that too, but the two just seem to clash a bit, I reckon. That's all.
Also, can we talk about Rini's chemistry and how it's sometimes there and sometimes nowhere to be found? I think I've figured it out. Every time the chemistry is there, they're talking about or doing things that are not necessarily inherently romantic. Reminiscing about kindergarten, how they gave each other their nicknames, 'the ribbon in your hair, the secrets that we shared, the way that you would stare at me across the room' (yeah, I went there, and for a good reason)... see, Ricky and Nini have that kind of thing going on where, however hard you try, you just can't be indifferent to the other person. It's obvious that they love each other so much, but whenever they try to make it romantic, something goes south. What I'm saying is, when you're really good friends with somebody and you try to force it into something 'more', or better said, something else (because romance is not inherently 'more' than friendship and you can pry that out of my cold dead aro hands), and the operating word here is 'force', things are bound to go wrong and even reach toxic territory. And Rini are living proof of that. Some people are just better as friends, and sometimes the entire 'I don't want to ruin our friendship' trope is very valid. I just want them to be best buddies, is that too much to ask?
Bless Steph for pushing Kourtney forward when Miss Jenn needed someone to sing! Honestly, it's moments like these that make me feel like the background characters are criminally underrated. I realise not every character can be equally central to the plot, but with this cast, I kind of want them to be. I have the feeling that most, if not all of the one-line characters in this show are people with just as much talent and potential as the main cast. They deserve recognition, you know.
Going off of the above, Dara Reneé is living proof of the point I just made. You know how Kourtney was supposed to be a one-scene wonder with two lines? And then Dara showed up and hiding her in the background was instantly out of the question. I wonder how many more hidden gems there are in the show, just sitting in the background, delivering their single line and waiting their turn in the semi-metaphorical wings.
'I just need a minute, or a vacation, it's not clear' — Me, all the time. Especially after I read chapter 11 of @redlyncentral's Let It Go. That ending broke me. And this line by Miss Jenn just reminded me of that feeling, even if what she's feeling right now might not be the exact same thing I went through with that chapter the other day. That being said, everyone go check out my lovely friend's writing right now, I promise you it's worth every second.
'We're going to take a... long five' — What, no 'thank you, five'? I was expecting that. But I guess everyone is a little bit too distraught for that now.
I have to hand it to Carlos — even when he's very obviously uncomfortable and lowkey scared of some people, he just goes up to them and calls them out. I wish I could ever be bold enough to do that.
Wow, not EJ thrashing Carlos' 'forest of boys' idea. Again. I don't get why everyone dislikes it so much, I think it's brilliant visual poetry and should have been given a chance. I said what I said.
You know, everyone has been calling the show out for saying HSM premiered in the cinema, not on telly like it did in real life; and I have been agreeing with that sentiment. But notice how Miss Jenn said 'the Utah premiere' and how there were family and friends in the audience? What if that was some sort of semi-private screening for cast, crew and their family members? It would make sense. And of course, it was held in Utah because that was where the show was filmed and where the majority of background actors, dancers and extras are from. Idk, but it makes sense to me. Note that I have very limited knowledge of how the period between post-production and the release of a movie works.
Isn't Ashlyn the best, though, always noticing when someone is not ok, hearing them out, helping them... I wish I could be half as good a friend as she is. She and Big Red are totally soulmates in that, too. And they deserve each other more than anyone else deserves them, honestly. I just love both of them so much, both as individuals and as a couple, and I cannot be made to shut up about that just yet.
I've got to say, the entire 'me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me, me' - 'you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you, you' thing was super funny. And it makes me love Rini — strictly as friends — even more. You know, I think I used to ship them during s1 because the script wanted me to. Exactly like I didn't notice Big Red until midway through the season because the script didn't want me to. Sometimes the script, the acting, the directing and other stuff has immense power over viewers' perception of a show's plot and characters. And that is, as I always point out, what rewatches are for — noticing things that may have escaped you the first time over.
Yeah, so Nini was Ricky's first crush. So what? Many people have had crushes on their best friend at some point or another. That doesn't necessarily mean they're better off as a couple than they are as friends. The opposite idea is just amatonormativity speaking. I mean, sometimes it's nice and it works out; I love me some well-written best-friends-to-lovers, but that's just not always the case and the media should stop pushing the idea that platonic relationships are in any way inferior to romantic ones.
I've got to say I really don't like it when someone interrupts two people's romantic moment (and Big Red is not exempt from my frustration in such cases even though I love him so much — just think of the In a Heartbeat scene), but honestly, bless Reddy for not letting Ricky and Nini kiss. I mean, I know full well they do kiss later on (and how!), but it's just nice to have semi-platonic Rini for a while. If and when we get season 3 (manifesting!), I really hope we get more of them putting some stuff behind them and just being best buddies.
Kourtney and Seb's friendship is honestly goals and I really wish we'd got some more of it. Just another thing to add to my season 3 wishlist. Along with, you know, an actual season 3.
EJ saying all those nice (and very true) things to Carlos has my heart (or, well, he's renting it temporarily from Redlyn and Seblos, but you know). And Carlos really was like 'A for effort, C for execution', and I adore him for that. But EJ is seriously growing. He's pretty much reached EJ 1.8 at this point, and I love to see it.
Say what you want about the Lucas Grabeel dream sequence, but I love, love, love it. Completely unironically. I mean, he's kind of my favourite OG cast member. And the 'I'm more of a Glinda' comment referencing Kate Reinders actually being one of the BWay Glindas? Here's a note from when I first watched 1x1: The drama teacher won’t stop spilling her coffee and I love her. Also, her actress was Glinda on Broadway, so I stan. See, I didn't even know Miss Jenn's name yet and I already loved her. But then she went and did some stuff in s2 and ruined all of that. Add 'proper Miss Jenn redemption' to my s3 wishlist, I guess. But I'm getting off-track (when am I not?)
I only just noticed that all of the iconic BWay leads mentioned in the song (sans Glinda, of course, but that wasn't even a proper part of the song) start with an E. I wonder if that was on purpose or a lucky accident...
'And you never know when you'll get a cameo...' — If anyone in the HSM franchise knows anything about making the most of a cameo, it's Lucas. I'm referring to his post-credits scene in Sharpay's Fabulous Adventure, of course. That is one of my absolute favourite scenes in the entire movie. Well, that and The Rest of My Life. I very unironically love that number.
Another thing on the list of things I very unironically love — the transitions both into and out of this scene. I just think they're neat.
Have I mentioned before how much I love it that Carlos' response every time someone asks where he has to be is 'Broadway'... it just reminds me a lot of Seb's 'Friendship!' — that's some soulmate stuff right there, if you ask me.
'I just... almost did something really stupid' — Yes, Nini, yes it was very stupid. And you're going to do it anyway. You wouldn't if I had any say in this, but I don't and so here we are. In a world where Rini are a romantic thing, Redlyn get 5 minutes of screentime in s1 and two major moments demoted to post-credits scenes, Seblos haven't even properly discussed their issues, and Portwell didn't even kiss on screen. I lowkey hate it here. Still, I feel like things are going in the right direction. If we get a season 3, that is — and we better be getting it, or I will riot and I know I won't be the only one.
No but... just imagine if Kourtney hadn't called YAC for Nini, but for herself. There's so much potential there... and I think Kourtney and Ashlyn deserved that spot every bit as much as Nini did, and then some. I said what I said.
Well, this was 1x8. This post is already way too long, plus I want to do a double feature of the last two whenever I get to rewatching them, so I'm ending this here. It was just as much of a journey as I remembered it being, and not nearly as negative as I had the feeling it would be. I absolutely loved it, you know. And with good reason too.
#hsmtmts#hsmtmts: the rewatch#ricky bowen#nini salazar-roberts#ej caswell#ashlyn moon caswell#big red redonovich#carlos rodriguez#seb matthew-smith#kourtney greene#hsmtmts miss jenn#redlyn
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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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Unknown (A Sterek Wrong Number/Celebrity AU)
11.09 PM Unknown Number
>I’m writing songs about you again.
11.20 PM Unknown Number
>its stiles btw.
>in case you deleted my number
>I did.
>I mean I deleted yours.
>but I still remember it apparently
11:41 PM Unknown Number
>I only have 2 lines so far
11:57 PM Unknown Number
>I bleed you from my veins.
>I grieve you like I love you.
>alone.
>its better with the chords.
>u were always better at writing lyrics than me
12:34 AM Unknown Number
>u were better everything than me
2:00 AM Unknown Number
>I hate that I miss you
2:07 AM Unknown Number
>do u want to hook up?
>I promise not to propose again
2:15 AM Unknown Number
>im sorry.
>ignore me.
>im drinking
Derek blinked bleary eyes. His phone screen was the only source of light in his room, as he read through the flurry text messages.
What the hell is a Stiles?
2:17 AM Unknown Number
<I think you have the wrong number
>Lydia?
<no
>oh thank fuck
>I mean
>I’m sorry
>for disturbing ur sleep
>but im just glad I didn’t drunk text my ex all of this
>bullet dodged right?
>is this what near death experiences feel like?
<I wouldn’t know.
>of course
>hey
>seeming as I have you here can I ask you a quick q?
>all my friends are asleep
<probably because its 3am
<everyone’s asleep
>2.39
>and ur not
>asleep that is
>so?
>I’ll take your silence as a go ahead
>what do you think?
>of the lyrics
<im the wrong person to ask
>never experienced heartbreak?
<no
<all song lyrics just look like bad poetry to me
>oh
>yeah I guess it does
>not everyone can be Rupi Kaur tho right?
<do you want to be rupi kaur?
>sure
>not to be dramatic or anything
>but
>I want to be anyone but me
>think id rather be someone like regina spektor tho
<regina spektor?
>singer/song writer
>shes my fucking inspiration
>her lyrics are like poetry to me
>you should listen to her music
<I dont really listen to music
>what the fuck?
>are you an alien?
<no?
>nice fucking try ET
>thats exactly what an alien would say
<…you got me there
>akdjfen
>is this you admitting I was right?
<no
<but this is me going to bed
<because its now 4AM
>already?
>fuck
>ive got an early start tomorrow
>good night random stranger
>and thanks
>for listening
>or reading ig
<good night
//
“You’re late.” Laura frowned, arms crossed.
“Are you going to let me in?” Derek grumbled, still feeling the affects of having stayed up until 4AM the previous night.
Laura didn’t argue she just stepped aside to let him through into her flat. “You’re grumpier than usual.” She noted.
“Didn’t sleep well.”
Derek hated the look she gave him then.
The look that said he was broken. The look that said she wanted to fix him.
“Is…Is it the nightmares again?” Laura’s voice dipped to a whisper, like the question alone would be enough to send him over the edge.
“No.”
An awkward silence defended over the two of them, neither knowing what to say.
Derek clung to the silence like a blanket, wishing things could go back to how they used to be. Back to when they knew how to speak to one another.
But this was enough.
It was enough to know that they were both trying. Failing. But trying.
//
2:40 PM Laura
>I’m here if you need to talk.
//
Derek isn’t good at art, but sometimes it’s the only way he can express himself. Words had never been his forte.
So instead he doodles.
Shitty toddler level doodles that he never shows anyone.
Sometimes he thinks if he could bring himself to show Laura she would like it. Maybe she would even understand it.
But there was a bigger chance that she wouldn’t, and he would feel even more like a stranger to his own sister than he already was.
//
10:18 PM Unknown Number
>I don’t remember it anymore
<You have the wrong number again
>No
>This is ‘not Lydia’ right?
<right
>So here’s the thing.
>I always thought if I needed to text her I could
>And I thought maybe I got her number wrong because I was drunk
>But I can’t remember it anymore
<Oh.
>I have some of her things still
>I don’t think I’ll ever get to return it now
>Unless she messages me first
<When did you two break up?
>Last year
>and I know what you’re thinking
>’it’s October’
>and I should be over her by now
>Trust me I know
>So you don’t need to lecture me
<I wasn’t going to
>Oh
<Stiles?
>That’s weird
<what is?
>I forgot I told you my name
<You should throw away the stuff she left behind.
>you’re right
>I don’t like it.
>but you’re right
>…thanks
<What for?
>for listening
>reading**
>my friends are pretty sick of hearing me complain
>so this is nice
<sure
<anytime
>dope
>no take backsies
<am I going to regret this?
>for definite
>you’re stuck with me now
//
That night Derek saves Stiles’ number as ‘Bad Poet’.
//
Stiles keeps messaging after that.
Stiles messages like they’ve been friends for years, and Derek very determinedly does not analyse why it is he always responds.
Even when there are messages dated from Laura from three days ago that he hasn’t even been able to bring himself to open yet.
He also ignores how when he’s messaging Stiles the gaping pit that had made residence in his chest feels just a little less inescapable.
//
Derek can’t bring himself to tell Stiles his name. He can’t bring himself open up, even though there’s a large part of him that wants to.
He’s not above admitting he’s scared.
//
Derek draws Stiles sometimes.
More accurately he draws a vague pair hands texting on a phone, because he has no idea what Stiles actually looks like.
Derek refuses to let himself dwell on that though, because they are happy drawings.
The pictures of Stiles are pretty much his only happy drawings right now.
//
They don’t always talk about Lydia.
Sometimes Stiles messages Derek song lyrics he’s working on.
Other times it’s memes, or just a bunch of emojis.
Once Stiles had just messaged him what Derek could only assume was a list of everything he had eaten that day.
Sometimes Stiles messages in rambles - and Derek can’t always keep up with the boy’s run away thoughts, but even then he never feels lost the way he does when he’s trying to interact with literally anyone else.
And sometimes it’s 2AM. Those are simultaneously Derek’s favourite and least favourite texts.
//
2:02 AM Bad Poet
>sometimes I feel like too much
>and too little
>at the same time
>u ever feel like that ET?
<not really
>its like I’m infinite, and meaningless
>like a never ending echo
>or a recurring decimal
>I just stretch on and on forever but theres no point to it
>I have no depth
<youre not meaningless
<you’re a rhythm.
<like breathing
>…
>was that a regina spektor reference?
<it might have been
>I thought you didn’t listen to music?
<well someone said her lyrics were like poetry
<so I thought I would check out a few songs
>well fuck
>what did you think?
<she’s good
>you spelt ‘amazing’ wrong
<I still prefer poetry
>of course you do
Derek stared at the texts an ache filling his chest.
Derek was the opposite of infinite. Everything he touched turned to flames.
//
10:30AM Bad Poet
<my sister bought me flower seeds
>I didn’t know you had a sister?
<she’s everything I have
>oh
<and I think she’s trying to trick me into therapy somehow
>…with flower seeds?
<yes
>you sound extremely paranoid
>maybe therapy wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world for you?
<shut up
>noted.
>keep me posted on how your gardening goes
>also
>as a side note
>you know you have me too right?
>if you ever need to talk or anything, I’m right here for you
<thanks
>anytime
//
On Derek’s birthday Laura insists the two of them spend the day together, and Derek knows better than to argue.
She buys him a cake and they spend hours sat next to one another silently. Two strangers desperately trying to keep hold of one another but with an ocean dividing them.
Once their family had been so alive.
And it was all Derek’s fault that was gone.
They both knew it.
Sometimes Derek wondered if Laura hated him as much as he did.
He was too scared to ask.
//
That night Derek chased the ache in his chest away with a drink.
And then several more followed.
//
1:14 AM Bad Poet
<seh haars me
>sorry bud, you’re going to have to try again
>try spell checking before hitting send
<she.hates mee
>who?
<larn
>are you drunk?
<yeh
<tyongs ndrf
*Out Going Call: Bad Poet*
The phone rings twice before being picked up. “Sorry. Stupid keyboard is so small. Impossible to type.” Derek mumbled, his words slightly muffled by his cheek being pressed into the sofa cushion.
“Wow. You’re really sloshed huh?”
“No.” Derek denied. “Just tipsy.”
“Right. So what was it you were trying to tell me? Someone hates you?”
“Laura.”
“Who’s Laura?”
“My sister.”
“Oh.”
“She looks at me like she wishes she could fix me.”
“That doesn’t sound like she hates you, bud.”
“She should. I can’t be fixed.”
“You’re right, because you’re not broken.”
Hearing Stiles say that Derek could almost believe it to be true.
“I mean it. You’re not broken. You’re just a different shape than you used to be. But the shape you are now is beautiful.”
Derek closes his eyes and lets the words wash over him. “Do you sing?” He finds himself asking.
“What?”
“I know you write songs, but do you ever sing?”
“Oh…” Stiles sounds uncomfortable. “I guess… Yeah. I do.”
Derek hummed in the back of his throat. “I bet you have a nice voice.”
“Th-thanks.”
Derek tried to say something else, but all that comes out is a yawn, which makes Stiles let out a jittery laugh.
Derek tries to memorise the sound of It, but it’s so fleeting, it’s already slipping away from him.
“I think you need to go sleep, ET.”
“Yeah.” Derek agrees.
“Goodnight bud.”
“Wait.”
“Yeah?”
“Could you stay on the phone? Just for a bit longer.” Derek clutched on to the phone like if he could grip tightly enough it would make Stiles stay.
I don’t want to be alone. The words die on Derek’s tongue.
“Sure.” Stiles didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”
“Thank you.”
Sleep pulled at Derek’s consciousness, unravelling his grip on reality.
“Stiles?”
Stiles hummed in answer.
“Your shape is beautiful too.”
A small whimper came from the other end of the phone. “Thanks.”
//
7:50 AM Bad Poet
>how are you feeling today?
<better
>good <3
Derek holds his phone tightly and wishes that he had more to say. Just to keep the conversation going.
He also wishes (not for the first time) that Stiles was more than a faceless entity on the other end of the phone.
But it’s the first time he feels the want like a physical ache in his chest.
Derek had never been good with words, but if Stiles was here in front of him Derek would probably give him a hug.
But everything Derek touches eventually dies, and a larger part of him is relieved for the distance.
//
Derek plants the seeds his sister got him that day.
//
9:48 PM Bad Poet
>would it totally weird you out if I wanted to do another phone call?
>don’t feel like you need to say yes
>I just enjoyed talking to you
>and hearing your voice
>ugh.
>why are words so hard?
<I wouldn’t be opposed to a phone call
*Incoming Call: Bad Poet*
“Hey.” Derek feels breathless as he answers the phone, anxious excitement clawing it’s way up his throat.
“Hey.” Stiles sounds equally out of breath, and that helps.
Derek chews on his lip, scrambling for something to say. “What did you want to talk about?”
“I don’t know.” Stiles admitted. “Anything.”
“Helpful.” Derek said sarcastically.
“I mean. There’s one thing. I didn’t want to ask when you were drunk because it felt a little like taking advantage. And I don’t want you to think you have to answer-”
“Stiles.” Derek interrupts before Stiles could break into a full blown ramble.
“Tell me your name.” Stiles breaks. “Please.”
Anxiety grips his heart. But… he couldn’t stay scared forever.
“It’s Derek.”
“Derek.” Stiles repeats his name in a reverent whisper, as if committing it to memory.
And hearing Stiles say his name makes everything worth it.
//
Phone calls become a regular thing between the two of them over the next month. Always between late in the evening and the early hours of the day.
//
The next time Derek spirals he doesn’t drink before he calls Stiles, but he does cry on the phone.
The next morning he wakes up to a text from Stiles.
6:42 AM Bad Poet
>you need to talk to your sister
And Derek knows he’s right.
//
It’s not easy confronting Laura. He has two separate anxiety attacks on the walk to her apartment alone.
But he forces himself to take the dive.
“It’s okay if you hate me.” He tells her, even though it’s not okay. Laura’s hate might be the only thing in the world that could break him beyond repair.
Laura looks horrified as she stares at him. “I don’t- Obviously I don’t hate you Derek.”
“It’s my fault that they’re gone.” Derek addresses the elephant in the room.
If he hadn’t fallen in love with Kate.
If he hadn’t broken up with her, just to try and prove a point when she refused to say ‘I love you’ back…
There never would have been a fire.
Their family would still be here if it wasn’t for him.
“Fuck that!” Laura let out a harsh noise. “Derek, none of this was ever your fault. You were a kid, and even if you weren’t… You never set the fire.”
“I might as well have.”
“No. If anyone… I was your big sister- am your big sister. But I was so fucking wrapped up in myself. I didn’t even know about Kate.”
The last time Derek had seen Laura cry it had been at the funeral, so it took a second to fully sink in what he was seeing.
He found himself crying to.
“I’m so sorry, Der.”
Derek stumbled forwards pulling Laura into a crushing hug. Laura hugs him back just as tight.
They spend hours refusing to let go of one another.
//
He realises he fell asleep on Laura’s sofa when he woke up to the sound of his phone ringing. But he had no idea where it was, and he was too tired to move.
He feels Laura moving and the sound of the phone ringing gets louder before cutting off abruptly.
“Hello?”
“No - Derek’s asleep.”
“Maybe call at a more reasonable time?”
“Who is this?”
“Your voice sounds familiar.”
“Right.”
“Okay. Bye.”
Derek let sleep over take him once more.
//
2:29 AM Bad Poet
>sorry for calling so late
>you’re asleep so I’ll just take to you tomorrow
//
9:07 AM Bad Poet
<sorry, I was really tried
>no worries man
>you’re allowed to have a life outside of me
<was something wrong?
>no I was just bored, and didn’t realise how late it had gotten
>im fine
>how are you?
<im good actually
<I spoke to Laura
>yeah?
>I’m proud of you
>how’d that go?
<we both cried
<a lot
<and I ended up falling asleep on her couch
>look at you, opening up and shit.
>think I might cry now
<shut up
>literally never
>better men have tried and failed to silence me
//
2:40 PM Laura
>Want to see a movie on Friday?
<sure
//
One night Stiles calls Derek just to say his name in stupid ways, and laugh himself stupid after each one.
“Duhreek.”
“Doreck.”
“Fuck. I’m getting a stitch from laughing.”
“You’re so fucking dumb.” Derek is smiling as he said it.
“Deeruk.” Stiles wheezes out.
Derek just closes hie eyes and listens.
“I’m so fucking glad I know you, Stiles.” The words fall out of Derek’s mouth without much thought.
He only realises the weight of his words when Stile’s laughter pulls to a stop.
“I uh-” Stiles stammered. “Me too. Fuck. You’re the best thing to happen to me in…so fucking long. I’m glad I know you too Derek.”
//
Derek finally admits to himself that night that he’d fallen at least a little in love with the stranger from the unknown number.
//
He keeps trying to draw Stiles, but he can’t. Vague shapes just don’t cut it anymore.
He wants to map Stiles out with his eyes and translate it onto the page.
He wants to be able to see the smile behind the laughter.
He wants.
//
1:58 AM Bad Poet
>do you think you day we’ll actually meet?
>maybe not intentionally
>maybe one day we’d pass each other in the streets and not even know
>maybe we already have
Derek couldn’t imagine a scenario where he wouldn’t notice Stiles.
<is there ever a moment when you’re not talking?
<I think id recognise your voice and know it was you
>maybe your face would make me speechless ;)
<I think id still know
<but if you want to be sure… I could send you a picture?
<of me
>dkfajd
>for reals?
>you would do that?
>you?
<well…not for free
>there’s always a catch
>what do you want?
>my soul?
>a blood debt?
>you can have whatever it is
<I meant you’d have to send me a picture too
<geez stiles
The next text takes an unnervingly long time to come through.
>I could do that
>a photo for a photo
>I kind of look like shit rn
>so no judging me
Derek spends the next two minutes fussing and fidgeting to take a good photo. No matter what angle he took it from the bags under his eyes were noticeable, and so was the week’s worth of stubble he had yet to shave off.
And maybe this was a terrible, awful, idea.
But Derek would send one hundred bad pictures if it meant getting to see one of Stiles.
He forced himself to press send on the last picture he took.
As he pressed send another photo came in.
Derek’s fingers shook as he hit the button to download the image.
His heart stopped.
Stiles was beautiful in every sense of the word, and Derek found himself unable to look away. Even when he heard the small dings of incoming messages.
But he couldn’t ignore them for long, because it was Stiles. And when ever Stiles messaged Derek had to answer.
>Fucking hell
>are you for real?
>you gave me a heart attack
>am I being catfished right now?
>when do you think you were going to tell me you’re the most fucking beautiful man to exist ever?
>how the hell to you look like that as 2AM!?
>Derek
>oh my god
>you gotta respond my dude because I’m freaking out a little bit
>still there?
>did my selfie scare you away?
>I would have tried harder for a nice photo if I knew I was talking to an adonis
>Derek?
<still here
>of thank fuck
>so…
<so?
>come on
>your going to give me a complex
>the selfie…was it okay?
>I know it’s not much
>but we can’t all be greek gods
<its beautiful
<you’re beautiful, stiles
>oh
>thanks
//
Derek is so far gone that he makes the picture of Stiles the home screen on his phone.
//
9:49 AM Bad Poet
<Laura wants me to meet her boyfriend
<this is all your fault
>how is this my fault?
<because she never wanted to introduce us before
<and then you got me to talk to my sister
<and now she wants me to meet him
>…and this is a bad thing?
<yes
>because?
<I don’t make good first impressions
<it’s going to be awkward
>yeah probably
<you’re not helpful
>I wasn’t trying to be ;)
>have fun, Derek!
//
Meeting Laura’s boyfriend wasn’t as awkward as Derek thought it was going to be. But it was strange.
Derek hadn’t been expecting to meet someone so soft and kind. He was nothing like any one that Laura had dated before.
But he also wasn’t used to seeing Laura smile as much as she did around him.
Maybe not all change was bad.
//
Derek tells Laura about Stiles by accident. Or more accurately he mentions Stiles once by accident (not even by name) and Laura had badgered him until he admitted that he had made a friend through a wrong number.
“There’s a lot of weirdos out there.”
“I know.”
God did Derek ever know.
But Stiles is different.
“Just…be careful.”
“I am being. I promise.”
Laura reluctantly lets it go after that. “So…what’s he like?”
“He’s…he’s like bad poetry.”
“Oh god. You’re in love with him aren’t you?”
Derek can’t bring himself to deny it, but he does tell Laura to shut up.
//
Derek fully embraces being in love with Stiles on the day he tells Stiles about his drawings. He’d never told anyone about them before - not even Laura. But telling Stiles had been easy.
‘It reminds me of line art’ Stiles had said when Derek had sent him a photo of the doodle he had been working on. “I love it’.
A warmth flutters through Derek’s veins.
//
It all goes sideways on the day Laura goes on Derek’s phone to check the time.
She’d raised one eyebrow at him looking amused.
“I thought you didn’t listen to music?” She said, a teasing note to her voice.
“I don’t.” Derek shrugged.
“A huh. So why do you have a picture of Stiles Stilinski as your wallpaper?” She asks.
It’s so startling to hear Stiles name coming out of Laura’s mouth that Derek’s brain refuses to function properly. “How do you know Stiles?” He asks weakly.
Laura laughs. “He’s not exactly a niche celebrity Der. He was a really famous YouTuber before he started selling albums.”
Derek doesn’t know what to say to that. He blinks as his world slowly unravels before him.
No.
She had to be wrong, because Derek couldn’t be in love with a celebrity. Stiles couldn’t be…
“Hey are you okay? You look really sick?”
“He’s famous?” His throat is dry.
“Yes? Are you okay? What’s wrong? You’ve got to speak to me Der. Use your words.”
Derek just shakes his head because he can’t.
“It’s him.” He manages to get out.
“What are you talking about?”
“Laura. It’s him.”
It takes a moment to click but Derek knows when it does because a look of thunderous wrath takes over Laura’s face.
“I’ll kill him.” She seethes, shaking with anger. “What kind of fucking punk thinks that this is a good prank to play?”
“What?”
“No one is getting away with catfishing you, Der. I’m going to hunt this fucker down, and then I’ll rip him so many new ones that he going to look like SpongeBob when I’m done with him.”
And god, Derek hadn’t even considered the thought that Stiles might not even be Stiles. The thought of Stiles being a liar…
The gape in his heart grows a little bit bigger.
And it all falls apart.
//
It takes hours before Derek can convince himself to confront Stiles.
11:08 PM Bad Poet
<you’re stiles stilinki
>fuck
(And yeah, it was really him).
>how did you find out?
<Laura
>I was going to tell you
<Were you?
>Yes
>I’ve wanted to for ages
>It just never felt like the right time to bring it up
<I wish you had decided on the right time was sooner
>Me too
>I’m sorry
>Please don’t hate me
Derek did not think it was possible for him to hate any part of Stiles.
<I don’t
>Thank fuck
>seriously
>can I call you?
<sure
Derek closed his eyes after sending the text and waited for Stiles to ring. A heartbeat later his ringtone sounded off.
“Hey.”
“You believe me right?” And Stiles sounds more frantic than Derek had ever heard him before.
“I believe you, Stiles.”
“Are you sure, because I can prove it if you want? I can do a video call? Or I can tweet literally anythi-”
“Stiles.”
“Yeah?”
“You don’t have to prove anything to me.”
Stiles lets out a small whine, that reaches through the phone line and yanks at Derek’s already tattered heart, unraveling him just a little more.
“Meet me.” Stiles said, taking Derek by surprise.
“What?”
“Please. I meant to throw a please in there, I’m just really fucking nervous right now. Meet me please. In real life. I uh- I was going to ask when I finally told you about the whole being a celebrity thing. It’s still weird to say that out loud. That’s part of why it was so hard to tell you. But the point was you beat me to the punch with the whole reveal thing, but I still wanted to ask.”
“Stiles…”
“And it’s not that I was trying to use my influence or fame to pressure you into meeting me. I just wanted to be in a space where we were one hundred per cent honest with one another before I asked you. You can still say no. Of course you can, I don’t know why I’m- my point is I hope you don’t say no.”
Derek feels his heart break in two.
“Stiles…I can’t.”
“Oh.”
He hadn’t fully realised just how many worlds apart the two of them were when he had fallen in love with Stiles. It felt even more impossible than it had before.
“I’m sorry.” The words leave him feeling hollow.
“No. Don’t apologise. This is just me getting carried away. It’s okay.”
I love you. The words never leave Derek. They can’t leave him.
There was no way this could work, and he was far too scared of breaking the tentative connection they had with his useless words.
It was better for him to just… fall out of love.
//
6:17AM Laura
<it’s really him
>are you sure
<I’m sure
>what are you going to do?
<nothing
>Derek you’re in love with him
<I’m aware
<it doesn’t matter
<it wouldn’t ever work
>I’m sorry
<don’t be
<I’m going to be fine
>Im coming over with wine
//
That night Derek fills pages and pages of his notebook with drawings of Stiles.
When he gets a message from Stiles at 11PM- for the first time since they started messaging- Derek leaves it unopened.
//
He never ignores a message again after that, and life moves on. Stiles still messages him all the time, but he never asks to call anymore.
Derek misses his voice so much that he goes onto youtube and listens to his music.
He buys all three albums Stiles released and it still doesn’t feel like enough.
//
He fills an entire notebook with doodles of Stiles.
It’s still not enough.
//
1:11 PM Bad Poet
>I wrote you a song
>I know you don’t listen to music
>but it felt weird to not a least send you a link
>bad poetry at 2:00am
The link leads Derek to a youtube video of Stiles holding a ukulele and staring with a soft smile at the camera.
“Hey guys. It’s been a while, huh? But I guess I finally found inspiration. So here we go.”
The song is beautiful, but even more beautiful than that was Stiles.
When the song reached the end Derek doesn’t hesitate to hit replay.
He listens to the song ten times before he realises he’s crying - and he knows that he’s never going to ‘get over’ Stiles because he doesn’t want to.
//
3:00 PM Laura
>have you seen the video?
<he sent me a link
<he wrote a song for me Laura
<I love him so fucking much and he wrote a song for me
>fuck
<what do I do?
>what do you want to do?
<I don’t know
>I think you should look at his twitter
<?
>I wasn’t going to say anything because you said you wanted to get over him
>but I think you need to see it
>@stilesstilinki
//
@stilesstilinski
I want to hug him
@stilesstilinski
Get you a guy that will stay up with you until 4AM talking about literally anything
@stilesstilinski
Why do I alway fall for people so far out of my league? rip me I guess.
@stilesstilinski
He makes me want to write poetry
Derek spends hours scrolling through Stiles’ twitter.
He scrolls far enough back that he gets to the part of his timeline where his twitter is littered with pictures of Lydia, which causes the ache in Derek’s chest to grow. But he can’t stop looking because Stiles looks so happy.
And Derek falls impossibly more in love.
He lets himself acknowledge for the first time that Stiles might love him back.
And everything else?
It’s worth it.
Because Stiles is worth everything to Derek.
//
2:00 AM Bad Poet
<so I looked at your twitter
>fuck.
>how much did you see?
<all of it
>tight
>please excuse me while I go die now
>bye
<don’t leave yet
<I had something I wanted to ask you
>did you want me to delete the tweets?
>I can do that
>I’ll just delete the whole account
>I am my own worst enemy so this won’t be a problem
>actually Jackson Whittemore is my worst enemy
>but I’m a close second
<stiles?
>yup?
<Will you go on a date with me?
>alkdjf
>yes?
>Ofc yes?
>are you being serious?
>because this would be a cruel prank if you’re not serious
<I’m serious
>yes.
>yes. yes. yes. yes. yes. yes.
>holy shit
>theres no fucking universe where I say ‘no’ to that question from you
>im so fucking in love with you
>is it too soon to say that?
>I don’t even care
>I’m speaking my truth
>you obviously don’t have to say it back
>im going to woo you so hard Derek
>you’ll have to love me back eventually
>I’m going to write you poetry
>hell I’ll even read poetry for you
>ill give the whole fucking moon to you
<why would I want the moon?
<im not gru?
>despicable me
>that was a despicable me reference.
>you don’t listen to music, but you watch despicable me?
>you’re such an enigma to me Derek
>god I love you so much
<stiles?
>too much?
<no
<I don’t think I could ever have too much of you
<I love you too stiles
<so much
<I just don’t want you to get your hopes up
<I might not be able to live up to it in real life
>impossible
<seriously stiles
>I am being serious
>I’m already in love with you Der
>you don’t have to do anything more than you’ve already done
>you could wear a potato sack, and spend the whole night not saying anything at all
>and I would still be in love with you
>all you have to do now is show up
<…I can do that
>perfect
//
TWO YEARS LATER
@stilesstilinski
Hey @JacksonWhittemore, remember when you told me I would die alone? Well I just got engaged to the love of my life. So checkmate fucker.
#sterek#eternal sterek#what am i even doing?#i just spent the last two days writing this and banging my head against the wall and nothing else#should i write this into a full fic one day?#i probably wont#hope you guys enjoy#sterek drabble#5k words of them being idiots#i cut so much out how is this still 5k?#stiles stilinki#derek hale#laura is the only other character that makes an appearance#im supposed to be sleeping#but here we are ig#texting#wrong number#celebrity stiles
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Kuroo, Bokuto, and Tsukkishima Hearing Their Roomate Dump Their Boyfriend
@venuslii requested: Kuroo, Bokuto and Tsukishima walking in on their roommate laughing on their phone and it turns out she broke up with her boyfriend and he posted about him being heartbroken and she says “that’s what you get you stupid b****” lmao headcanons or scenarios idrc
A/N: Eyy, thanks for requesting! I got a little stumped on some parts (*cough*Tsukki*cough*) but I hope you enjoy these! Requests are currently opened, no rules yet other than a maximum of only three characters please!
Kuroo Tetsurou:
-We all know this man loves his juicy gossip (re:when he immediately knew about Mikashou’s breakup) so when he heard you cackling in your room he knew he had to get you to spill the tea. It’s part of why you two get along so well and can stand living with each other: you two are nosey bitches that thrive off of spilling annoying/funny stories about the people in your life. He also gives killer advice that seems to always work for you, so that’s a bonus too.
-Since you two don’t really care about privacy near each other you left your door open and he takes the opportunity to dramatically poke his head in and pose at the doorway like the sexy bastard he is. “What’s so funny Y/N it’s not often that you keep secrets from me~”
-Needless to say he was a little baffled to see you cackling to the straight up breakdown your boyfriend was having over the phone. Kuroo feels an evil little grin coming onto his face. He never liked your boyfriend anyway. He was a bitch that was too easily angered and didn’t know how to keep his cool. Then again he never liked Kuroo either, always thinking he was gonna steal his girl (which Kuroo never bothered correcting him on because it was so fucking funny to him)
-He’s grinning at you and asks “Oh? What’d the bitch do now?” He’s leering over your shoulder as you show him your ex’s Snapchat, filled with sad Bart Simpson memes and edits with slowed rap music playing in the background. You even get him to read the terrible captions that say shit like “When the person who you thought was the one becomes a stranger again 😭😔” you’re laughing so hard at it you can’t even say anything
-Kuroo busts out the LOUDEST and most OBNOXIOUS hyena laugh ever and he’s grabbing your phone and going through all the other posts he’s missed so far and you’re just on your bed rolling in your sheets DYING and clutching your stomach because it’s hurting so bad
-“So you finally dumped him eh?? Good for you Y/N!” He shouts between laughs and then directs his attention to your crying ex, mocking him by saying “I have some sad Plankton memes if you need them! Unblock me first and I’ll send them to you! HAHAHA-“
Your ex hates him so fucking much and keeps trying to say something back but he keeps stumbling over his words and it just makes the two of you laugh even harder
-When you manage to get your laughter under control you lightly kick Kuroo (who’s now sitting on your bed) as a signal for him to give back your phone. When he hands it back to you, you go back to the call with your ex and shout “SEE THAT?! WHO’S LAUGHING NOW?! THAT’S WHAT YOU GET YOU STUPID BITCH!” With that final blow to his ego you’re satisfied, and hang up on him
-When Kuroo hears that click signaling the end of the call, he raises his hand for a high five and you give it to him. He’s sitting straight up now and immediately tackled you in a hug. You two kind of just lay there, and even though it’s mildly uncomfortable, he knows you need it. It’s warm, soft, and safe, showing you that he was always gonna be there for you no matter what
-“Good job Y/N, that guy was a major dickwad. He wasn’t nearly as hot as me anyway. Probably had a tiny dick too” “Trust me, he did” “Holy shit-“
-He rolls off of you from the hug but is still laying down next to you on your bed while holding your hand. You vent to him about how good and free you finally feel now that your ex is officially out of your life. During your conversation you two make a note to burn all the clothes your ex left in your room at your next house party/bonfire.
Bokuto Kotarou:
-He’s either A)chilling on the couch B)chilling on the couch talking to Akashi/Kuroo/Tsukki or C)chilling on the couch and playing video games. You two don’t have any particular system set up, because you two don’t care. What matters is that you’re bro’s and you both do your part to make (barely) make rent every month.
-You and Bokuto share plenty of funny stories to each other but he’s used to you just sitting in your room doing your own thing talking to whoever, but when he hears you literally CACKLING like a freaking maniac, he can’t stop himself from pausing whatever he’s doing and going to your room to make sure you’re still alive
-He gives a light knock on your door before realizing it’s unlocked and just coming in and he’s really surprised to see you doubled over on your floor laughing like there’s no tomorrow as he can hear your boyfriend on speaker phone, making the ugliest sobbing noises he’s ever heard
-“Whatcha doing Y/N? I can hear ya all the way from the living room, what’s up with you?” He asks, both curious and slightly concerned for you. You quickly get up, ignoring your (now ex-) boyfriend and pulling up his public Snapchat story that also has sad Bart Simpson memes and long ass sad emo paragraphs about how heart broken he is (it’s a little impressive how quickly he wrote it up though, given how you broke up w him like five minutes ago)
-“Bo, look at this shit- haHA I just dumped him!” Bokuto knows how much of a piece of shit your ex is, since you’ve spent so many nights crying to him about your fights and the hurtful things he’d say to you so he eagerly eats up the absolute bulls hit on his story and laugh with you while listening to his sobbing
-Your ex is fuming whilst crying over the phone “REALLY Y/N?! YOU'RE GONNA GET YOUR ROOMMATE IN ON THIS?! I KNEW YOU WERE CHEATING ON ME WITH HIM YOU SLU-“ but you were having none of it so you immediately shoot back “OH SHUT THE FUCK UP THAT’S WHAT YOU GET YOU STUPID BITCH” Bokuto is absolutely DYING by now, hyping you up as you shut your ex down
-He’s so happy to see that you know your worth now and aren’t going to let some dumbass boy make you think otherwise. So many times he’s wanted to just clock him in the jaw (he radiated really douchey vibes) but now he doesn’t have to (unless you want him to of course)
-Your ex angrily hangs up and you two are having a fit on the floor, Bokuto laying over your body as you read out the songs on the emo playlist he just posted. You even move to twitter to see him tweeting sad Pinterest quotes
-When the laughter dies down and he’s still laying over you and you’re just on the floor he turns over to look at you. “You know, I’m happy you broke up with that douche-face. He was ugly anyway, and a shit volleyball player. You deserve better” He lovingly pats your head “I’m proud of you Y/N, really” You almost want to cry at how sweet he’s being but you just smile and get up, walking to the doorway and turning to look at him
-“Thanks Bo, I appreciate that. All that laughing makes me tired though. Wanna order takeout and watch a movie? I’ll let you pick” He happily gets up from your floor and gives you a big high five and you two walk out of the room to go order your food. Your ex, completely pushed out of your mind.
Tsukkishima Kei:
-Doesn’t usually care about gossip (except for that one King of the Court thing w Kageyama) so your conversations don’t really go into “tea” abt people. You two are pretty close at this point and you both are hella nerds so your conversations will probably be about stuff like your sports/activities and maybe the occasional debate over which Jurassic Park Movie was the best (He will always go with the first one, he has a whole PowerPoint and everything). Otherwise you two don’t talk too too much, keeping to yourselves and being relatively peaceful.
-When he hears your loud laughter and straight howling, he’s… slightly annoyed. What could possibly so funny that you had to scream loud enough for him to be able to hear when he’s wearing headphones for fuck’s sakes. He begrudgingly takes off his headphones and makes his way to your room with the intention of telling you to stfu
-He doesn’t even bother knocking because he’s petty so when he sees you rolling over the floor AND hears your boyfriend’s loud hiccups and sobs turned on the highest volume on speaker phone he goes from annoyed to confused and annoyed.
-“Y/N you’re being so loud and it’s annoyi- what the hell are you doing” He’s not even trying to hide his mild disappointment in you and even makes a comment about your ex sobbing over the line “Why’s your annoying boyfriend crying too- he doesn’t sound like he’s laughing”
-You take a break from laughing to shout back at Tsukki “Make that Ex-Boyfriend Tsukkishima!! HAHA- come here, look at this- look-“ you’re getting up from your floor and grabbing him by the sleeve to sit him on your bed as you eagerly go through your ex’s Snapchat filled to the brim with emo poetry and paragraphs about heartbreak
-“I broke up with him 10 minutes ago and he’s still crying-“ Tsukki can’t help but laugh at this as he’s reading the absolute bullshit that your ex typed out. He can always tell when he’s going to be annoyed by someone and the moment your boyfriend stepped into your place, he knew that he would never get along with him. He avoided him like the plague and always denied the invite when you would go out together but would occasionally hear your fights through the walls or your crying when he came home late (in those moments he’s actually really nice and will sit and listen to you)
-“Wow… this is absolutely pathetic, how old are you, 12? This is bullshit!” Tsukki has no chill, verbally beating down your ex and only making him cry harder and now your stomach hurts as you clutch it with your free hand. At one point your ex decides he’s had enough and from the other end of the line he shouts “SHUT THE FUCK UP. YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING- YOU'RE A PIECE OF SHIT WHO CAN'T MIND HIS OWN BUSINESS-“ and Tsukki’s not having ANY of this so immediately goes “And you’re a sad loser who just got dumped by his girlfriend over the phone! What does that say about you?”
-You’re grinning ear to ear during this whole exchange and after Tsukki says that you bring the phone to your mouth (hoping to scream as loud as possible into your ex’s ears) and say “THAT’S WHAT YOU GET YOU STUPID BITCH-“ and hang up.
-It doesn’t stop there though- no no no- you two crack yourselves up even further by doing dramatic readings of all the messages (with stupid impressions of your ex to boot): “Oh baby if only I could hold you in my arms one last time!” “Heart been broke so many times-“ “Nobody cares about me, even the person who I thought I could trust the most-“ “Holy shit Tsukki you sound just like him-“
-When you can’t view his story/tweets anymore because he’s blocked you, you and Tsukki finish laughing. His long legs are draped over your bed and yours are placed on his lap. At this point he doesn’t even care because it’s been a good while since he ever found something THAT funny. He isn’t really the type for softly comforting his friends but you know that he definitely has a little soft spot for you (at least a tiny one) and you just sit there and gently kick him.
-“What” he asks and you just give him a soft smile and say “Thanks”. He has his own small smile on his face (that you can totally see but don’t mention because then it’ll go away) and just looks away from you and says “You’re annoying” (which by now you know translates to “You’re welcome”)
#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines#kuroo testuro#bokuto koutaro#tsukkishima kei#kuroo x reader#bokuto x reader#tsukki x reader
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L.A. By Night Fic Recs!
With season four starting in just a few days, I wanted to put together a list of some of my favorite fics---I’ll be honest, it’s mostly Jasper/Eva fic because I love those two vampire nerds---and give some shout outs to a few of the wonderful authors that have shared so much of their talent with this fandom!
So, take a look, toss these amazing writers some kudos---or, even better, leave them a lovely comment---and show them some love!
And please feel free to give some shout outs to your own favorite writers, too!
Absolutely Wonderful Non-Jeva Fic:
treat by @life-unsolved
If you’ve been missing the nights when the coterie could just relax a little and get into some shenanigans, then check this one out. It’s got some of the same energy as the WonderCon episode and it’s a perfectly Halloween-y fic that works as a great little character and relationship exploration for everyone in the coterie.
informed consent by @ask-ladyofrosefire
Have you ever thought, “Wow, I wish Nelli and Greg would talk about their feelings and work out their imbalanced power dynamic so that they could just make out”? Welcome to the club, and please read this fic that explores all of that and more. It’s both a thoughtful character exploration and a wonderfully sensual encounter between these two complicated characters.
Totally Lovely Jeva Fic:
Just a Moment or Two by @canadiankazz
Jason Carl’s “When dawn approaches, do you go home?” was purpose-built to fuel adorably cuddly bed-sharing fanfic and this one absolutely delivers on all of that. Canadiankazz also weaves in some really cool ties to her “Year One” fic along the way.
our hungers appeased, our heartbeats becoming slow by @cordsycords
When I said purpose-built for fanfic, I meant it. If one studying and bed-sharing post-Labyrinth date fic wasn’t enough for you, this fandom’s got you covered with many adorable takes on what happened after the ending of “Love and Fear.” And this one in particular is just so sweet and hesitant.
Care by @geekyballerinakate
Do you want a little bit of Eva being coy and Jasper adorably playing along with the bit to have an excuse to spend some time with his girlfriend? Then read this perfectly sweet vampire fluff with cuddling and gift-giving and many other wonderful things.
nothing fucks with my baby by @cordsycords
Badass Eva’s here to get her boy back. The heartbreak in this fic is so well-executed, right along side the perfect mix of hurt/comfort. This one also does an incredible job of filling in the gaps in canon and cordsycord’s interpretation of those three frantic nights is just fascinating to read.
ain’t it a gentle sound by @ask-ladyofrosefire
We just really love vampire cuddles and bed-sharing in this fandom. This is just such a soft, gentle moment of Jasper and Eva sharing space and providing comfort and being cozy together. It’s great catharsis and an adorable read.
we can just kiss like real people do by @cordsycords
This is one of my all-time favorite Jeva fics. It’s just... it’s So Good. It’s sensual and romantic and incredibly sexy, but it’s also this beautiful exploration of the evolution of this relationship. The dialogue’s great, the character introspection is great, the vampires making out and relearning intimacy is great. It’s all just fantastic!
If You’re Lost... by @canadiankazz
Canadiankazz’s emotionally cathartic solution to Jasper’s feeding habits was exactly what I needed after that season three finale. There’s honest communication and lots of care here that’s so good to read. If you’re a fan of my own feeding fics, “Bite” and “Hunger,” definitely give this one a read.
To Feel Alive by @canadiankazz
I know, I know---it’s the very smutty blush of life fic. But it’s also this really wonderfully romantic exploration of two characters relearning intimacy together with some absolutely spot-on in-character dialogue. (And yes, it’s also extremely sexy.)
Five Things We Never Say to People We Love but We Should by @canadiankazz
This fic is short, sweet, and inspired by poetry. There is a softness and a gentleness to this one that is just so lovely to read. It’s hurt/comfort and character exploration and the last section made me tear up the first time I read it, so go check it out.
The Sunflower Necklace by @canadiankazz
Alex Ward informed us all that Eva’s season three flower necklace was a gift from Jasper, the Jeva fandom briefly imploded, and canadiankazz was kind enough to gift us all this absolutely lovely fic as a result.
Please toss all the comments and kudos and other nice things to these amazing writers and their wonderful fics! And throw some love to all the other incredible writers in the vamily who write other ships and tropes and styles that I forgot to mention here or that I haven’t had the chance to read yet. You’re all valid and amazing and talented and this fandom is lucky to have you!
Thanks again to all the lovely writers who’ve written things during the first three seasons and who’ve gotten us through this hiatus---I can’t wait to see what season four inspires all of you to write next! <3
#la by night#vamily#jeva#jasper heartwood#eva la by night#nelli g#annabelle la by night#victor temple#greg dimitrios#a bunch of other vampires and whatnot too#labn#'why are canadiankazz and cordsycords on this list so many times?'#they're heckin prolific fic writers!#their fics make up more than a third of the la by night tag on ao3#(i did the math)#this vamily is lovely and you're all wonderful#toss kudos (and a comment) to your fic writer!
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november 16
l’amour parle en fleus by @scribbleb-red [requested by @fuzzballsheltiepants]
see which other fics i’m reviewing this month! / my review request post!
this is a wonderful and heartbreaking fic that deals with grief and the beauty of life. it is soft and sweet, while dealing with hard topics and loss. this fic is incomplete.
disclaimer: i reviewed this fic when it had 7 chapters, so no comments on chapter 8. sorry!
this fic was stunning and i was blown away by your amazing descriptions and imagery. everything is so vivid and feels real. i was so interested in the little pieces of andrew and neil’s stories and how they pieced together to bring them to this story.
parts that stood out to me:
”he had cut himself free of the roots of his past and planted new ones, blooming in a country that should never have belonged to him, yet matched the varying shades of his soul” wow, this is such a beautiful beginning to the story, the wording you used makes it read like poetry, especially the last part of the sentence
”not on that sun-drenched afternoon” oh this is wonderful
”bruises had stiffened his face into a mask” i love the way that you wrote this
it breaks my heart to see how affected andrew is by aaron’s death. although he tries his best to show it outwardly, andrew gave up so much of himself to protect aaron
ooh the house/property you’ve described sounds so nice. do you have something specific (like an existing house) that you’re referencing?
”maybe he’d make it a challenge to sleep in all of them” whatamood andrew
”the air was clean and full of grass, as if it had only ever been breathed by wild things” oh, this is so nice
cats! sounds like a dream, to be in a bnb and find out they have cats
it sounds like fun to read a book that someone has annotated. so much that you can learn about them through how they react to the events in the novel in comparison to what you feel or think
”liked how steady and quiet king was, how sir vocalised every time they wanted something” love that you had andrew highlight these characteristics, it seems very in character
”the sound of footsteps approaching an unlockable door” EXCUSE ME DID YOU THINK YOU COULD JUST SLIDE THIS IN AFTER “a number plate, a smile, a mist rising over a river” AND THINK I WOULD NOT NOTICE. LIKE IT’S NOT A DEVASTATING SENTENCE.
”his was a skull full of a thousand momento mori. aaron was just the latest” woah what a powerful two sentences
how cute that andrew keeps all of neil’s notes! sounds like something i would do haha
ohmygoodness neil singing is bringing me back to my french classes from a long long time ago (i can remember enough to kind of work out the english translations loool)
”because worst of all, nathaniel never seemed to notice him back. it rankled… didn’t the idiot care that he was killing the world over with that voice?” yeah okay andrew, you keep thinking that’s the reason you hate that neil doesn’t notice you.
woah you descriptions of the outside is absolutely gorgeous. the colours, descriptions, and imagery are so wonderful and overwhelming and beautiful. i get so lost in the sheer volume of it all, i forget about andrew’s anger (as i’m sure he also does, a little)
andrew picking up his cigarette butt is so lovely and fitting for this section of the story
AH IT’S NEIL
”and, as the folds of material were plucked at by the wind’s childish fingers, andrew followed the sharp lines of his collarbones, the smattering of freckles, strangely warped and wefted flesh” I LOVE THIS. the wording you used is absolutely amazing
NEIL HAS PIERCINGS AND HE KEEPS LAVENDER IN THEM THIS IS THE BEST
oh, the story of aaron giving andrew his hat is so soft, such a wonderful thing shared between the two of them. it’s so small, but for us who know how much of a struggle everything is with them, a constant push and pull, it’s everything.
neil’s loft sounds so nice, how did you come up with this idea?
also prickly neil is great, i love that you have this shortly after andrew goes to touch a plant and gets pricked because of it
”a stab of hatred lanced through andrew’s stomach, white-hot, easy. sweat rolled down the centre of his back, a sour coating filled the back of his throat” ahh your descriptions are so so good
”andrew replied, popping the ‘p’ like an eyeball under a thumb.” exCUSE ME LIKE WHAT??
also i am very much a fan of neil being super strong
uhhHHHH neil has a tongue piercing?? i think andrew actually vapourized in that moment
orange! tractor! adorable!
”apathy, his brain supplied, the opposite of anger, the inverse of hate” oh this is interesting. i guess i always automatically thought of love, but when i think of this, it seems so right. hate, anger are such strong emotions, overtaking everything, making it hard to think, feeling so so much, but the absence of that feeling? oh
”and neil was leaning forward, plucking the cigarette from andrew’s fingers and taking a drag, smoke spilling between his teeth when he grinned a grin like a knife blade. andrew felt it in his gut” !!! this!!!
”addiction left people brittle. left them dry as kindling and just as easy to burn” woah
i really cannot handle these boys
NEIL IS MISSING PART OF HIS FINGER, OH MY GOODNESS I AM LOSING IT HERE.
amazing bit about the garden, never thought about it that way. it’s so true
honestly, there is just so so much to unpack. love your description of the buzzing andrew is feeling, i really like hearing andrew’s thought process, how everything turns back to aaron, love the way that, even now, he can read neil so well
THE TWINYARD EMBRACE. THE WAY THEY HOLD EACH OTHER. “‘you killed him,’ andrew said. ‘you killed her,’ replied aaron.” THIS ACKNOWLEDGEMENT THAT THEY HAVE PROTECTED EACH OTHER. THE BEGINNING OF JOINT THERAPY. THEY WAY THAT THEY SLOWLY LEARN TO LOVE EACH OTHER IN A WAY THAT’S MORE HEALTHY.
ahhhhh andrew talking to neil? this is so so good to see his progress, to see how he’s working through his grieving
oh boy, loving the little rivalry that eduard brings, the kind of tension heh
this town/market sounds amazing, so beautiful
IN THE GAME. OH DANG EDUARD YOU ARE NOT THE FARMER BOY WHO HAS THE HOTS FOR NEIL THAT I THOUGHT YOU WERE
”’well… like an american,’ said neil, like it explained everything. and it did, like a fire hissing out in the rain, andrew felt his shoulders relax, his ire cool” ahh so nice.
”because neil was so much give, when andrew needed to take” oh this is so interesting!
”neil shouldn’t be allowed to just vanish” AHH
”andrew shouldn’t have lashed out, sneered at neil’s story and spot on his honesty” NOOO ANDREW WHY
”his scars were the noughts to andrew’s crosses” oh this is so nice (like, not nice, but you know)
woah it’s really interesting hearing neil’s story while also having andrew’s commentary available with his knowledge from school. to see the personal side of it and also what was portrayed to the public
as much as i love neil with long curly hair, him with a buzzed look has me interested. paired with his cheekbones and his eyes, woahhhhh
”it looked like he’d been bled of life, colours fading until he became a negative of himself or an older version of the hollow-eyed teenager from the newspapers all those years ago.” i think this is my favourite sentence of this fic so far. makes me hurt.
AARON USED TO CALL ANDREW A TURNIP THAT IS SO ADORABLE I WANT PEOPLE TO CALL ME TURNIP (wait i just looked up what it means and although it is true i have no brains i was thinking in an affectionate way. turnips look really cute and are tiny lol)
ahhh neil in his bed in the barn during the storm ;-;
i love how you incorporated consent into andrew anchoring neil from his panic with the hand on his neck
ohmygoodness i cannot believe that neil has a PALMETTO HOODIE WITH A NAME AND NUMBER ON IT AH
”they took long walks through the fields and along the mountain paths, navigating the rocky terrain of andrew’s grief and neil’s jagged history that came so painfully close to intertwining with andrew’s own” oh this is such a beautiful sentence
NEIL HAS WATCHED ANDREW’S INTERVIEWS EXCUSE ME WHAT THAT IS SO CUTE
”he caught his reflection in the mirror and saw only himself” THIS IS AMAZING. what a transition that we get to see andrew experience
”for months andrew’s mind was a jagged thing, not knowing what he wanted or what he needed” !!
ooh love the acknowledgement that younger andrew would have denied his feelings but he’s more mature now and is more in tune with his emotions and wants!! amazing
”dinner with neil was an abundant thing. odd choice of word, but it was the only way andrew could describe it” it is an odd choice, but at the same time i think i understand it?
oh. andrew’s dream of aaron in the field. it’s so sad and soft and makes me feel blurry around the edges. what a contrast to the evening with neil. i like it though. you don’t just get over grieving. it gets better and it gets worse. it comes back again and again, even when you think it will not return. “wait for me. wait for me” i love what this adds, it feels so right
”andrew pressed every lane and shady square between the pages of his memory” so wonderful
PARLE EN FLEURS. EVERYTHING MAKES SENSE NOW.
woah aaron’s story was intense and well-told. things make a lot more sense now.
love that andrew sends nicky pictures to show everything, to share without words. they have such a unique relationship, they both care so much but are so different in the way that they show it sometimes it clashes
”it’s not the kind of pain that can be quantified. and it will still hurt in a year, in five, in ten”
i mostly skimmed the last chapter because i know that i easily internalize the thoughts and feelings that come when people write depression.
i love the way that you structured this fic. the chapter titles are perfect because throughout the fic we see andrew’s healing and grieving. it’s subtle, but he clearly shifts through the different stages that you include and i’m really impressed by how seamlessly you incorporated that into the fic. the fic’s focus slowly transfers from aaron to neil so naturally that you almost don’t notice it until you take a step away for a moment.
you do such a marvelous job with the descriptions of this fic, i liked so so many sentences that i could not possibly mention them all. the town and the fields and the surroundings sound so beautiful and stunning, you made everything so vibrant and alive. all the colours and textures and words that you used really established an amazing backdrop to the story you wrote.
and the story, i loved your approach to this, it’s very realistic. the interactions between andrew and neil are pure and natural and don’t seem forced. you created complicated, intricate relationships between all the characters, brought up the difficulty of expressing emotions and feelings with people, and trust that was built. i liked the way that you wrote the characters, and i adore neil with his flower piercings. thank you so much for writing this fic! i can’t wait to see what comes next!
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The Bonstetten-Gray relationship
Most of this information comes from “Thomas Gray (A Biography)” which can be found here: https://archive.org/details/in.ernet.dli.2015.226086/page/n289/mode/2up.
Thomas Gray was an English poet born in 1716. He had many siblings, but the was the only one who survived childhood. According to poetry foundation, he “is generally considered the second most important poet of the eighteenth century” behind Alexander Pope.
Charles Victor de Bonstetten was born in 1745. He was a Swiss writer, and stayed with Francis Kinloch, John Laurens’s ex-boyfriend, (I will post more about him soon) when Johannes Von Müller and Alleyne Fitzherbert, 1st Baron, St. Helens were also staying with him, in what I call Kinloch’s Gay Retreat. (I will be posting about that very soon.) This relationship is pre-Kinloch, however something interesting is that Alleyne Fitzherbert also knew Gray, who wrote about Fitzherbert, “the little Fitzherbert is come as pensioner to St. John's, and seems to have all his wits about him.”
Bonstetten met Gray near the end of the latter’s life. There was a 30 year age difference between them, but they were both adults. Bonstetten knew about Gray, but how they first came into contact is pretty hilarious. Here is the excerpt from the biography (Norton Nicholls was a friend of Gray’s): “So the November of 1769 wore uneventfully on, until one even- ing Norton Nicholls, who was concluding a rather protracted absence from his parish with a visit to Bath, happened to go to a ball at the Assembly Rooms. Light-hearted as ever, the youth- ful rector scrambled on to a table in order to have a better view of the dancing, and presently another young man did the same. They clutched one another for fear of falling, an unceremonious introduction which led to a lifelong friendship between them. The young man's name was Charles-Victor de Bonstetten, and he was the only son of a prominent member of the little group of patrician families which ruled the canton of Berne.” In other words, Nicholls and Bonstetten both stood on a table during a ball, holding each other so they wouldn’t fall! What a way to meet someone... They became friends, and either Bonstetten realized that Nicholls knew Gray, or Nicholls found out that Bonstetten revered Gray, but either way, Nicholls wrote a letter of recommendation for Bonstetten to be taught by one Thomas Gray.
Side note: Bonstetten was going to marry an heiress, but wrote to his father that he was very happy he had not done so. Very, very happy. The he had not married a woman. He wrote in French, but the rough translation is, “O my dear father, I will now be admirably cheerful, and sing and dance all day like a man who woke up from a bad dream” Wow.
It appears that Bonstetten and Gray became fast friends after they met in London, December (of 1769, I’m assuming. The book is not terribly clear.) Bonstetten stayed in a coffee house often used by Gray and his friends. It seems that the affection Bonstetten felt for Gray came on quickly. He wrote Nicholls, after two weeks of being in Cambridge, “I never walk but with even steps and musing gate, and looks corner- cmg with the skyes ; and unfold my wrinkles only when I see Mr Gray, or think of you Then notwithstanding all your learnings and knowledge, I feel in such occasions that I have a heart, which you know is as some others a quite profane thing to carry under a black gown,” Gray wrote at the bottom of this letter, of Bonstetten, “I never saw such a boy our breed is not made on this model He is busy from morning to night, has no other amusement, than that of changing one study from another, likes nobody, that he sees here, and yet wishes to stay longer, tho’ he has pass’d a whole fortnight with us already His letter has had no correction whatever, and is prettier by half than English.”
At first, the Gray seemed to only see Bonstetten as a student, “But as the weeks went by, and his protege still stayed on at Cambridge, Gray grew ever more fascinated by him. He insisted that he should visit him at all times of the day, dine with him, work in his rooms. Together they read the English poets, went over the botanical lessons of Mr. Miller, played on the new pianoforte — a present from Stonhewer — and talked on and on until the college gate was about to close” They spent a lot more time together, which seems to have been initiated mainly by Gray.
But it is this next passage in the biography that really hits me the hardest. It also is pretty clearly implying gay, which seems amazing to me, as this book was written in the 1950s, when being gay was still unjustly taboo. The book says that when Gray first met Bonstetten, he just saw him as a good student/an opportunity to impart knowledge onto someone deserving. But, “by now he realised that this newcomer was arousing in him emotions such as he had never experienced before, emotions obsessive and overwhelming. All his defences were swept away — the life so carefully organised, the formal and deliberate manner, the refuge which he had sought in books and antiquities and the interleaved Linnaeus. He was filled with disquiet, for he understood the secrets of his own nature he knew the existence of temptations which could not for one moment be contemplated by one who had been, all his life long, a strict observer of the laws of God and the laws of man. At the same time the very presence of Bonstetten brought him unimagined happiness. For a few short weeks he enjoyed once more what he had never known since his childhood days...”
This appears to me like an intense internal struggle for Gray. He knew how society looked upon homosexuality, and as a respected poet, it was a big risk for him to be accused of this. As for the ‘secrets of his own nature’ I cannot honestly think of any other meaning of this but attraction for other men. Additionally, why would Gray. be ‘filled with disquiet’ about an intimate friendship? This strongly implies that Gray felt that the intimacy their relationship reached a level that was not accepted by society in that time. This passage especially makes me feel so bad for Gray, Bonstetten, and everyone who was/is not straight but are/were not allowed to be their true selves. Gray loved this man so deeply, yet if anyone found out about it, he would possibly be sentenced to death! An impossible situation, truly. But Bonstetten and Gray seemed willing to take the risk. Oddly, the biography says, that when Gray refused to talk of his personal life with Bonstetten, “Bonstetten concluded, a little surprisingly in the circumstances which then prevailed, that [Gray] had never been in love.” I would say very surprisingly... But of course this would also be an excellent cover for a romantic relationship. It is also worth noting that if Bonstetten only saw Gray as a mentor, why would he care if Gray would not talk of his early life when Bonstetten did?
However romantic their relationship got, it is clear that they both, though Gray especially, were very happy around each other. It was not to last, sadly. Bonstetten’s father wanted his son home. Gray made fun of this, and Bonstetten made a heart-felt appeal to his father, “Quand j ’ai enfin trouve un ami c'est pour le perdre et pour retomber dans cette sombre solitude ou je reste la proie des vices et de toutes les miseres humaines” which translates to “When I finally find a friend it is to lose him and to fall back into this dark loneliness where I remain the prey of vices and all human misery.” This was quite a smart and logical appeal, since Bonstetten’s father was worried about his son disgracing himself in some way or another, as many fathers worried about in those days (Henry Laurens...).
But even this was not enough, and Bonstetten departed in late March. As the biography says, “Gray was quite inconsolable All the warmth, the con- tentment, the affection that had lately filled his life would be drained out of it once more, and nothing but loneliness and emptiness lay ahead. And apart from his desolating sense of personal loss, he was deeply anxious about Bonstetten’s future He had tried so hard to sober the volatile creature, to control the fantasies and aspirations that filled his brain What dangers, what pitfalls of licentiousness and atheism now awaited him in France? What would happen to him when he returned to the domination of 'his cursed Father ’? As the dreaded day of separation drew near he tried to confide in Nicholls, but despaired of conveying to him the extent of his distress 'He gives me too much pleasure, and at least an equal share of inquietude. You do not understand him so well as I do, but I leave my meaning imperfect, till we meet I have never met with so extraordinary a Person God bless him ! I am unable to talk to you about anything else, I think.’ He went to London with Bonstetten, and said farewell to him on 23 March at four o’clock in the morning, when the Dover coach rumbled away into the cold and darkness.” The phrase “too much pleasure” also seems to suggest a relationship beyond friendship. As well as the phrase, ‘I leave my meaning imperfect’ perhaps he left it imperfect because he could not dare to write his real feelings.
Every single one of Bonstetten’s letters to Gray after leaving London are missing. Every. Single. One. One cannot even begin to speculate the sorts of things written in those letters! Three letters survived from Gray. These letters are pretty heartbreaking. It is clear that Gray missed Bonstetten deeply, despite only having known each other for a few months. “Never did I feel, my dear Bonstetten,” he wrote “to what a tedious length the few short moments of our life may be extended by impatience and expectation, till you had left me nor ever knew before with so strong a conviction how much this frail body sympathizes with the inquietude of the mind I am grown old m the compass of less than three weeks, like the Sultan in the Turkish Tales, that did but plunge his head into a vessel of water and take it out again (as the standers-by affirm'd) at the command of a Dervish, and found he had pass'd many years in captivity and begot a large family of children The strength and spirits that now enable me to write to you, are only owing to your last letter, a temporary gleam of sunshine Heaven knows, when it may shine again I did not conceive till now (I own) what it was to lose you, nor felt the solitude and insipidity of my own condition, before I possess’d the happiness of your friendship.”
Poor Gray! We do have a hint, however, later in this letter, what the letter Bonstetten had previously written had contained. Gray writes, “I return to your letter, it proves at least, that in the midst of your new gaieties, I still hold some place in your memory, and (what pleases me above all) it has an air of undissembled sincerity. Go on, my best and amiable Friend , to shew me your heart simply and without the shadow of disguise, and leave me to weep over it (as I do now) no matter whether from joy or sorrow.” Well, Gray was a poet, but this is just so beautiful... and so sad! This letter betrays such genuine grief and love over Bonstetten... if this letter survived, what must Bonstetten’s (which did not) contain? Bonstetten’s letter must have contained sadness about the separation as well. The line ‘without the shadow of disguise’ also strikes me as a particularly gay line... if they were just friends, why would there even be talk of parts of their heart ‘disguised?’ Also, Gray is saying that Bonstetten’s true heart makes him weep, which is basically saying, ‘You love me so much but that you love me so much is painful because you are away from me. But this is not the end of the tear-fest, my friends. Gray wrote Bonstetten again soon after,
“Alas! how do I every moment feel the truth of what I have some- where read Ce n’est pas le voir que de Fen souvenir , and yet that remembrance is the only satisfaction I have left My life now is but a perpetual conversation with your shadow — The known sound of your voice still rings in my ears — There, on the corner of the fender you are standing, or tinkling on the pianoforte, or stretch'd at length on the sofa — Do you reflect, my dearest Friend, that it is a week or eight days, before I can receive a letter from you, and as much more before you can have my answer, that all that time (with more than Herculean toil) I am employ'd in pushing the tedious hours along, and wishing to annihilate them; the more I strive, the heavier they move and the longer they grow. I can not bear this place, where I have spent many tedious years within less than a month, since you left me.’
Time had obviously not softened the blow of Bonstetten's departure. Gray also repeatedly emphasizes that he is not living his life in the way that he was before Bonstetten entered his life. Again, we do not have any of Bonstetten’s letters, so we must only speculate what they could contain. But it seems clear that whatever they said, they did nothing to alleviate Gray’s pain, and perhaps even made Gray yearn ever more for his departed pupil.
About a month later, Thomas Gray and Norton Nicholls went to Suffolk together, and had hoped to see Bonstetten while there, but when Bonstetten was there (I do not the know the reason why he was not or why Gray expected him to be) Gray wrote another plaintive letter:
“I am return'd, my dear Bonstetten, from the little journey I had made into Suffolk without answering the end proposed. The thought, that you might have been with me there, has embitter'd all my hours. Your letter has made me happy; as happy as so gloomy, so solitary a Being as I am is capable of being. I know and have too often felt the disadvantages I lay myself under, how much I hurt the little interest I have in you by this air of sadness so contrary to your nature and present enjoyments, but sure you will forgive, tho* you can not sympathize with me It is impossible for me to dissemble with you Such as I am, I expose my heart to your view, nor wish to conceal a single thought from your penetrating eyes — All that you say to me, especially on the subject of Switzerland, is infinitely acceptable. It feels too pleasing ever to be fulfill'd, and as often as I read over your truly kind letter, written long since from London,* I stop at these words La mort qui peat glacer nos bras avant qu’ils soient entrelaces.”
The French at the bottom of this letter translates to, “Death that can freeze our arms before they are intertwined.”
There is also a line in this letter which raises the question “Did Gray love Bonstetten but Bonstetten not love Gray?” The aforementioned line is, “tho* you can not sympathize with me” which seems to suggest either that Bonstetten is not having as hard a time away from Gray, or that they loved each other in different ways. But this could also just mean that Bonstetten has other friends, or really anything along those lines. I also feel we should be extremely careful when claiming that love is one-sided when we only have one sides’ recollection of the relationship. People try and do this with the Laurens-Hamilton relationship... many of Laurens’s letters that survive are not as gushing as Hamilton’s but we are missing a great deal of them, and what we have was edited. But some people try to dismiss the relationship because of this. Also, this is one line out a letter that basically screams “I LOVE U!!” so...
I have found a list of all the Bonstetten letters, though there is no content. There are dates of the letters, though. Here is the link: http://www.thomasgray.org/cgi-bin/display.cgi?collection=letters&author=Bonstetten,+Charles+Victor+de,+1745-1832&sortby=placelet_up.
There’s a letter to Norton Nicholls in there too, and the only reason I’m mentioning it is because Bonstetten uses the phrase ‘methinks’ which is just wonderful.
But it seems that this relationship would die down soon afterwards. The biography says, “Such intensity of emotion could not last for very long It exhausted Gray's vitality at the time, and may well have had a permanent effect upon his health, but as the weeks went on he began to view the whole affair in a more reasonable light He saw the absurdity of his relationship with Bonstetten as well as its sadness; and indeed the absurdity, for all his over- mastering charm, of Bonstetten himself. Even at this early stage he began to find the style of the letters from Paris * un peu trop alembique', affected and over-refined. They were not to grow less so with the passage of time. Bonstetten made uncon- vincing excuses for not writing more often, and 'he seems at present to give into all the French nonsense and to be employ'd much like an English boy broke loose from his Governor ' It was the natural reaction of a high-spirited young man after those sober months at Cambridge, months of serious reading and celibate living and an unequal friendship between youth and age; but it displeased Gray, and the pangs of separation began to torment him less.”
We can tell from this that Bonstetten was the one who really began to separate from Gray once their geographic distance and cultural distance (to some extent, because Bonstetten was adopting more French manners, which displeased Gray,) grew too great. This parallels the Kinloch/Laurens relationship to some extent, I feel, because Laurens and Kinloch relationship deteriorated once Laurens was in London and Kinloch was still part of the Geneva social circles.
At any rate, this is what I have been able to find on the Bonstetten/Gray relationship. In conclusion: Bonstetten and Gray were likely lovers, despite a very large age difference, (Bonstetten was abut 24, and Gray 53) but the relationship did not last long. (If you want to think of it as a summer fling in December, I won’t stop you.) Gray appears to have been the more gushy letter-writer, but we have none of Bonstetten’s so it is really impossible to say. Bonstetten died in 1771, while Bonstetten was in Geneva. I’m trying to figure out what Bonstetten did, and if he stayed in Geneva or traveled between 1771 and 1775, when he went to Kinloch’s Gay Retreat.
Hope you enjoyed!
#Charles Victor de Bonstetten#Thomas Gray#we need a ship name for these two#queer history#Norton Nicholls
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TEMERAIRE LET’S READ: BLOOD OF TYRANTS, THE WILLIAM LAURENCE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT NG+ SPEEDRUN
- oh NO LAURENCE D:D:D:
I do love that one of his first realizations is that he’s definitely not dutch tho lol this dumbass remembered that he was english before he remembered his own name
- caught between OH NO TEMERAIRE (and it’s only page 9 it’s going to be one of those books huh) and laughing my ass off at the thought of him swooping into notoriously isolationist japan and yelling ‘HAVE YOU GUYS SEEN MY DAD???’
- “Yes,” [Laurence] said, unyielding, as he could not be otherwise. ahahahahaha way to summarize the entirety of old school!laurence with one fucking sentence
(I am very much enjoying this uh. ‘setback’ of his character actually? novik really did just roll him back to factory settings and went ‘now... from the top again, let’s see if you’ve been paying attention these last seven books’ haha. no one told me there’d be a test!!!!!!!!!!)
- Kaneko really has the patience and graciousness of a saint, @ laurence please... please try to be marginally less sketchy hm? (I guess his sheer obliviousness to how direly he comes across here must be why kaneko hasn’t dismissed him out of hand)
- y’know... at least laurence is in no position to have to worry about all this shit temeraire and the others are pulling. when people start talking about black-scaled celestials shaking the country to its very foundations he’ll be blissfully, innocently unaware. that’s something, I suppose... well who am I kidding we’ll 100% get a couple of paragraphs of him convincing himself this is all his fault somehow anyway
- . . . and His Majesty’s Government does not behave in such an underhanded a manner as to attack another nation with no warning or quarrel. aha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha oh what a strange beautiful fantasy land you’ve been residing in for most of your life william laurence, hang on tight for the opium wars
- hahaha oh my god this is like a platonic version of that text post
temeraire: have you guys seen my dad??!?!
them: what does he look like?
temeraire, crying: beautiful and human and has gold buttons
- I take it all back old school laurence is such a tremendous idiot. just PRETEND you’re willing to cooperate at least you huge fuckign dummy, all you’d have to do was say something vague about how the ship can’t get too close to shore; it won’t actually help them and they’ll know it but you won’t make yourself look so unspeakably willfully suspicious
- :( making me read things where temeraire is just hurting should be ILLEGAL actually
- NO LAURENCE STOP TRYING TO KICK LITERALLY EVERY POLITICAL HORNET’S NEST WITHIN REACH BAD BOY he is... a disaster but I love him and fear for him as a son so here I am anyway
- hahahahaha yeah wow laurence it sure would suck if you ever had to commit treason huh death probably would be preferable indeed
b o i
- i like that it took him like a week to even give a single thought to edith lol at least he remains aggressively himself
- I think temeraire basically just invented dragon baby photos and I can’t even think for how darling it is
also every dragon physician is delightful; they fear neither god, man nor huge ass patients who could swallow them in a bite
aw man I love gong su
- ahahahahahahah kiyo is the actual best I can’t breathe
KANPAI INDEED, MY LADY, MY LIEGE, I DON’T CARE WHAT ELSE HAPPENS I WOULD FOLLOW YOU TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH
Laurence was forced to at least moisten his lips in a show of accompaniment, and hope that he had indeed buried Caesar and not praised him, or for that matter raised him from the dead one act too soon; he was not perfectly sure. He did not think he had been this appallingly drunk since he had been a boy of twelve, trying to make good on every toast at his captain’s table. I. am. dying
thank you thank you thank you for the mental image of laurence drunkenly trying to stumble through the ‘friends, romans, countrymen’ speech as well as the entire rest of the play in a one-man performance
- oh no... I would die for junichiro, baby boy who loves his teacher SO MUCH ;____________; aaaaand there are laurence’s adoption instincts, I see, right on time <3 I like how they have had one actual conversation now and laurence is like ‘ah well nothing for it then guess you’ll have to stay on my ship and I’ll have to be your dad now, brash 16 year old child’
junichiro is being Full Teenager about laurence not knowing ~*obvious*~ things and it’s a delight
- y’know this period of japanese history is always portrayed in the west as paranoia and it could probably only be done because the country was a strict military dictatorship at the time... but having read oh, any history book ever, deciding that nope nah don’t think so no europeans ever is the greatest ‘fair enough’ in human history. (...I guess this series is sort of AU fix it fic of the period in the first place haha)
- seeing temeraire this level of straight out angry is very interesting and also very unsettling
- ooooof whenever laurence almost-remembers temeraire... stab me in the heart why don’t you
- man churki really is the mom friend of these dragons she’s the only one who has a lick of sense
- *laurence, upon clobbering several men with an oar* “Ma’am, I beg your pardon,” Laurence said to the old woman, who was still sitting ramrod-straight in the ferry over the side from him and regarding him with a flat expression of utter disapproval and not the least evidence of fear; he put out a boot over the side and shoved the ferry off with a heave
god this book is just a continual parade of glorious mental images, just this old woman glaring at him like ‘RUDE’ and “Ma’am, I beg your pardon” fdslfhsdlkjh
- I have a lot of sympathy for hammond. imagine having to navigate the extremely delicate diplomatic situation between europe and japan, with the real prospect of a war breaking out over it, while temeraire is looking over your shoulder... real dragon in the glassware shop vibe going on here, i’m sorry about your life hammond
- AUGH laurence just sort-of-remembered emily he just half-remembered he basically has a daughter someone hold me (...junichiro is so so sweet ;___;)
- bwahahaha yeah I’m sure the only reason this impressionable young kid who’s slowly becoming very impressed by you has for sneaking glances at your bare chest is manly appreciation of your battle scars laurence, well done (I mean a supremely understandable innocent teen crush to develop but stay safely out of that, kid; I trust tharkay to survive the sheer field of mayhem around this man only because he’s got like 20 years, extreme competency and a world of cynicism on you)
- aw junichiro :(:(:(
- ...laurence you need to stop making your dragon boi think you’re dead because this is hurting me. my heart lies in sad little pieces on the ground right now. you are stepping on them with tapdancing shoes.
- “I am under an obligation to Junichiro,” [Laurence] said, quietly, “who you must know has aided me for love of you. If I surrender myself and am made prisoner in this way, will your honor be satisfied?”
fdsfhsdkfsdja *ELMO SURROUNDED BY FLAMES GIF* this is all awful they’re all such good people why must this happen why this
(what a way to remind me why I love this stupid wonderful man so much tho uuuuuugh)
- “He is a prince of China, and my captain.” “The devil I am,” said Laurence. This might be the funniest heartbreak I have ever experienced
- good job making me cry whenever I read the words ‘principia mathematica’ naomi novik that was real nice of you
- maximus is such a solid bro. not the brightest, but by god a good 80% of that boy’s gigantic body mass is pure heart
- I love the sheer trollishness of just dropping all these hints about whatever’s going on in the US and then moving on like nothing has happened lol at least it’s deeply implied that hamilton squandered his chances at the presidency by pulling his dumb hoe act in this universe too... constants and variables friends constants and variables
- bOY for a moment there I really did wonder if junichiro was going to die, thank god for a quick google to stop my heart from leaping up my throat and out into thin air to shatter yet again on the flagstones beneath
- in unrelated news I recently found out a bit more about the whole historical Situation in Australia at the beginning of Tongues of Serpents (incidentally, by reading Mark Forsyth’s ‘A Short History of Drunkenness’, which is very funny and quite interesting although I can personally testify that the chapter about vikings at least is completely riddled with misunderstandings or straight out factual errors about the mythology, the role of women in society and uh the entirety of how poetry worked so maybe take him with a pinch of salt lol), and now, in retrospect, I have to say Novik does a poor job conveying the sheer hilarity and madness going on at that time. Like. I was quite bored in those first few chapters, whenever Tharkay didn’t have page time. how could you make this incredible spectacular shitshow boring. it should have been easy comedy gold and not just like. misery. oh well great times, let’s return to the book at hand
- I remain utterly devoted to Lady Kiyo. livin’ life, drinking sake, giving no fucks, absentmindedly scoping out the western style ships and starting an entire modern navy for her country, getting some Theater up in here.... truly I would follow her into the jaws of hell itself, safely in the knowledge that she’d find some way to have a good time down there
- kaneko tearing up at laurence promising he’ll take care of junichiro 😭 this is so cruel to me, personally, specifically against my person, I am undone
- I like how the incan dragons are told like ‘don’t pick just one special person; you can love all your humans equally’ while the poor japanese ones are told ‘actually don’t love any of your humans very much at least not more than Honour’ lol they must have so many neurotic dragons running about b/c that when that attachment happens it seems extremely central to their psychology (and considering lady arikawa it’s not like they’re exempt from it, they’re just supposed to repress it to conform)
- laurence desperately trying to work out whether emily’s his daughter without actually asking anyone... delicious
the descriptions of roland’s letters: even more delicious
- temeraire sees the sad remnants of laurence’s robes and ‘hello darkness my old frieeeeend’ starts playing in his head... too bad laurence isn’t really in a position to experience the relief
- He is very much a one-note character, but O’Dea’s resolute dedicated fatalism is extremely funny
- hahaha poor temeraire... when you try to introduce bae to the family and they insist on being TOTALLY EMBARRASSING god
- The guilt of having caused pain to one deserving only consideration at his hand mingled with unanswered disquiet. I’m bawling laurence’s dad instincts are so pure and good even tho everything’s a bit messed up right now. like this whole paragraph is so powerful b/c you can see laurence’s natural loving impulse at war with his dad’s cold authoritarian parenting style and because his lived experience is removed he doesn’t know what is right.............. oh b o y
- oh okay I see my earlier comment about the opium wars proves unexpectedly prophetic
- it cannot be overstated how much I love junichiro or how happy I am that laurence is being so soft and patient with him. this kid has Been Through some shit
- emily roland shoulder to shoulder with laurence killing fools and he never doubts her for a moment... *chef kiss emoji*
- the problem with these books is that there are just so many good characters and so many of them don’t get any real page time in any given one -- I’m sitting here plaintively like ‘I realize this is not the most pressing issue right now but how is demane and sipho doing. are they okay. does sipho have enough books’
- ouch memory loss isn’t stopping laurence from flashing back to victory of eagles :(
there’s something so disconcerting about knowing why laurence reacts to things the way he does when he doesn’t; novik is using that very efficiently, this is a very satisfying use of amnesia just from a writer’s POV haha
- I like how none of these suckers really have the tools (or in some cases even inclination) to understand how messed up junichiro’s political situation is in all this
they just expect him to come home to britain with them and meanwhile he’s just found out that The greatest threat to his nation (from his POV I mean china/japan relations irl seem uh complicated) has more dragons in one field than he’s ever seen in his life. it’s a rough and lonely deal being this kid in this book
- oh ouch yes hey there laurence there might have been... a little bit of treason. true. extremely justified treason tho. I mean. oh dear
we don’t have tharkay and his unique mix of deep cynicism, incisive sarcasm and surprising depth of concise moral clarity here to assist with the aftermath so this could get u g l y
- listen what did I SAY about making me read about temeraire being miserable :(((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((
- SIPHO!! hey baby boy pls have some thought for your brother’s cardiac health tho
- aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaw the fact that laurence is getting out of this crisis so much quicker this time because of his bone-deep instinctual knowledge of how much he loves temeraire, which doesn’t need specific memories to be true and felt. god. jesus. stars above
- laurence: approaches little
little: gay panic
- [Laurence] groped after the truth of himself like a prisoner in Plato’s cave, watching shadows. *clenches fist with great emotion* fuck naomi novik why must you be such an excellent goddamn writer im in pain
- oh hay arkady
poor poor temeraire feeling like a failure in every way is so awful but also kind of funny. ‘oh shit arkady’s egg oh fuck oh crap’
- I LOVE that hammond is so clearly and repeatedly shown to be a very astute political thinker and working shit out before everyone else! he may be a dumbass and a bit of a weasel but by god he’s great at what he does!
- laurence wouldn’t have changed anything if he could u guise. I . that. hm. oh
- thARKAY
.........arkady I am only a human and a small one at that but I will find some way to climb up there and wring your neck
(how cute is it that apparently jane roland realized she needed someone to find laurence and was like ‘well I need someone who can take care of themselves and knows the area and speaks dragon and Understands the chaotic ways of william laurence and also has looked uncharacteristically like a kicked puppy at the very mention of his name ever since being forced to leave him behind in australia.... hey tharkay you want a job’ fhkjshdfkalhsd)
- I’m very glad I googled ahead and spoiled myself a bit on this, because if I just read this part fresh I would have expired on the spot
- MISSION GET MY BOY BACK SAFE FOR GOD’S SAKE is a go
- general chu is pretty cool for an old dude you feel me
- . . . and Laurence knew him; knew him and knew himself.
ahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahaha
hahahahahahahhahahahaha
hahahahhha
haha
what... what pure undiluted soulmate nonsense is this. what. how. WHY would you do this
- I think I said something offhandedly in my victory of eagles reactions about how tharkay makes laurence remember who he is. I. thought I was exaggerating slightly for dramatic effect at the time. um wow
- I am having the sort of feelings about I need to write fiction about because my ability to express it any other way is failing me. That’s just about the highest praise I could give, really, Novik sure knows how to plant interesting seeds in her stories lol
- for the record this is not how I wanted him to end up in laurence’s bed
(im not thinking too much about how he got hurt b/c if I do I’ll start crying and that’ll just be embarrassing for everyone)
- “I hope you will forgive my mentioning it, Will,” Tharkay said, eventually, rousing Laurence from his reverie. “ -- I recognize there is a certain pot-calling quality to my doing so under the circumstances, but have you noticed that the top of your head appears likely to come off?”
a) my love for him is just. so pure. so complete. so deep b) consistent first name basis; the one sure way to make me swoon c) the implication that he’s just been quietly watching laurence while he was lost in thought... im so soft
- oh god laurence very gently helping out demane and roland because he remembers now....... i cry and my tears are blood welcome back buddy
- “I am of the opinion,” Tharkay said, “that you ought not assign to free will something more likely the consequence of a sharp blow to the skull.��
he truly is the gift that keeps giving. an endless cornucopia of sarcasm and delight. we do not deserve him.
- [The man he was eight years ago] would not have valued his own feelings, on such a matter, higher than the law and the discipline of the service. *AIRHORN AIRHORN AIRHORN* there we have it folks that’s literally his character arc spelled out, he would have done SO MUCH BAD SHIT because he thought his own feelings didn’t matter and yet he chose another direction, stupendous, brilliant, revolutionary
also him trying to get his support across to both of them in as roundabout and discreet way as possible... laurence you beautiful disaster
- im just so happ. so happy. so happy temeraire has his dumb dad back
- oh so the russians think the BRITISH, of all people, are too soft on their dragons... ruh-roh
- sdfskadlfj yes good tharkay the ROBES (also the implied depth of fond schadenfreude-tinged amusement contained in that ‘those particularly magnificent robes’.... *prayer hands emoji*)
laurence is like ET TU BABE?????
I think this is very delicate gong su speak for ‘please do not be a dumb bitch your majesty’
hahaha chu knows what’s up -- I am growing desperately fond of him, please don’t have him suffer any cop-one-day-from-retirement style accident
- “If I may cut your Gordian knot,” Tharkay said, with a glint in his eye. fdsklfhsdkflhdsakjfhdskjh remember back in black powder war when he was all closed off and phlegmatic and purposefully distant... and here he is... with a glint in his eye and a crazy ass plan that requires other people and that he actually shares before pulling it off and calling laurence by first name in public......... we’ve come so far
- Also this means he’s close enough to Laurence’s height and build that he can wear his clothes without it looking weird, which is nice to know because Laurence is sometimes more preoccupied with describing what men are wearing than, y’know, what they look like lol. (probably not quite as broad in the shoulders, tho, since it’s pointed out every time laurence is described that he has shoulders like a linebacker)
- temeraire: eXCUSE me god didn’t do this the emperor of china did???!?! rude???
- pffffffffff tharkay and chu being jaded world-weary bros for a second there... this is what I read these books for folks
- NOOOOOOOOOOO chu this is the one thing I asked you NOT to do D: temeraire being sad and scared about it is slowly murdering me, thank god laurence is back online for him
- dunno this napoleon dude sounds pretty great and all but this also sounds suspiciously... like trying to invade russia in the winter time. immovable force and unstoppable object or something. I mean I don’t read history so I don’t know. might be a great idea. who’s to say.
- I see that tharkay and laurence have reached the ‘communicating complex information solely through eyebrow movements’ stage of their relationship. *drinks this excellent excellent OTP juice with both hands*
- god I love how cool temeraire!napoleon is, in a strangely believable way. he’s just so weirdly charismatic and novik is SO GOOD at setting up a situation so you understand just how brilliant a move he’s made whenever he seems to be backed into a corner and turns it all around. I kind of want him to win at this point (though tbf all of europe fucking sucked at this time so like he doesn’t have to doll it up TOO much to look better by comparison haha)
- boooyyyy Laurence is P I S S E D (also him being like ??? :D that the general basically agreed with him lol)
ALSO also the fact that laurence does not realize that he’s like the fucking horror story all the major authorities around the globe tell each other at night... fjksdfhsdkjlhf
ah russia. truly consistently one of the most shit places to be a peasant or apparently a dragon through so much of history.
- junichiro Y__________Y no wonder laurence is so protective of him, he’s finally met someone as stubbornly stupidly ~*honorable*~ as himself. godspeed bb boy I wish you only the best even though I know your story line is never properly brought up again
- I ship... roland and demane... so much. like with my heart. she’s so young and earnest and curious and misses him so much and casually scandalizes alice about it fsjdakfjhds
- well I mean. dragons eating people is clearly not g r e a t but also... karma. y’know?
- this is a lot of words to use to convey the sentiment ‘oh they are all so fuuuuuuuuuuuuucked’ naomi novik
(feels a little like she wrote herself into a corner here tho -- she’s set up such an impossible situation, in RUSSIA in the WINTERTIME, that I’d need a hell of a lot of convincing to believe they get out of it)
- aaaah okay I really enjoyed this one too, especially the first half! I feel like this series is often at its most inspired when it sticks to a tighter character focus (for example I still vividly recall the part in the first book where Laurence stays in his father’s house and it’s Bad. relatedly........ F U C K lord allendale), and this brought that in spades. I love this series so much, it’s shamefully underappreciated in the speculative fiction world.
also it brought *me* to my knees with a simple “Tenzing,” [Laurence] said, which... holy shit. fuck. damn. that’s my personal recommendation of this book, tbh, even beyond my wish for this series to be more appreciated within the genre: Tharkay was there and it was very gay and non-obnoxious soulmate vibes???? I never even thought it could be done but here we are
This is probably going to be my last reaction thingy for the foreseeable future, since my local library doesn’t have book 9 and honestly... having read a few summaries of what happens in it I’m not that keen on reading it? That’s not the ending to this story I want, so I’ll just live over here in denialville, I-realize-the-author-made-the-choice-to-not-make-further-use-of-Lien-AKA-THE-coolest-antagonist-in-this-series-and-indeed-did-not-wrap-up-numerous-character-arcs-or-plot-lines-but-I-don’t-like-this-choice-so-I’ll-ignore-it
(actually I do sort of appreciate the idea of not having one grand final duel or something, because that’s not how it usually works in real life, but that she’d just shrug and not mercilessly hunt for the revenge she’s so clearly motivated by when everything she loves is falling apart around her again... that’s too much of a letdown to bear, really)
let me just... live in willful ignorance and pretend anything could happen from this point onward haha.
- let me give a final shout out to my boy gong su, who’s been hanging around since book 2 (!) and yet we do not know One Single personal detail about him for certain except that he sure knows how to handle knives. that’s some good spy shit right there, he knows what he’s about
#temeraire#blood of tyrants#willzing#william laurence x tenzing tharkay#aaaaaaaaand last one for a while! I had a lot of fun with this one even though I lost focus for weeks at a time at some points haha#that's not the book's fault that's very much a me problem
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ok so I have this idea for the longest time please hear me out. brandon/adam (I’m lost but u can’t tell me you aren’t as well) both of them are hockey players but Brandon is secretly an acclaimed author (zach hyman vibe) and his latest book is an experiment with poetry and of couse it’s about Adam, can’t blame the guy. BUT imagine when somehow the secret is revealed and Adam gets suspicious after all of his friends tell him to read it and he caves in and reads all of Brandon’s books.
(pt. 2) AND he finds out he somehow always ends up being an important character in every single one, but full on freaks out when he realises the whole book of love poems are describing HIM! anyway that’s all I’ve got but it fits well with 33.hide so I’m curious about what are your feelings about this
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yes yes YES i love it! i agree brandon/adam have stolen my heart and this is such a lovely trope. i’m such a slut for the dramatiques so this is wonderful. i hope you don’t mind if i write a little smth for it, since it really DOES fit so well with 33 :)
33) hide
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Seriously, when Brandon had come out as this Y/A writer, it kind of rocks the whole team’s world. Of course, it was never that they found Brandon incapable of being a writer, but it certainly in a million years would never have been anyone’s guess at his secret talent. Between all of the stress baking and hockey, everyone had been baffled as to where he had found the time to write whole fucking novels. Especially when, in the thick of the season, the common perception is that Brandon and Adam have a combined total braincells of negative four. They tend to be associated with each other.
Mark is the first one to finish reading the bulk of Brandon’s repertoire, two novels and his latest publication, a poetry book, and as soon as he’s done, he’s leaving the books in Adam’s stall with a little post-it note telling him that he has to read it.
Adam has never been a big reader, admittedly, he had relied on SparkNotes religiously all through school and wasn’t one to read for pleasure. However, he really is curious to see what Brandon even wrote about, and he was eager to be a supportive friend. He picks up the first book on an off-day where Brandon had obligations and couldn’t be around to entertain him, so he curls up on the couch and reads while listening to the rain thump against the windows in a slow pattern. He finishes it before dinner, wrapped up in every single word spinning off the page, building an entirely different universe inside his modern apartment. Adam can hear Brandon’s voice in each word, telling of his protagonist’s adventures.
It’s kind of fun, Adam realizes, as he uncovers relationships between the side characters and their teammates, it feels like a private look into the story that Brandon’s other readers wouldn’t get. Something unnecessarily warm settles in between his ribs. One of the characters, the one who actually holds the key to the climax of the story and is far more important than the reader would have been expecting, is based off of him, he thinks. Adam only puts it together at the end. The way Brandon describes him, things that Adam wouldn’t think to notice about himself even, makes the heat build in the tips of his ears. He finishes the book and slams it closed, dropping it onto the coffee table with a pounding heart, and goes for a run to process it all. It’s oddly flattering.
“I read your book, the one about the spies.” He tells Brandon, one day over lunch, taking a bite of his sandwich like it hadn’t unearthed a whole plethora of repressed feelings that Adam hadn’t though would resurface. Brandon goes pink in the cheeks, stirring his soup with his spoon.
“You can read?” Brandon bites back, but the anxiety under the flat, sarcastic lilt of his voice is easy for Adam to pick out. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, watching him carefully across the table through dark eyelashes. The dim, yellowed light is casting perfect shadows over his face and makes him look unfairly good. Brandon always looks unfairly good. Adam kicks him under the table.
“Shut up, asshole. I was gonna say that I really liked it.” He defends mildly, through a smile. Brandon catches his foot between his ankles, and keeps it there. Adam doesn’t make any struggle to pull away. “My favorite was Andrew, naturally.” Brandon goes a dark red, eyes widening and returning to the perpetual hooded look that they always seem to have so fast that Adam thinks he might’ve imagined it. He steels his expression and shakes his head.
“Narcissist.” He sighs, and Adam retaliates with another kick to the calf with his free foot. Brandon laughs, and scoops baked carrots and peas into his mouth.
Adam starts on the poetry book last, which takes him the longest. It’s a combination of the hustle and bustle of the season as it progresses, and the required amount of brainpower it takes to understand poetry. Adam has never been a poetry guy, but there’s something in Brandon’s words that roll off the page like silk and breeze through his chest like a breath of fresh air. They’re shockingly emotional, more than Brandon has showed in person during all of their years of friendship combined. It’s beautiful.
They’re flowery and reflective and simple, but the ones that stick with Adam the most are the heartbreaking stanzas of unrequited love. Brandon does say in the forethought that not all of the poems are of personal experience, but these feel so real that it’d be near impossible to fabricate them. The one he’s stuck on at the moment is one of these pages that tug at the heart strings and make Adam a little dizzy. He’s sat against the headboard with the book in his lap as he tries to make sense of it. Brandon exits the shower, perfect and naked and dripping pearls of water that absorb into the towel around his waist, and flushes all over when his eyes land on Adam. The pink spreads deliciously down his chest and Adam wants to bite him.
“Shit, don’t read that around me.” Brandon grumbles, moving towards his suitcase to dig out some clean clothes. Adam reluctantly averts his gaze and discards the book onto the bedside table.
“It’s- you don’t have to feel weird about it, or anything. You’re really good, man. I didn’t know you had all of those emotions in there.” Adam tells him, tapping his own chest. Brandon shrugs, pulling a shirt over his head that falls loosely over his shoulders, baggy around the elbows. He drops down onto the bed next to him and Adam pretends not to stare at the way his thighs strain against the fabric of his briefs. “I mean, shit. Those love poems, wow. She must’ve really broken your heart. Why didn’t you ever tell me?” The pronouns feels awkward and bitter rolling off of his tongue and he doesn’t know why. It leaves his chest aching.
“Yeah, uh, I don’t know. Kind of sucks to bring up, you know? It never could’ve worked.” Brandon pauses, hauling a slow breath through his nose. “He’s too good for me anyway.” Adam blinks, trying to process the words coming from the other side of the bed. He suddenly feels all turned around.
“Brandon I’m- fuck, I’m sorry. That’s shitty. No way he was too good for you, though. You’re-” Perfect, he wants to say. “-great.” He drops a hand to the side of his face, stroking his thumb gently over Brandon’s jaw. The pad of his thumb just barely grazes the corner of his lips. “Who-”
“They’re about you, Adam.” Brandon says at the same time, squeezing his eyes shut. He sounds like he’s swallowing around a golf ball stuck in his throat and his face is turning a splotchy pink. Adam’s hand stills, heart stopping. There’s just no way, no way that someone could wax so poetic about him like that. Especially not his teammate, his liney, his best friend. He feels like he can’t breathe, the only thing grounding him is the sounds of the mattress creaking as Brandon sits up. Finally Adam’s brain starts working again, he reaches out to grab his wrist.
“You fucking sap,” is all he’s able to get out before he’s pulling Brandon in for a bruising kiss, hands holding on like he’s the most precious thing in Adam’s world. He probably is.
#brandon/adam#lowry/tanev#sysakiddo#prompts#IM SORRY THIS TOO SO LONG#ive been so fucking busy#anyway your prompt made my heart go kaboom i loved it sm
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Endgame Spoilers
Listen up people I am here to rant.
Tony Stark is effing amazing and I love every second of his gilded trashbag life. But this was just a killer. Dad Tony was everything I wanted and more let me tell ya. I love you 3000 is freaking heartbreaking. I have no issue with his arc in the movie at all even if the end does cause me to break out into back breaking sobs because fuck you. If Tony is going to die by gauntlet then you had better be damn sure everyone he even peripherally gave a damn about is going to make it through this fight. Natasha, Gamora, Loki, and every single Asgardian Tony could remember would have been brought back because that man is the definition of all or nothing.
What I have issues with is the sheer lack of world building we get in this movie. Honestly its the Snap and the only glimpse of this Post apocalyptic world is group Therapy and Remembrance walls. As well as several miscellaneous flashbacks to Hawk-eyes surprise family? That not even comic fans are super attached too because they were literally made up probably for male man pain. Where was the atmosphere? Where was the drama? Where was the angst? Post snap was quite honestly not heart wrenchingly rendered into a suitable level of grief. It just wasn't. I expected break downs and rage. All I got was three seconds of Natasha tears as she has let someone else tracking down her soulbro. And a Tony Stark screaming at Captain America. This movie just told us what was happening didn't show us what was happening. It was piss poor story boarding.
Then there was the character development. Like wow. We get all these new and amazing side characters in which you could have fleshed out and made us root for and you just throw them to the sea like chum.
-Captain marvel is just not there at all, she gets a gratuituous girl power scene which was random and then she gets slapped to the ground never to get up? Right after she take a head butt without a single flinch. You can small Thanos's fear right then.
-Rocket gets to slap Thor? Thats it thats his most memorable moment other the holding Nebula's hand.
-Rhodey has some of the best lines but no development or follow up.
-Nebula there is so much happening off screen that it physically hurts me. She is amazing. I adore her. I want a series of her. Nebula is my bitch bea. I found a new hoe to die for and it is she. She is my new ride or die. Found family and redemption arcs come at me.
-Sam and Bucky both get maybe two lines a piece and that just irks me.
Time travel... yes bitch I am always there for time travel hijinks and drama but honestly five minutes of a single episode of leverage had more heist feels then this three hour train wreck. It might have been the lack of a great soundtrack but it just wasn't that compelling to watch. I'm also really confused about the time travel thearory in this shit because they kept going back on thier own writing through out the movie (cough cough STEVE cough) I'm a fan of we rewrite the future by affecting the past. Butterfly effect is my Jam. This alternate reality thing is fun yes but it can't really be that because they may create alternate realities okay? then if there was the need for pym particals for time travel to occur how did Thanos's big ass army get enough to travel through time to the future? Because the avengers were out or at least low regardless of Steve's thievery and Nebula only had the one from my understanding. Also if changing the reality makes a new reality how the fuck was Steve in this reality.
Bruce , Bruce, Bruce. My beautiful green rage monster and yoga doctorate what have they done to you. What is going on. Why are you so cheerful. Why are you at peace. I hate to say it but go back. Why are we still doing this Nat/Bruce ship? It is so random. I just can't see it. Fandom can trick me into it for a few chapters but not forever. Ya'll should have taken a hint from Ragnorok give me that personality and it would have been a win. Shock and dismay was my only emotions when it came to this mess.
My constant rage with this series is pick up an effin comic book. Sit down watch a cartoon. If anyone is going to become a human disaster post Snap its going to be effin Hawkeye. Like yay Ronin cool but what the actual fuck. Why did you come at me like that? Hawkeye is not your edgy overlord. He probably would have died ages ago with out the female influences in his life. He has regular dates with dumpsters. I'm sure he even has a ranking system for prefered dumpsters to end up in after a beat down. Yes he is startlingly competent but even he doesn't know how he does it half the time. He eats food off the floor and thinks expiration dates are guidelines.
Thor was a new one. They threw me for a loop. One this man needs a hug. Two, why is no one hugging him? His rampant depression and weight gain shouldn't have been the butt of jokes. There should have been some honest concern and meaningful conversations with the living not the dead. Thor never doubted his mother's love. That was never up for debate. Thor is not to blame for the snap. Thor will give no fucks if he messes up the timeline if it means his family is alive and together. Especially post Ragnarok. Also I could have sworn Thanos killed every asguardian on his ship at the beginning of infinity war? How is Valkyrie alive? Why would Thor decide to go to space?
I’m not even gonna touch on the Black Widow for this one. I’m just not gonna go there. Blind rage doesn’t even cover it.
Howard Stark. Wow just wow I thought I was having some weird ass delusion. That man is scum. Comic canon scum. One of the smartest men on the planet yes, revolutionary war hero technically yes, great father and overall good human being? Hell to the no. Tony literally named his A.I. after Jarvis, cried over the death of J.A.R.V.I.S, I would have expected a quiet chat about fatherhood and marriage and how it can make the best out of any man (he hopes) before I got a conversation with dear old dad.
Why can’t Tony and Steve have one friendly conversation? A sense of camaraderie? Anything? Why is that so hard?
Steve "fight me" Rogers what has MCU done to you? I'm supposed to believe that you would have left Bucky Barnes to Hydra's hands for over 70 years. Im supposed to believe that you would have been in the past and had no interactions with Howard Stark. Im supposed to believe that the you married the Director of Shield and you didn't wax poetry about the amazing woman that diegned to marry you every damn day of your life? This woman on her deathbed told you she lived a long and fulfilled life and that you should move on to have the same happiness as she and you did what? That he wouldn't have dismantled every last bit of Hydra. That he would just let Natasha and Tony die because of that shitty delusional grape? The disrespect STEVEN the disRESPECT! I am a Stony stan for sure but hell if I don't respect Peggy Carter. So yay steve gets his happy cis gendered ending but what about the rest of em?
#i will spend the next week editing this#endgame#spoilers#i hate it#i really really hate it.#mcu#endgame spoilers#my rage doesn't hit civil war or ultron levels mostly because i'm just tired but#seething is accurate
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i'll paint you a picture from my past
nickel creek is such a huge part of my history. back in the day i listened to country because my mom listened to country, at that age when it was uncool and i knew it, and i remember getting to high school and this was southern indiana so suddenly everyone was listening to country and i was like wtf yall been sleeping on this while looking down on me for it thanks motherfuckers
anyway the first song i heard would've been the lighthouse's tale as a music video on cmt or something, this would've legit been 2001 after the beige version of that disc was released, i still fucking adore that warm shade of beige and how you can see the heterochromia in sean’s eyes in those pictures on the booklet, and that song was so dark and nuanced and naked and so sincere, unlike anything else i was hearing (there was good stuff on cmt in the early 2000s, i taped some great music videos around that time) and it was edgy and one of the first albums that was mine, not something i got from my parents or whatever i heard from kids at school. spice girls. aqua. lou bega. yeah this about is how old i am. no one listened to nickel creek but me. to this day i have a possessiveness of this band which, i guess this post is me trying to explain. you don't know them like i do. they don't mean as much to you as to me. yeah that's a classic Emo move from that period or whatever but it persists.
i was only a couple years into learning violin when i got that first album, and alison krauss was my first fiddle idol and i was amazed that she'd produced it. like i must have good taste, if she thinks these kids are worth it. and they were kids, most just a handful of years older than me, if only i had started sooner maybe i could be like them. there was something vicariously satisfying about loving them.
i picked up my dad’s old alvarez dreadnought, older than i am, and tried but my fingers were too stubby to make chords and they remain so, i've never really ventured beyond strings tuned fifths apart. eventually the transcription books came out and my violin teacher worked with me on robin and marian, i could never really bow that well but i could mostly keep up plucking and to this day it's my test, my warm-up, the most intricate thing that's most natural under my fingers, whether it's the violin or the viola i'm dragging out for a tune and some attention. on my own i eventually arranged pastures new for pizzicato viola. it's maybe my only musical achievement.
my mom took me to a concert in owensboro, a tour for that first album, and i remember having a breakdown because i wanted a shirt but they were the slim fit kind which i'd never really encountered and i was so insecure about my weight that even after we bought it i was convinced it wouldn't fit me. she took me into the bathroom to try it on right then. it fit fine, that slate green shirt with burnt orange text and i was so proud to see someone in the video for this side wearing it. that's how long i've been here. fast forward however many years to college when sara gave a solo concert in bloomington and when i handed the shirt to her to sign she went “wow, that's an old one!” and i stuttered the usual praise and i remember how she patiently looked me in the eyes as i struggled to speak, giving me the time of day i never expected from someone i considered a hero. she may even have mentioned sean coming out and sign it too but i was too anxiety stricken and just left and walked back from the buskirk to my dorm in the rain, alone, and i was happy.
when it came out this side as an album was so different than the previous that i felt at first betrayed, then underwhelmed, before finally i grew to love it just as much as the first. musicians evolve. people change. i drew that little crown on my school notebooks. i sang along and challenged my own voice and made the citywide honors choir around that time. fast forward however many years and then some to my last year of college when my metalhead boyfriend realized house carpenter was, in fact, the same goddamn song as on hurt vol. i, a song i referenced in poetry when the end of that relationship resulted in the most painful era of my life.
i was much better prepared for why should the fire die; when in rome is the starting point, it's how you best get friends to understand you, to like what you like. concise, cool, nickel creek. fast forward however many years to after college when i have two roommates, when the fourth album came out and they toured again, and i bought both of these roommates tickets to a show in indianapolis, and one was a girl who the boy and i had a falling out with and who i was lucky enough to get my nickel creek collection back from, except for wstfd, the case of which instead contained an expansion for the sims 3. when i finally bought a replacement cd, the new disc went in the old shelf-worn case.
they went on hiatus after that album, which was heartbreaking enough, but their farewell tour came through bloomington to the bluebird, and i was a freshman and the bluebird is a 21+ venue. i survived on sean’s solo albums, his second is still one of my favorites, and i tried to like the others' but chris as a solo artist never grabbed me and sara turned too country for me. a dotted line is where the history really ends. i might've listened to it all the way through once, and i couldn't tell you the name of one song from it and i even had to go pick my copy off the shelf to remember what it was called. that's not to say anything on its quality; it's just that those first three records hit in such a short span and at such a time that they were the ones that shaped who i am. an album nine years removed can't compete with that kind of history.
reasons why was always special and always will be. the instrumentals were incredible—bluegrass can reference tolkien?? is the right title in the booklet or on the back of the jewel case? this side as a song is straight up the matrix (ron block of akus fame has a very good matrix-inspired track as well on a solo album), and while half that album has an incredible delicateness, green and gray always stood out to me as emblematic of . . . something. maybe my own desperate lonesomeness. jealous of the moon is one of the best songs of all time, and i hope i can game my range to one day comfortably sing covers of helena and somebody more like you. and i hope that my dad lives long enough to dance to when you come back down with me at my wedding. i've burst into tears twice trying to get that sentence out.
still the history somehow continues. this week i bought a ukulele for ten bucks, and my only real goal is to learn to play anthony. maybe from there i can learn chords on a guitar like a big girl, or maybe jump into my years-long dream of playing electric bass. sure the frets are far apart but at least i know how to shift and the chords are few and far between. you can bet that if i get there—even if circuitously, like so many other things in my history, it's because of this music that is me in a way nothing else is.
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Insta-poetry: Why it Doesn’t Work
While Instagram poetry has its draws, it is also important to consider how the rise of the movement has damaged the reputation of poetry and could perhaps be damaging to readers. Now more than ever, social media is a common career and most people are looking to profit on the material they create. Now, is this necessarily a bad thing? Well, it depends. I think it is completely reasonable for an artist to make a living based off the art that they create. Not everyone needs to fit into the “struggling artist” stereotype for their work to be considered legitimate. The problem comes through the artist’s intention: is it for the love of poetry or to make a killing selling t shirts?Journalist Vinu Casper describes the way Instagram poets post their work as a “conveyor belt”. It’s hard to disagree with Casper, as these Instagram poets post poems at an incredibly frequent rate. For example, poet p.bodi has posted daily from September to December of 2019, a pattern which one can reasonably expect to continue in the future. This pattern suggests one of two possibilities. Either p.bodi had written hundreds of poems at some in the past and is not pulling a poem from their vault each day to post or p.bodi writes one poem a day. But what does p.bodi’s instagram contain other than a massive collection of poems? It’s a link to buy posters and prints of their work. Now, it’s one thing to sell books of poetry, but a majority of authors, journalists, artists, or creatives in general do not sell their own merchandise directly. It seems to be a trend with Instagram poets. Atticus’s Instagram account has photos of jewelry and advertisements for signed copies of his books interspersed with his poetry. Comically, one item is a black hooded sweatshirt with the word “poet” written on it in a giant white font. Perhaps Atticus should consider the irony or wearing a shirt that says “poet” (click on “poet” for a link to the shirt)on it when he supposedly creates art that should put the message that he is a poet out into the world without announcing it on a shirt. The frequency with which merchandise is advertised on these accounts seems to show that the love and passion for the art of poetry seems to come second to the love and passion for the profit that can be made from it.
This leads me to my next point against Instagram poetry: the effort level that some popular poets put in seems to be extremely low based on the quality of their work. We’ve frequently seem extremely short poems that do not have any sort of a rhyme scheme, specific flow, syllabic structure, or even symbolic imagery. That is, of course, that poems with these conventions take a certain amount of forethought and effort to write. Length does not determine quality in all cases and plenty of short poems are insightful and have artistic significance. Such can not be said in the near meaningless platitudes put forth by Instagram poets. Essentially, the problem is not that the poems are short, but, as demonstrated through previous posts, the content does not have much meaning beyond being a nice-sounding quote.
Lastly, Instagram poetry’s common themes can come across as exploitative. Much of the work written by all poets previously examined is themed around self-love, romance, and heartbreak. However, I find it convincing to believe that these poems are all targeted at a specific demographic: young women. Poets like r.h.sin or Atticus write explicitly for and about women by using “she” pronouns. This ambiguous “she” r.h.sin and Atticus mention is no one specifically, its whoever happens to be scrolling on their pages and thinks, “wow, maybe I am a fierce, crazy, powerful queen”. This is an issue when you consider that men are writing these poems. As a woman, I do not need a male poet to tell me that I am powerful. No actual issues women face (aside from the occasional bad boyfriend) are addressed in these poems, because that would cause some actual controversy, that would actually have meaning. Dancing around issues women face by calling them “queens” or, in the case of Atticus, romanticizing a manic pixie dream girl, comes off as a cheap attempt to win the support and admiration of women without truly making a stand for the issues these women face. Themes covered by Rupi Kaur such as learning self-acceptance or healing are important subject matter, but the mass production and bland nature of the poems make the stories they tell come across as disingenuous. As I have said before, the best poetry impacts the reader’s emotions and changes their way of thinking about the world. Unless these poets plan to change the world by selling aesthetically pleasing sweatshirts, I believe Instagram poets have a lot of artistic growth to do.
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