#I feel like I took a bit too many creative liberties in this drawing and it looks… Not Like ur Oc and for that I do apologize

[honeynclove]

HELLO I have come offering my OCs Yuu/Robynne and Teddy for the doodles (Tumblr doesn't allow images on anon, very sorry for sudden long link!: https://www.tumblr.com/yuus-sentient-teddy/673465380106272768/masterlist)

Also I saw the tags and I spent a whole day and a half thinking of something to share about the two of them 😂😅. I think I'll start off by saying that Teddy and Yuu have a very close and sweet relationship (I know I know, it's too obvious from my username XD) and that no one knows how Teddy entered Twisted Wonderland (a not quite little secret to the reader: someone summoned it to keep Yuu safe!) Another thing I can say is that Teddy has made Yuu's whimsical side more apparent by being its silly, cute little self and Yuu going along with it.

((BTW I really like your artstyle and the outfits you drew for those Ramshackle kids!))

Had so much fun looking thru ur oc stuff teddy is the cutest (and yet I didn’t draw em???)

anyways here’s your yuu/robynne! now you may be wondering: why are they blue

And for that!!! it was a totally purposeful stylistic choice (I messed up so badly when coloring that I had to go Ah fuck We Are Blue Now! And then I was gonna grayscale it but it looked so much more fun this way)

[yourlocalartsonist]

MONTHLY MFIP UPDATE✨✨

9/24 | Month 2 | Next Month | Month 1

Hey folks 🦐 I finally got the chance to make this month’s MFIP Update cuz god damn life was kicking my ass. College is fine for the most part tbh, just a lot of reading and writing cuz of the specific classes I chose. HOWEVER I have 💥FUCKING PMDD💥 so um skill issue on my part but it’s why I’ve been kinda exhausted as shit this week and was late with the update so my bad folks! (Also for more info on PMDD, click here! I don’t wanna spend this post yapping about it but wanted to leave a resource to spread awareness just in case :3). Also, Imma be tagging some of y'all who have been reading/supporting MFIP consistently just for this post, so yk you guys actually know these updates exist. I was gonna do that for the first ever update but as with many things, I forgor, so I'm doing it now! They’re supposed to come out on the 18th of every month, but yk sometimes life happens and I’m a lil late. It won’t be any earlier than the 18th tho so look out for these once it hits that date! Anywho, cheers to this month’s update!

Alrighty folks we be starting with the Art~!

Alrighty so obvious new thing, WE GOT RAPH’S REF SHEEEEEEEET TEEHEEEEEEE

BRO IM SO HYPE ABOUT IT! It turned out so genuinely amazing and I’m ridiculously proud of it! Especially cuz I honestly thought Raph was gonna be a harder design to figure out yk? I’m not used to drawing his body type, I wasn’t as familiar with his outfit, and even tho I’ve sketched him a few times before, I was just a bit nervous with Raph. Funfact, he’s also been the hardest to figure out how to write back when I was first starting MFIP. I genuinely don’t know why, but I got there eventually (I actually really love writing him now—) and same thing happened with his design!

Since MFIP’s taking place a few months after the Krang invasion, i’m able to take creative liberties and update the boys’ designs more! For some clarification btw, in my story’s lore, the invasion took place in September 2020, and MFIP starts on March 2021. Anywhizzle, my ideas for the boys’ designs is to combine their movie look with their show look, cuz while I do LOVE the black on them, it doesn’t feel right to me to not make them still unique in their own ways. These guys are all about authenticity, so why make their gear exactly the same, ya get me? I basically recolored his show gear to be black and red (and added a lil asymmetry on his legs) cuz I think it makes Raph feel older and more sure about himself, just feels right for him! I also just think the red fade on the black is hella cool! Fun lil color theory i think application, the black is more of a really dark, inky blue, so it makes the red pop out even more! I decided to make a bow out of his mask tails, too! I don’t wanna spoil the entire lore reasoning for it yet (it’ll pop up in the story), but I can indeed say it’s intentional that it looks a little like a lunamoth with damaged tails :3 I also took a BUNCH of creative liberties with his sais’ handles, since we haven’t really seen it much so like idk gaslight yourselves into thinking it’s always been this epic✨✨

Also I gave him his shorts back because FUCK YOU I LIKED THE RED TRIMMMM—

OH I ALMOST FORGOT yes he has longer eyelashes! I saw he grows to have really pretty eyelashes in the future cuz of his turtle species, and I wanted to lean into that by showing they’re starting to grow now :3

Bullshit Gag Because Yes‼️‼️

There ain’t shit to say about this, I just pulled a silly. I saw the fact Donnie was supposed to have a “Doctor Donatello” persona in the deleted episode where Dale turns into a werewolf. I’m really heavily on the train of Leo being the team medic and into medicine in general. I don’t think it makes sense for Donnie to be the medic judging by his sensory issues and this mf being as much of a germaphobe as my mom, and in my opinion it felt too stereotypical anyway to have Donnie be the medic. Ofc, to each their own, and this is just my interpretation of it, but I thought it’d be funny if Donnie still had this persona and was passionate about it, but was like horrifically bad at being a doctor. I made this dumbass sketch that I’ll finish sometime in the future (it’s gonna be a chapter in Arc 3 probably) and I just wanted to share it with yall~

THEY’RE HUMAN NOW⁉️

My ass wanted to show off cuz I’m sketching out some ideas of what my human designs for the boys culd be. I already did Leo’s like ages ago so he’s not on here but I’m realizing as I’m typing this my dumbass forgor to post it so um my bad I will do that in a few days—

But I wanted to design (or more accurately, redesign cuz I did draw em once a while back but I’m not satisfied with them) and I think I ate so far so uh yea. There isn’t any logic to sharing this, I just thought it was cool😭

And actually, imma share them here too just so y’all can see my boy ;w;

(A lil outdated cuz I didn’t give him lips at the time)

Okay there we go~

As you can see, I want all the boys to look kinda etherial and like they'd turn heads, and I think I am SUCCEEDING SO HARD SO FAR CUZ DAMNNNN THEY'RE ALL PRETTY AS SHIIIIIIIT TEEHEE✨ Also am tryna make sure they actually look Blasian since that's what the canon of my story says they are. I'll talk about them more another time when I have all of them on here~

But yea that's all for art this time folks :> ONTO THE NEXT THINGGG

Chapter Progress Time Whoop Whoooop‼️‼️

I didn’t make much progress on anything this month due to college—again, it’s fine, but there’s a shit ton of time management going on in my part to just manage everything and make sure I’m on track—BUT I am indeed still working on chapter 10. We’re up to 20 pages now which is only two more pages written from last month, but it’s kinda cool writing Donnie and I feel like I’m getting a better understanding of him! One thing I’ve been tryna do is understand autism better as a condition cuz I do wanna acknowledge and show bro’s autism instead of just ignoring it due to a lack of understanding. Donnie ain’t Donnie without it, ya know? I don’t know everything and tbh I would say I still have A LOT to learn on the subject matter, but I’m tryna expand my knowledge every opportunity I get and experimenting with how to better show it! This is to say tho, I’M NOT A MEDICAL PROFESSIONAL, NOR AN EXPERT ON THE AUTISM SPECTRUM. This is what I’m finding and comprehending via my own research, and can tbh end up being wrong so please don’t quote me as a reliable source, I’m still learning ;v;

I remember one of the things I kept hearing about was autism leading people to struggle with empathy. The best way I heard it being described was someone bringing the example of when their friend was upset. That person can’t truly feel their friend’s emotions because they’re not the one experiencing it, so can’t properly understand how it’s making their friend feel. But they can see that their friend is communicating their sadness, and they still try to comfort them and make sure their friend knows they’re there for support. I understood it as bringing logic to emotions in a sense; collecting data and figuring out how to handle the situation based on the data rather than using intuition alone.

I’ve been using that to figure out how Donnie might handle more emotionally subtle situations, where he might try to rationally work through what’s happening and kinda substitute it in place of natural empathy. Like the little tidbit I gave above! Instead of just automatically being able to get vibes that the other person is upset, I felt maybe Donnie would instead notice the fact their tone is kinda different from before; it’s basically a data point. With that data point in mind, he could connect it to past experiences where a tone change could indicate a mood change, and as a result he might conclude that Salena’s tone change means she’s upset. I comprehend it as manually working through empathy rather than it being second nature, if that makes sense. Obviously and thankfully Donnie isn’t gonna spend the entire chapter playing a guessing game or anything with Salena’s emotions, it’s just one lil moment that I thought was cool challenge to myself with when writing him! I really love putting myself in the characters’ shoes when I’m writing them or their dialogue. I highly recommend it as a tool too, since it's helped me a lot with staying in character!

Last Lil Segment Y'all

Aight so, I wanted to try doing something cool if y'all are up for it. I really love rambling about my story and lore and characters blah blah blah, but I don't really know how to do so tbh. I'm not that familiar with how social medias work cuz I just never took it seriously, and I don't wanna just keep being like HEYYYYY ASK BOX IS OPENNNNN like I'm screaming from the top of the hill either. Sooooo insteaddddd

I think it'd be fun to do Q&As here! Or at least something similar. I'll open my ask box again and feel free to send any questions you want; it can be about the story, past lore, design questions, getting to know the characters, absolutely anything! Then when I'm gonna do my update for the month, I'll compile all y'all's asks, (prolly will have to tag to make sure you guys know I answered it, or if you ask anon then uh idk look out for the monthly update) and then answer them during the monthly update as the last section! I think it'll be a cool way to make this feel more interactive, and gives me an excuse to ramble. Don't be afraid to ask potentially spoilery questions either! If it's something I can't spoil yet or even give hints or vague answers about, I'll just say so in the update!

Anywhizzle, That's All Folks~!

I'm glad there was so much to talk about this month! I actually deadass thought it would be short but I should know better with my yapping' ass💀✨ But yeah, thanks for reading everyone! I hope y'all enjoy the rest of your days, and I shall see you next month~ Bye :D

Tageroonies:

@yosajaeofficial @chaoticspeedrun @ramblehour @randomcerealbrand @goldanrabbit @m1sf0rtun3 @foundthethief @ackalice @jellyfishheartsss @dollyrin @harukonene @iieieiw @mwantstossleep @zipzaizen @hypocriticaltypwriter @lordfreg @rainbowpr1sm @idioticsky @oleander-nin @cheeselord-official @skittlesqueen101

By the way, if you guys think you’d like to be tagged whenever an MFIP chapter is posted, lmk in a reblog or comment (no asks or dms plz, too inconvenient) and I’ll be sure to tag so it’s more reliable than tumblr notifs :3🫶

ROTTMNT: Moths Fly In Packs

[archiveikemen]

Xeno Main Story: Chapter 6

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

Xeno-san walked to the centre of the deck, and…

Without a microphone nor any equipment, he started singing an acapella. 

Rina: …! 

Xeno: ♪ Even if the world turns its back on you… ♪

It was a jazz song everyone knew. Xeno-san’s sweet and melancholic voice spread through the party venue… 

(What’s going on… I feel like my heart’s being tightly squeezed…) 

Up till then, I had heard Xeno-san’s songs many times through videos and music recordings. 

I thought I knew very well how great his singing was. 

However… listening to him live for the first time went far beyond my expectations. 

It was as though Xeno-san’s voice had created a whole new world. 

… When the song ended, sounds of loud claps and cheers erupted around him. 

Director Smith: Bravo, Xeno! 

Director Smith clapped his hands while walking towards Xeno-san. 

Director Smith: That was splendid! I’ve never heard anything like this before… Xeno, you’re one incredible man! 

The director couldn’t contain his excitement. Emma-san’s cheeks were bright red and tears were welling up in her eyes. 

Emma: I knew you were the BEST! 

Director Smith: I firmly believe in it now. With your voice, my drama series will surely reach greater heights than it already has! 

Director Smith: And to the young lady, you were right! 

Rina: Y-yeah! 

Director Smith: Not only this time, but I’d love to continue collaborating with you guys long term if possible. Please feel free to contact me! 

Xeno: Thank you very much. 

… Despite being the centre of all the excitement, Xeno-san’s response was as calm as ever. 

The lavish party on the ship continued. 

Xeno-san’s performance seemed to have greatly lifted the spirits of everyone present. 

Emma: So, Xeno. Do you have a lover? 

Xeno: No. 

Emma-san was clinging to Xeno-san the whole time. 

Emma: Then how about dating me? 

Xeno: I don’t have the time for that right now. 

Emma: Cool. But that’s another thing that makes you so amazing! 

(Even though she’s a passionate fan, I still feel like she’s going overboard…) 

Xeno-san responded non committedly to the fervent advances. 

(He looks tired… I wonder if he’s okay. I should find a way to get him out of that situation.) 

I wanted to avoid placing any additional burden on Xeno-san. 

(But he might tell me off again for being overly meddlesome.) 

I didn’t wish to anger him, but seeing him interacting with Emma-san with that stuff facial expression… 

(… I can’t let it go.)

I made my decision and approached the two of them with a phone in hand. 

Rina: Um…! Xeno-san, there’s a call from the office. 

Xeno: From the office? Why would they call you? 

Rina: I- I’m guessing they have something to inform me of! Anyway, please just come with me! 

Xeno: ! Oi—

Emma: Xeno, are you leaving!?

Rina: It’s a work call, so he has to attend to it… please excuse us! 

I forcefully grabbed his hand and moved to a corner of the venue. 

…

(This spot won’t draw too much attention.) 

Xeno: Kawanaga, pass me the phone. 

Rina: Umm, well… that was a lie. 

Xeno: A lie?

(Ah, I’m still holding onto his hand!) 

I quickly took my hand off him as he stared at me in astonishment.

Xeno: What’s going on? 

Rina: … I thought you looked like you were in a tough spot, so I…

Xeno: … [shocked]

(His staring so hard it hurts. So I was being too meddlesome after all…) 

Xeno: … Good judgement. 

Rina: Eh? 

(He’s not angry?) 

Xeno: She was indeed being annoyingly persistent. I wasn’t in a position to be rude, so I had a hard time dealing with her. 

(So that’s what happened. … I guess I was of some help to Xeno-san.) 

I heaved a sigh of relief. 

Rina: Do you want to rest here for a bit? 

Xeno: Let’s do that. 

Xeno-san sighed. 

(He must be exhausted. Today’s happenings were unplanned, then there’s the impromptu singing performance…) 

Rina: Um, I’m sorry about just now. I meddled too much and you ended up having to sing for everyone.

Xeno: Exactly. Didn’t I tell you to watch your behaviour? 

Rina: I’m really sorry… but I thought he was belittling exe Creed, so I couldn’t help it and… 

Xeno: Such things happened a lot in the past. There’ll be no end if we take everything to heart easily. If we feel that we’ve been belittled, then we’ll shut them up with results. 

Xeno: … However, I don’t think that was wrong of you either. 

Rina: Huh? 

Xeno: It would be unprofessional if a staff member from the company remains silent after hearing their artiste get underestimated. 

Xeno: Your “presentation” ended up becoming a good advantage. 

Rina: Xeno-san…

Xeno: Besides, if a staff member like you were to step in the way you did earlier on, it’ll deter people from pestering the artiste. 

Xeno: I did think of you as a nuisance at first, but it was the right decision to bring you here. 

(… It’s hard to comprehend, but he’s praising me, right? This might be the first time Xeno-san has ever praised me.)

Xeno: This party has led to the director thinking highly of me. Even though it’s an impromptu gig, the results are good. 

Xeno-san muttered and gave a satisfied nod. 

(Spoken like a real workaholic. … But still, I can’t spot any hint of joy on his face.) 

In the glamorous venue, he was the only one silently exuding a chilly aura. 

(He had everyone’s attention drawn to him just a moment ago.) 

Whenever I thought of that voice, my heart would get the same feeling of being squeezed. 

(Truly wonderful…) 

Seemingly having noticed my gaze, Xeno-san turned to me.

Xeno: What is it? 

Rina: I was thinking about your singing voice and that it was truly wonderful. 

Rina: But why did you choose that song? 

Xeno-san sang a jazz song earlier instead of one of exe Creed’s songs, so I was rather curious. 

Xeno: The reason is simple. Even people who have never heard of exe Creed would’ve at least heard that song somewhere before. 

Xeno: Moreover, Director Smith’s hometown is the American state where jazz originated from — New Orleans. 

Xeno: He may not be familiar with the latest music, but he might know jazz music very well. 

Xeno: Most importantly, the melody of jazz music suits the atmosphere of a party on a ship. 

Rina: You’re amazing for thinking of all that in such a short period of time. 

Rina: You even knew about the director’s hometown. 

Xeno: I looked it up when we got invited to sing the theme song for “Strange Game”. 

Rina: Eh… 

Xeno: The theme of the production, cast members, director’s past works, his artistic direction, his origin… 

Xeno: Thoroughly researching everything about a project upon accepting it before proceeding is to be expected from a professional. 

Rina: You did THAT much research… 

Xeno: It’s nothing. Didn’t you also do research on exe Creed? Same thing. 

(He’s right about that. I did a thorough research too for my proposal presentation.) 

Xeno: That is exactly the reason why you were able to smoothly introduce exe Creed in front of the director just now. 

Xeno: Is it not? Kawanaga. 

Rina: … It is.

(Xeno-san and I have something in common when it comes to working.) 

I didn’t know why but it made me happy to realise that. 

Xeno: Speaking of your presentation…

Xeno: You came to the condominium to make your presentation successful, but you never once brought it up to me.

Xeno: Honestly, I’m surprised. I thought you’d definitely be more annoying about it. 

Xeno: I had initially intended to kick you out the moment I get irritated. 

Rina: That’s true. 

Xeno: Did you already give up on it? 

Rina: No way, I would never. It‘s just that right now, I want to do a good job as a housekeeper first. 

(So that you’ll acknowledge me.) 

Xeno: … Do whatever you want. 

Rina: Okay, I will. 

Although he was being as curt as ever, for some reason his attitude felt gentler this time.

Rina: At any rate, you’re really so talented for pulling off a jazz song that perfectly. 

Rina: An acapella on a boat too… 

Xeno: That’s no big deal. As of now, I’ve sung songs of every genre.

Xeno: In much harsher conditions, and even busking on the streets. 

(Looking at him now, I can’t imagine him doing that. But Xeno-san indeed…)

I recalled the information I found about his experiences while I was researching exe Creed. 

Rina: Xeno-san, you went to New York alone when you were a teenager to study music, right? 

Xeno: … Yeah.

Rina: That’s very respectable. I’d never have the courage to take that big of a leap alone. 

Xeno: That was only because I had no other choice. 

Rina: Leaving Japan on your own at such a young age… it must’ve been so lonely. Your family members were worried about you, weren’t they? 

Xeno: … [sad expression]

(I never would’ve imagined it. Xeno-san’s tough past was the exact reason why his voice had the power to move people’s hearts.) 

(To think he worked that hard to get to where he is…) 

Rina: You truly love to sing, huh. It must feel so good to be able to sing like you, Xeno-san. 

Xeno: Eh…? [poker face]

Rina: After watching you, I now feel like I should work harder too. 

Rina: As an advertising planner, in order to someday create an advertisement that will move hearts like you do… I’ll work hard! 

Xeno: …! [shocked]

… Xeno-san’s response was unexpected. 

Xeno: Like me…? 

Rina: … Um, is something wrong? 

Xeno: No… [sad expression]

(I’ve never seen him look like this before. Why is he making this face? Did I say something weird?) 

Xeno: It’s nothing. Don’t mind me. 

Rina: Okay… 

He shifted his gaze away and went silent. 

(What’s the matter? I’m concerned, but I have a feeling that I shouldn’t pry.)

(I was just thinking that perhaps I’m starting to understand him a little bit, but I still can’t figure out what he’s thinking…) 

And the night grew later and later… like being awakened from a dream, the unexpected party was over. 

…

Feeling as though the night I spent on the boat was a lie, my busy life at the advertising company resumed as per usual. 

Mori: Kawanaga-san. Go help the sales department with some miscellaneous tasks. They look like they’re short-staffed. This is also part of your learning. 

Doing miscellaneous work for other departments. If it were the old me, I might’ve felt so dejected. 

However… 

= Flashback Start = 

Xeno: That’s no big deal. As of now, I’ve sung songs of every genre.

Xeno: In much harsher conditions, and even busking on the streets. 

= Flashback End =

(Even someone as incredible as Xeno-san started from the bottom. I can’t complain about such minor things.) 

Rina: Understood. I’ll take this chance to learn. 

Mori: W-what? Are you being sarcastic with me? 

Rina: Not at all. Like you’ve said before, Mori-san, I’m inexperienced. I’m willing to take on any tasks. 

Rina: In order to succeed one day, I’ll work as hard as I can with whatever I have. … Well then, I’ll get going!

(This definitely won’t be in vain. Someday, it’ll become my source of mental strength. … I got this!)

Mori: … She’s gone insane. 

… 

Lately, my housekeeping duties have been going well.

Rina: Xeno-san, I’m done cleaning. 

Xeno: … Okay, you pass. 

Rina: Thank you! 

(I’ve gotten used to this, I guess? Or it could also be that I no longer feel nervous around Xeno-san.) 

Also…

Rina: Xeno-san, you’re going to continue working, right? I can make you a cup of coffee if you like.

Xeno: Yeah. 

Rina: Right away. 

Xeno-san recently started drinking the coffee I made too. 

(I’m so glad…) 

Just like that, my days went by smoothly—

…

Rina: Xeno-san, I’m here to clean. … Xeno-san? 

(That’s strange. His room’s lights seem to be turned on.) 

Xeno-san often returns from work late at night, so I was instructed to enter as I pleased to clean. 

I hesitated for a moment before deciding to open the door. 

Rina: Pardon me…!? 

The first thing I saw was… 

Xeno: … [asleep]

… Xeno-san laying on the sofa, sound asleep. 

[moonlitempty]

Gary King, and you can tell I couldn’t decide between making him look like a babygirl or like a bastard, so yea, there’s that.

The hair was SO FUN TO FIGURE OUT like it’s so unreal, only time I had this much fun was when I drew my version of Tim, and so far I’d say those have been my favourite ones I’ve made.

Figuring out the necklaces was a bit hard cus I just didn’t have a clear full body picture of Gary at hand, so I had to eyeball it a little from various pictures, and I just decided to not attempt to draw the Sisters of Mercy T-shirt, I’m sorry, I’m not very talented as you can probably tell by now.

I also took WAY too many creative liberties with him, I don’t have to point them out since they already haunt me in my dreams 🖤I still really like this drawing, surprisingly! I do feel bad for taking so many stylistic liberties with the series, I’m sorry if they don’t quite fulfil the expectations of what portraits of these characters should be, looking back at Shaun I honestly feel shame lmao

[childofaura]

Thoughts about Marth's resplendent?

Ah... I feel like this is a Resplendent that could have been done better. I apologize to anyone who likes this Resplendent, know that it's just my opinion and I'm a really picky person.

Resplendent Marth is drawn by Tobi:

Incorporation... I want to go over some key points on this outfit that really end up dragging this whole Resplendent down, because I feel like Tobi took TOO many creative liberties. For starters, the pattern on the front of Marth's outfit is incredibly simplified and looks nothing like the usual Askran patterns on the Order of Heroes outfits, like Anna's. And I GET it, drawing those patterns is a major pain in the ass. But it really makes it feel like there was no attempt to incorporate Askr visuals. Plus the blue gloves and red cape aren't really reminiscent of standard Order of Heroes outfits; Marth does not look like he's wearing Askran garb. The badge being the Fire Emblem is a cool touch and I DO like it, but that's also not Askran/Order of Heroes regalia, it should be the Order badge. And I KNOW I normally say "Push the feathers" on most Askr and Embla outfits but in this case? The feathers should be shortened a bit. This is not Askr garb, this is the equivalent of a Halloween costume.

That being said, Tobi's art is still good. Nice posing, great color work, though expressions could be pushed a bit more, and anatomy checks out.

And I think Askr easily fits Marth, it's in his nature to help people so it makes sense that the face of Fire Emblem would dress in the garb of FEH's faces (Alfonse, Sharena, and Anna).

I honestly and very sadly have to put this Resplendent at a 5, maybe 6/10. This one baffles me a little because I KNOW Tobi can do intricate armor designs since they drew Clive, and their original costume designs for alts are always good. But this one was such a huge miss and part of me wonders if it's because of the specific design requirements that come with designing a Resplendent. I'm not against creative liberties in these Resplendents (I've said before that the liberties with Resplendent Amelia with the clothing color was totally fine), but you need to put priority on the design first, THEN some changes next.

[projectfiction]

Yooooooo, i really love your writings for Watanabe and Kamui 😭❤ May i please ask for Chrome? :') it could be fluff, angst, whatever you have in mind honestly. Thank you and have a nice day/night!

Hello, anon! Thank you for the ask (and kind words)! I'm sorry it took so long to get to this; life's been a bit of a bitch lately (><)

Since you didn't request anything in particular, I thought it would be a good opportunity to explore something I've had in mind for a while.

This is about the concept of grief, the myriad aspects of it, and the ever-changing spectrum of ways it can be experienced. I explored each facet using a colour of the rainbow because I think it's interesting to link something usually associated with happiness to pain. It's an explorative and somewhat introspective piece, and perhaps a little weird, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Take heed, it's a long one (3.8k)!

P.S.: if you don't like it, please feel free to submit another ask! I'm aware I may have taken a bit too much creative liberty with this one haha.

TW: major character death, angst.

Chasing Fire   //    CHROME

There are colours to grief. Sorrow is red and blue and violet, and everything in between. You can wear it like clothes, watch as it draws the eye and shuts the mouth. You can look through it like glass and see the world unfold. You can paint with it, stories and songs cradled in the empty space between your ribs.

You can breathe it in, but you can’t breathe it out.

Once you invite it in, it never leaves.

R E D   |   c h a s i n g   f i r e  

You lay in his arms, a broken doll weeping red. Blood had soaked through your shirt, inking your skin with tattoos of violence. There was so much of it. So thick it was smothering. So dark it was almost black. Chrome bit his lip and put more pressure on your wound. He couldn’t bear to look at your face, to see the pallor of it and know that death was calling. To know that he was the one who’d failed you. 

“Stay with me, Commandant,” he said, fighting to keep the panic from his voice. “Don’t fall asleep.”

“I’m not asleep,” you slurred. Bloodless lips curled into the ghost of a smile. “Just resting my eyes.” Your breaths were rapid and shallow, in time with a hummingbird pulse that grew fainter by the minute.

“Tell me a story,” he said urgently. “The last book you read?”

Your eyelids fluttered, but didn’t open. It took you several long beats to answer. “We don’t have to do this, Chrome.” Your fingers closed around his wrist. “I know.”

He bit back the lies that curled on his tongue. He wanted so much to deny, to look away from the unbearable truth, but he couldn’t lie to you. He never could. He reached out to caress your face, thumb brushing over the swell of your cheek. You exhaled softly. “I’m sorry,” he said, voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head weakly. “Not your fault.”

“How can you say that? I promised them I’d bring you home. I was supposed to protect you and--”

You pressed a finger to his lips. Chrome could taste the blood on your skin. “Shhh,” you said with some effort. “It’s okay. You’ll be alright.”

“It’s not okay,” he insisted, holding your trembling hand between his own. “None of this is okay.”

“Well… I forgive you anyway.”

Those words shattered something inside him. Like a dam breaking, tears streamed down his face, drawn from some deep well of anguish without end. The pain inside him was a hunger that could not be satisfied, and would not be contained. There were so many things he wanted to say, but he couldn’t shape the words. Silent screams tore themselves from his throat, taking with them shattered pieces of his inhuman heart. Right then, he wasn’t a Construct; he was just a man with human hurts and human sorrows, mourning the loss of a human life. His grief called forth your own tears. They spilled down your cheeks in a bitter chain. Each staccato breath sent electric pain through your broken body, but you couldn’t stop. There was simply too much. Too much pain, too much regret. Too many things that needed to be said and not enough time to even begin. You could only cry and cry, and hope that Chrome understood. 

“Please don’t leave me,” he begged, head bent against yours. His voice was ragged and raw. “Please stay.”

“I want to,” you breathed against his lips. There were no more tears left in you. No space for grief. Only a dull ache and a growing numbness. “I’m scared. I don’t want to die.”

Chrome could have screamed. He could have ripped the world apart over the injustice of it all. But none of that would save you. He couldn’t kiss you better or change fate or reverse the flow of time. He could only hold you as you slipped from this world, as helpless as sand before the tide. 

“I would do anything to fix this,” he said, cradling your head between his hands. Your eyes were unfocused, the skin around them tight with pain. “I wish…” He blinked away the blurriness in his vision and tried again. “I wish I could have protected you.”

“What a… simple wish,” you rasped. “Lucky it already came true.”

“What?”

You smiled. Or tried to. It was hard to know what your body was doing anymore. “You protected my mind… My soul. That’s enough.” You swallowed thickly. It was getting harder to breathe. “Is it dark already? I’m so cold.”

Chrome gathered you to him gently. His arms around you were tight, but you hardly felt it. “I’m here,” he said in your ear, again and again. “I’ll always be here.”

Your head rolled back to rest on his shoulder. A chill was spreading through your body, as if ice had replaced the blood in your veins. It was uncomfortable, but you welcomed it. At least it didn’t hurt anymore. “Tell me something nice,” you said, letting your eyes drift shut. “A story… With a happy ending.”

A small sob escaped from Chrome. His breath quivered, dancing over your skin in small puffs of warmth. You wanted to wipe the tears from his face, to comfort him and be comforted in turn. But your body was no longer yours. It danced with death now, and you were simply a spectator in the stalls. You were so tired. You’d fought for so long. All you wanted was to sleep. Here, at the end of it all, you set down your burdens and let yourself rest. I’m listening, Chrome, you thought languidly, as the rhythms of your body slowed. 

-----------

Chrome felt like he was breaking apart at the seams, losing the very essence of himself to an uncaring world. All of his fleeting happiness felt so far away, like the remnants of an impossible dream. There was only a brief moment in time that was free of pain, brilliant and blinding like sunlight on waves. A lonely memory of kinder times. 

He returned to the landscape of his childhood, and began.

“Once upon a time, there was a prince who wanted for nothing. He had gold and gems and servants to fulfill his every wish. The world was at his fingertips, but he had no friends. He was lonely.” You gave a tiny hum. Chrome continued. “He searched high and low, but nobody cared for his formality and stiffness. They called him a robot, who didn’t know what it meant to be human. Then one day, he met a beautiful girl. She caught his attention immediately.” He pressed a kiss to your temple. “She treated the prince like any other person, without fear or judgement. And so she became his first and dearest friend.” 

You mumbled something, though he couldn’t make out the words. “The two went on many adventures together, defeating great evils across the lands. Dark beasts and corrupt kings and disease. After their journey closed, the prince found that he’d fallen in love with her. He loved her beauty, her bravery, and her intellect. She was everything he wasn’t and more besides. Their marriage was celebrated across the kingdom. Together, they ruled fairly and--” His voice cracked, but he forced himself to continue. “And there was no more suffering in their lands. Everyone was happy, but none more so than the king and queen. The end.”

You were silent. Your tortured breaths had faded to pained little gasps like you were choking on air. Your body twitched in his arms, fighting enemies he couldn’t see. Chrome let out a broken sob. “Go then,” he said. “Go if it hurts. Go. I love you.”

That seemed to be the permission you needed. Your body stilled with a final exhale. You were slack and cold against his chest, a dead weight upon his soul. He struggled against the urge to scream. Chrome buried his face in your neck and breathed you in, lavender on blood mixed with a cloying sweetness. “Come back,” he whispered against your skin. “Please come back to me.”

His heart beat steadily in his breast, a perfectly inhuman thing that never wavered. But he could still feel it break.

He wept like his soul was being ripped apart. 

Grief is red, roses and thorns all at once. Like chasing fire, I reach for the warmth of memory, but there is only the burn of flame. There is no comfort here, only endless paths of pain.

-----------

O R A N G E   |   b u r n i n g   c o a l s 

Hassen sighed. “I understand you’re distressed,” he said. “But I won’t accept your resignation.” He held up a hand before Chrome could object. “People who want to be Constructs are rare. Those who are compatible are even rarer. If you leave, there’s nobody to replace you as leader of Strike Hawk.”

“Kamui or Banji are more than capable,” Chrome countered adamantly. “They’re just as experienced.”

Hassen raised a brow. “Surely I don’t need to tell you experience isn’t the only measure of competence.”

Chrome fell silent. He knew Hassen was right, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it. His spirit was shattered. Picking up the broken pieces was a mountain he didn’t know how to climb. “I don’t know how to go on,” he said finally. “It’s too painful.”

“It’s painful now, but it’ll pass,” Hassen said. His breath hitched. “Trust me.”

Chrome didn’t think he could trust anyone ever again. Himself least of all. He nodded mutely. Hassen seemed satisfied with that. He turned to leave before pausing at the door. “You should attend the funeral,” he said after a moment. “It’ll help.”

Chrome felt like he’d been slapped. “No,” he said immediately. “I doubt Gray Raven wants to see the man who killed their Commandant.”

“They’ve had time to process. And grieve. I think they’ll want to see you.”

He said nothing. He could hardly look at the other man. Hassen sighed. “Just think about it.”

The doors hissed shut behind him. 

-----------

He couldn’t go to the funeral. He’d thought about it like Hassen asked, but there would be too much of you there. Too many reminders that you were gone, not even bones left to hold. He didn’t want to hear others talking of your life and glorifying your death. He couldn’t bear to hear of your bravery when all he could see was the fear in your face and the regret in your eyes. He still remembered the tremble in your hands, the way you’d clung to him and wept. Your words rang in his mind. Those words that chased him from day to night, and haunted him in hollow dreams.

I’m scared. I don’t want to die.

Chrome buried his face in his hands. The tears swept over the plains of his soul, trying to ease an unquenchable hellfire. He clenched at the sheets. Tore at his hair. He slammed his fist into the ground until sparks flew from metallic joints. 

But there was nothing that could heal the wound within. 

Grief is orange. Burning coals simmering under the surface, stirred to flame by the gentlest of reminders. It hides and it sleeps, but it never dies.

-----------

Y E L L O W   |   s e t t i n g   s u n

He stumbled, gasping for breath. His entire body hurt. Vital fluid leaked from a dozen places, but Chrome ignored it. Another swing, another slash. Corrupted hands reached for him like the groping hands of death. Something sharp dug into his shoulder. He grunted and swept his scythe in a blazing arc before yanking the blade from his body. His vision glitched. Warning signals flashed. Vital fluid loss. Stabilisation module damaged. Core processing unit under extreme strain. Chrome swept matted hair from his eyes. He didn’t need to be told his body was failing. He could feel it in the heaviness of his limbs, in the flaring pain that accompanied every movement. The world was dark around the edges. 

Is this how you felt, Commandant? Did it hurt like this?

His legs buckled. The ground rose to meet him even as the bright edge of a blade descended on his right. Chrome closed his eyes. 

“CAPTAIN!”

The clash of metal on metal was followed by the thunderous crash of something collapsing. Strong hands picked him up as his teammates slung his arms over their shoulders. “It’s not like you to be so reckless,” Kamui said with real fear. “It’s almost like you want to die.”

“I--” He broke off. Did he want to die? He hadn’t tried to defend himself at all. But he could have. He knew he could have. 

“Not yet,” Banji said quietly from his other side. “We still need you, Captain.”

Chrome hung his head. Shame and regret warred in his fragile heart. He didn’t know how to feel, but one thing was clear:

It wasn’t yet time. He’d have to keep you waiting a little longer. 

Grief is yellow. Soft and gentle, like the afterglow of a setting sun. Even when the flame has gone, it remains. It doesn’t burn anymore, but it haunts me all the same.

-----------

G R E E N   |   j a d e d   e y e s

The days were getting easier. He still felt the loss of you like a missing limb, but your phantom hands no longer suffocated him. Your lips no longer kissed to kill. You’d turned from a vengeful spectre into something softer, a shade that kept him company in the dark. He breathed, it seemed, for the first time in a long time. 

Yet his mind still caught at the smallest things. Lovers kissing in the dark. Two hands twined together. Laughter around the corner. He missed the warmth of your touch, soft and tender in a way only humans could truly be. He yearned for the press of your skin against his, intimate and secret in the lonely nights. He wanted to hear your voice and kiss your lips. More than anything, he wanted you beside him. Loving him as you could, the way he loved you. 

But there was only a shadow by his side, clinging to him with invisible claws. It held your shape and stole your face, but Chrome knew it for the monster that it was. 

“Congratulations,” he said politely, handing a beautifully wrapped present to the bride. “May your love be everlasting.”

The couple beamed at him, radiant in their happiness. Their gratitude was as real as his words were false. 

He turned away.

Grief is green. Envious eyes, jealous heart. I thought I was healing, but perhaps I am healing wrong. Who is the man in the mirror?

-----------

B L U E   |   o c e a n   d e p t h s 

Chrome, you said. Remember to breathe.

I am breathing, he thought, suddenly aware of the rising bubbles all around him. Big and small, wild and free, running towards the light above. Am I breathing?

You laughed. I’m not sure. I can’t tell.

He purposefully took a large gulp. Air flooded into his lungs despite the sunlit ocean around him. He laughed. That’s strange. Have I turned into a fish?

You’re very much not a fish, you confirmed. He couldn’t see you, but your voice was clear. Everywhere and nowhere all at once, like you were the very water itself. 

Where are you? He looked around, but there was only the endless sea. Crystalline waters vast and empty, and so beautifully blue. 

You sounded sad. Not with you, though I wish I was. 

Then come, Chrome said happily. I’ll pick you up. Just like always.

If only you could. But I think I’m a little too far away.

What do you mean?

You didn’t answer. The ocean was growing dark around him, black ink like oil rising from the depths. Smoky tendrils curled around his legs. He shuddered. Trying to kick them off only seemed to create more. He kicked towards the surface, but the sunlight was gone. The waters were ice against his skin, cold and unwelcoming. A black hand closed around his throat. 

Chrome thrashed desperately, but there was no escape. The blackness was complete, like the hand of night had crushed the world in its palm. There was no beginning and no end, no up or down. Only a darkness so deep it consumed all else. Help! Don’t leave! 

I can’t stay, you said. Your voice was already fading. Let me go, Chrome. 

Wait! He inhaled a lungful of grease. Come back! 

But you were gone. 

The sea swallowed him whole. 

-----------

Chrome woke with a start. The room was still grey; his alarm hadn’t gone off yet. He rubbed a hand over his face and stared at the sheets tangled around his feet. There was no black sea after all. Just twisted linen and hopeless dreams.

He rose and got dressed. 

Grief is blue. Endless like the ocean and just as deep. Vaster than the sky and just as curious. Always it finds new shapes to take, and new ways to hurt me.

-----------

I N D I G O   |   s c a r   t i s s u e

He’d taken to wearing your engagement ring on a chain around his neck. Always tucked away so nobody could see. Always there, warm against his artificial heart. He fingered the polished metal. It was a simple band. No diamonds or gold, not that there was any left to be had. But you’d smiled at him all the same, accepting his proposal with a giddy joy that had kindled his own. 

Chrome had secretly recorded the moment, intending to play it at your wedding. That was a shattered dream now, but he couldn’t bring himself to delete the data. He watched the clip again, smiling softly at the happy grin on your face. You peppered his face with kisses, arms and legs wrapped around his body. There was no audio, but he could hear every word.

He flicked the video off. Things like this no longer bothered him. Distance and time had dulled the pain and stitched his wound closed. The knife’s edge of memory was almost a comfort now, barely a scratch when it used to be a stab. Still, though he no longer bled, the scars lingered. And they would never let him forget. They would never let him forgive. 

No amount of time would ever wipe the stain of your blood from his soul. 

Grief is indigo. It’s what emerges at the edge of night, when the heat of day has passed. It’s the scar tissue that remains when the wound has closed. Even when it no longer hurts, I’ll always carry the memory of that pain.

-----------

V I O L E T   |   u n s e e n   s o u l

“If we attack from here, we can catch them in a pincer move,” Chrome said, pointing to the map. “Our chances of success will increase.”

“I agree,” she said, flashing a smile at him. Her hand rested close to his, so close he could feel the heat of her on his skin. “Looks like the majority agree with Chrome.” She nodded. “Great. That’s the plan then. Meeting adjourned.”

Chrome made to leave. “Wait, Captain.”

He turned. She smiled at him, clearing her throat awkwardly as she waited for the others to file out. Someone winked at him as the room emptied. His heart sank. 

“So,” she started when it was just the two of them. “You really took charge of that meeting.”

“Just doing my job,” he said lightly. “Can I help you with something else?”

She hesitated before meeting his eyes. They were large and earnest, so like yours. And yet so very different. His heart squeezed painfully. “I was wondering if you’d like to catch up for lunch sometime?” she asked shyly. Her voice was small and uncertain, so different from the proud Commandant of minutes ago. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking away. “I’m unavailable.”

She deflated immediately. “Really? I thought… I was told that you didn’t have anyone at the moment. Is it just me then?”

“It’s not you. It’s...” He trailed off. There really was no way to say it. “I’m not looking for anything right now.”

“Is it… Is it your fiancee? I heard about what happened.”

Chrome said nothing. She studied him and sighed. “It’s been three years since then, hasn’t it? This could be the start of something new.”

He smiled ruefully. “It could,” he admitted, brushing his fingers across her cheek. “But it won’t. I’m sorry.”

-----------

Chrome returned to his room. Your ring gleamed on the table, scuffed and bent after all the battles it’d seen. You’d loved that thing like it wasn’t just a piece of scrap metal. It carried a piece of your soul and would always be beautiful for it. Because it wasn’t just a fragment of you, it was the part of you that had been given to him freely in love and acceptance. And now, it was the only thing left to him. A dead thing that had taken your place in his heart. 

He sighed and sat on the bed. His room was the same as ever. The same four walls, the same white sheets. The same desk and lights and air. Only you had changed, leaving your physical body behind for a ghost that haunted him. But even that was gone now. There was only your ring, and the ash of his memories. 

Chrome thought back to the woman. He couldn’t deny that there was a part of him that was drawn to her, but there was a bigger part of him that couldn’t let you go. The Gray Ravens had gotten a new Commandant two years ago, one they treated with as much respect as they had you. Neither Kamui nor Banji had mentioned your name in years. The world had moved on while you slept. 

If he joined them and looked to the future, if he allowed himself to forget… You really would disappear. Just another grave. Just another statistic. He couldn’t bear that. Even if the world forgot, he wouldn’t. 

So long as he remembered, some piece of you would remain here, with him. 

So long as he remembered, he could pretend that life was still worth living. Because deep down, Chrome knew that while his body still moved and his heart still beat, the pieces of him that made him whole had died with you. 

And you would always be gone. 

Grief is violet. I can’t always see it, but it’s always there. The hidden seventh, an unseen soul. My love, one day, we’ll meet again. And I’ll tell you a brand new story.

[tf2-hellhole]

can we get some fluffy tf2 headcannons? giving you full creative liberty over this one! :)

Idk if you meant tf2 x reader headcanons or just general head canons, so I did two sections for each merc; the first point is a general headcanon, the second is X Reader.

sorry this took forEEEEEEEEVER, I was just experiencing burnout and working on a prize for a contest on my server (BTW WE HAVE A NEW DRAWING CONTEST GO CHECK IT OUT)

Scout:

Scout is actually really self-concious about his intelligence. He’s not very bright and he knows it, and it makes him feel horrible. He had flunked out of high school and struggled in most of his core classes. He honestly feels really stupid and he hates when people point it out. But luckily for him, a lot of the other mercs understand what it’s like to be looked down upon and empathize with him. Quite a few of them help him relearn the skills he never mastered in school. Engie helps him with math, Spy sometimes helps him with writing, and even Pyro has him read children’s books to them to improve his reading.

Scout absolutely loves little casual dates. Stuff like going out to eat lunch, going to the movies, maybe just cuddling up in his quarters and watching a movie. He tries to plan one every week. His dream date is taking you back to Boston to meet his family and go to a Red Sox game. But obviously, since you’re both in New Mexico at the time, he’s going to have to shelve that dream for a few years.

Soldier:

Soldier is an excellent raccoon dad. At first, the other mercenaries thought they’d all end up dead by the end of the month when he first found them. But surprisingly, they are are very well cared for. They’re all fed regularly and basically have his entire assigned quarters to themselves. He loves every single one of them dearly, even the ones that hiss and scratch him every time. The raccoons, at least some of them, are kind of like weird, quiet dogs, and actually get along pretty well with most of the other mercenaries.

Soldier is a surprisingly very physically affectionate partner, and he’s not at all opposed to PDA. He loves hand holding, cheek kisses, cuddles, the whole nine yards. Whenever he’s particularly excited, he loves to run up to you, scoop you up into his arms, and press a hard, sloppy kiss to your lips. Of course, he’s careful to not hurt you, but he’s a very intense, emotional guy and he needs to express all that love he has for you!

Pyro:

Pyro is and excellent listener, so they’re a person a lot of the other mercenaries depend on to vent. Demo often comes to them to vent about his emotions, Scout, Sniper, or Medic will rant about what’s bothering them, and even Engineer will talk about his stress. And of course, Pyro doesn’t understand a lot of what is told to them, but they’re still happy to help them feel a little better, and they would happily do it a hundred times over to make their friends feel better.

Pyro has a hobby of baking and making candy/treats, and they love sharing everything they make with you. When they first gave you a treat, you honestly thought it’d be burnt or bad in some other way. But to your surprise, it was amazing! They’re actually and excellent cook, but they just love making sweet things the best. They’ll make you just about anything you could ask for without hesitation, but they’re best at making anything sweet.

Demo:

Demo obviously has the potential to pretty emotional when he’s drunk, there’s no doubt about that. But on the off-chance that he’s sober, he’s actually pretty sweet and considerate. Though he still is a rough-housing joker, he’s much more considerate of his friends’ feelings and has deeper and more meaningful conversations with them. He often likes to go to bars with his friends and co-workers on ceasefire weekends, having lots of fun conversation, drinking together, and generally causing chaos around town.

Demo, to put it simply, doesn’t like himself. He’s critical of everything, from his skills to race, because people have always put him down about them. His mother told him he’s lazy and unskilled too many times to count, just everyone makes fun of his eye, and many have made fun of his skin color. But you make him feel so much better about himself. Just the fact that someone so kind and gorgeous is actually with him makes him feel like he’s not as horrible as he thought. There’s been a couple of times where you’ve accidentally almost brought him to tears with a sweet compliment or show of affection, because he never thought in a million years that someone would love him and care for him like you do. He feels so blessed that he has someone like you.

Heavy:

I know the fandom’s decided that Engie is the Team Mom and makes the food, but I also think that Heavy cooks a lot too. He makes all of his own food, so he often makes a lot of extras to feed the team because a lot of them just eat junk food and Medic’s always complaining about their eating habits. Heavy often takes like half the food for himself (he does have a huge appetite and loves food, so he likes to take a lot) and just boxes up the leftover portions and leaves them in the fridge for the team to take. He says he’s only doing it because they can’t work properly if they’re unhealthy, but he also does it because he cares about their health. A little bit.

At first, you wouldn’t think Heavy’s the most cuddly guy. But surprise, he actually loves giving and receiving physical affection. He just doesn’t show it often out of respect for your boundaries, and doesn’t do it around others. His absolute favorite thing is to cuddle you against his chest. Sometimes it’s when going to sleep, or cuddling on the couch, or maybe just a quick hug. He just loves the feeling of your head resting against his chest and your arms trying (and failing) to wrap around his torso. It makes him feel like you’re safe. Nobody could ever get you when you’re wrapped up in his arms.

Engie:

You’d think Sniper’s the only nature nerd on the team, but Engie absolutely loves the outdoors, as well as animals. It’s because his father would often take him out camping every couple of months. It was often the only time he would get 1-on-1 time with his usually very busy father. So he does love the great outdoors, especially that of his home state. He especially loves animals. He was raised on a farm and helped take care of lots of injured wild animals with his mother. He absolutely loves pets and would like to have many when he retires. His dream is to have is own ranch, with horses and cows and a bunch of dogs and the whole shebang.

Engie absolutely loves playing the guitar, so of course he loves playing for you. He learns all sorts of sweet love songs to sing to you. He’s an excellent player and actually has a pretty decent singing voice (think Johnny Cash, he kinda has that singing style). I hope you like country music, because that’s all he’s going to sing to you until you give him some requests or he finds out your favorite artists or genres. You can tell how happy he is every time he gets to surprise you with a new song he learned, and he’d be a giddy, laughing mess if you sang along with him.

Medic:

You’d think this guy takes horrible care of his birds because of the environment he keeps them in, but his birds are actually exceptionally well cared for. He buys them only the best and most expensive bird food, gives them super high-quality water with vitamins n stuff in it, takes them to the vet regularly, the whole shebang. Yeah they get a little dirty from sitting around in his lab, but he always gives them a little bath at the end of the day to get all the blood and guts off.

Medic is honestly such a playful partner. Of course, around his co-workers he’s a little more professional; he still gives you soft touches, a kiss on the cheek, or a big smile, but that’s about it. In private, however, he’s such a sweetheart. He’s always sweeping you up into big hugs, kissing all over your face, and calling you all sorts of adorable nicknames in a variety of languages. It comes as a surprise, because you’d think he’d be a little more formal, but that’s really only for special occasions. It honestly brings him so much joy to have someone like you by his side, and every day he’s going to make sure you know just how grateful he is to have you in his life.

Sniper:

Sniper is an incredibly independent and self-sufficient man, but he’s also secretly a real mama’s boy. He loves his parents dearly and has a particularly close relationship with his mother. As well as sending them money every month, he sends them all sorts of gifts, letters, postcards, and souvenirs. He also makes sure to call them regularly. He goes home every couple of months to visit them, and one could see that he loves helping around the house and chatting with his parents. His mother loved gardening, so his number-1 favorite thing to do is help her in the garden.

Despite Sniper’s obvious lack of knowledge on self-care, he takes a lot of time out of his day to make sure you are happy, healthy, clean, and well-fed. He doesn’t hound you like a helicopter parent but he likes to ask how you’re feeling, if you’re hungry, stuff like that. It feels nice to know you’re taken care of or take care of you himself. If you switch it around and try to take care of him, however, he’s honestly baffled as to why you would care so much as to make sure he’s doing well. He does absolutely love the affection and attention he gets out of it though, it makes him feel loved.

Spy:

I’ve mentioned this before, but I have a head canon that Spy has a dog. Her name is Charlotte, and she’s an elderly Chihuahua. One would think he’d buy a French breed, but he found her out in the pouring rain one day and fell in love with her fluffy ears and spunky personality. She’s now 17 years old, extremely frail, missing most of her teeth, and extremely aggressive to anyone other than Spy, but he loves her dearly and pays for all of her medical expenses without batting an eye. And of course, she expresses her thanks with lots of kisses.

Spy loves dancing, and knows all kinds of dances, from flamenco to ballroom dancing to the Charleston to, canonically, disco. So of course, he’s dying to share all of the most romantic dances he knows with you. He’d love to actually teach you how to dance, rewarding you with kisses every time you finally get a move right and laughing softly when you make mistakes. But in reality, he just wants to use it as an excuse to dance with you against his chest and smother you in affection.

[crown-anon]

aah i thought of a req!!!!! could i maybe request one shots or hcs (separate) w dream, sapnap, n wilbur with a s/o (preferred he/him!!) who draws a whole lot,, n one day they catch him drawing him?? tysm :]

@ghcstbnr asked

gn i just realized i made a typo i meant cc catching reader drawing them- but ty again :)

of course! it's kind of long, sorry about that

I took a little creative liberty with the notion of "catching you drawing." also Sapnap's looks kind of long but it's also dialogue heavy. if you want me to redo it, I will. hope you like it 💗

& a note to everyone else, I don't write for Wilbur yet! I only write for the dream team at this time. sorry about that! this will probably change in the future, though, so look out 👀

CW: swearing

format: one-shot

people: dreamwastaken, Sapnap

pronouns: dreamwastaken's piece is ambiguous, Sapnap's piece uses he/him

edited 27 April 2021

—

dreamwastaken

since he doesn't use his camera, you find yourself with your boyfriend in the studio more often than not. when he's gaming casually, you play together, or one of you will cheer the other one on. when he's streaming, sometimes you interact with the viewers, or read donations for him; sometimes you just sit next to him, soaking up his energy and warmth. when he's working long days and long nights to edit videos, you're content with just relaxing together in the same space. at times you have to drag him out to the kitchen to eat, or help him to bed if he passes out, but…he's really cute when he's focused. (and you're starting to think he does it on purpose just so you can dote on him.)

today is a little different. he's recording for a manhunt that's meant to drop in a couple days. you're quiet, trying to avoid disrupting them. you're perched up on the loveseat, staring fondly at him across the room. he's so animated, the way his eyes shine when he talks to his friends, how he tears up when he laughs…

Patches mews at you from the arm of the couch, as if to say, disapprovingly, I cannot believe how sickeningly sweet your inner monologue is.

and you try to understand where she's coming from, you really do, but the sun's starting to set, and the gentle rays slotting through the blinds are shifting from white to gold.

he looks so divine, you decide. it's unfair. how could I not love him? he's seriously pretty. and before you can stop yourself, you're sketching him out on your tablet. you glance up at him fast to get the details right, and look away just as quickly. he never meets your eyes. soon your whole page is covered in little Clays, capturing the way he feels, the way he acts, the way you feel about him. Patches jumps off the chair, with all the moving. and before you know it, you've drawn up a whole page of concept art of your unfairly beautiful boyfriend. Patches was right about me, you muse to yourself.

fuck. Patches. the same Patches who's been meowing at you for the better part of an hour, now sitting patiently at the door? there's no way Clay didn't pick up on all that noise, you fret. but he's still playing, looking intense as ever. relief washes over you, replacing the guilt.

come here, girl, you think to yourself, knowing Patches wouldn't have even understood you if you spoke. sorry to keep you waiting. and you rise, slipping quietly out the door with his cat in your train.

—

you're coming back to the studio. Patches, fed and sated, is napping in another room. opening the door, you have to stop yourself, you freeze. your boyfriend's kneeling on the ground, sitting on his heels, right next to the door—you'd have hit him if it opened any further.

"baby, what are you…" the words die on your tongue.

my book. my sketchbook. my sketchbook full of drawings of him. shit, he's gonna think I'm such a simp! the embarrassment, the shame, the fear, it's overwhelming you.

you hear your voice break. "…what happened to recording…?"

"finished half an hour ago," he says simply.

and that was that. for the first time in ages, the silence hanging between you was thick and heavy with tension. you wait. and wait. and wait. you wait for the criticism, the hate, the argument that never comes.

suddenly, he seems content with what he's seen, when he looks up at you adoringly, and takes one of your hands, giving it a soft squeeze. "is that…me?"

you've lost your voice, all you can do is nod.

"you…you think I'm beautiful?" he glows.

ah, I suppose I did write that, somewhere in there. you look away. all the things I've said…

he brings your hand up to his lips and leaves kisses on your knuckles.

you sound small. "do I not tell you that enough?" you pause. "that you're beautiful? that I love you?"

and just like that, his nervousness dissolves into euphoria. you both start laughing at the same time.

"oh my god—" he wheezes. "—you're so sappy."

"only for you," you blurt out, and start laughing harder. but he quiets, he hesitates.

"only for me," he repeats.

you sink down onto the floor next to him. he's staring so fondly at you, you can't help but smile back.

"only for you," you affirm.

he rests his hands on your knees, pulling himself closer to you. he's so close to you, you can feel his blush. you let your eyes close, softly.

but the kiss never comes. instead, you're met with a "then what about all those drawings of Patches?"

laying on the floor, tangled up in each other, in hysterics, you distantly think I hope he remembered to leave the call from recording earlier.

—

over dinner, you meet his gaze, and he gives you that look. that stupid, handsome look; the one with the smile and the danger behind his eyes. he makes a point of pausing mid-bite, but it takes you a minute to notice that he's stopped eating.

"what's up, honey?" you ask, sounding a little more concerned than you should have been.

he shrugs dramatically. "oh, nothing…just figured you'd appreciate a muse." there it was. the teasing. you knew it would happen eventually. but the tone, it's kind, it's tempting; gentle, unlike a serious jab.

so all you do is roll your eyes, but you can't help the way your mouth quirks into a smile. "you're so dumb," you murmur with affection, and shake your head at nothing in particular.

Patches curls her tail around your ankle as she passes you by.

—

on the couch hours later for movie night, you're the last one up. Patches is curled up in Clay's lap, purring. Clay, in turn, sleeps soundly in your lap. (you think if he could purr, he would, but he settles for humming softly when you play with his hair.) you might think it's funny looking back on it later, but it feels so tender and vulnerable now. you like calm evenings like this one. Studio Ghibli plays quietly on the flatscreen; you don't know which one, you're not really paying attention anymore.

you're busy tracing the contours of Clay's skin, feeling more than seeing his shape in the dark room. mapping him out in your mind, learning his figure like you're seeing him for the first time again. you think you understand him a little bit better, every day you spend together. and with confidence, you make your first stroke, illuminated by the moon.

—

Sapnap

you only barely stop yourself from drawing a big "X" across your paper. exhale, and start erasing furiously. don't rip the paper—well, we didn't need that sheet anyway. ball it up and throw it at the dark, cobwebbed corner of the room. along with the rest of your mistakes.

you're trying. you're really trying. but those lips. his fucking lips. fuck.

your boyfriend smiles at the camera as he gets a donation with a sweet message on it. it should be so easy. he's right there. right here.

you check the time. it's been an hour. you've been trying, and miserably failing, to get his lips right for an entire hour. today, at least. you scoff at yourself, your misery, and pinch the bridge of your nose. it isn't fair.

his camera's on, and he's live, so you know you can't be in there with him. nobody knows you're together, and you don't want know what kind of backlash to expect if people found out. so you've been avoiding his streams…the whole room where he streams, really.

you've kept yourself busy by drawing. and you've cycled through many subjects in your life, and eventually, been able to draw whatever you put your mind to with enough time and effort. the problem is, your sights have been set on Sapnap, even for months before you got together. okay, maybe that isn't the problem. the actual problem is that you fucking suck at drawing him.

you get going, start it out, do an okay job, but midway through screw it all up somehow. to make things worse, your reference is his 2D image. he doesn't…know that you draw him. you're terrified to say. so you can't use the real life Sapnap as a reference, like you would prefer.

ugh, and this one's ruined too. you rip it up and throw it at your growing pile of paper balls, but being tiny confetti-sized pieces of paper, they don't make it very far. great, something else to clean up later, you huff at your own thoughts. it isn't fair.

—

"[name]?" he calls for you. you're one step ahead, already opening the door. you can't remember when you got here and decided to brood outside his room.

"hey, do you think you can—" he tears his eyes from his camera, his waiting audience, to look up at you expectantly. when he sees you he stops immediately, looking concerned, standing to meet you.

"what is it?" your voice is flat.

out of view of the camera, he mouths, are you okay? you only shrug and avert your eyes.

he falters, contemplates, sits back down at his desk and starts to talk to his viewers. "hey guys, I'm sorry for the short notice, but I gotta cut this stream short. my…" he glances at you for approval, only to see you motioning with your hands as if to say, no, don't.

(you yourself don't really know what for. no, don't end the stream for me? no, don't out us like this?)

he looks back. "…my friend…something came up with my friend. I have to take care of it. it's really important." you can tell he has trouble finding the right words. you can tell it throws him off, he's acting out of character for his internet personality. do you blame him? isn't this your fault? "sorry again. bye guys!"

the second he made the last click, he gets up and pulls you into a hug. it's unexpected, it knocks the wind out of you. you're certain he feels the tension.

"babe…what's wrong?" it's muffled by your neck and the sweater you're wearing. you just hold him, saying nothing.

he pulls away and holds you by the shoulders. "look at me. what's wrong?"

you feel all the more embarrassed. it's so silly to be upset about. "I…I…well, it's a lot."

he shakes his head, to say I'm not going anywhere, but his expression softens, his grip loosens. "do you want to talk about it?"

you sigh. "it started as 'I can't draw for shit', then it became 'why am I afraid of asking you for help?', and finally, worst of all, 'why the fuck can't we be seen together?' it isn't fair. it's never been fair. I'm sorry."

he thinks about it for a second. "okay, what makes you feel like we can't be seen together?"

"are you joking?" you snap. "we're two fucking boyfriends. in this society." he didn't look hurt by the outburst, but the guilt crept in anyway. "…I'm sorry."

he shakes his head, "do you really think I'd let that happen? I wouldn't ever let anyone hurt you, darling. remember that."

"I know, I know…" you don't know what to say. "it's easy to forget, I guess."

"what are you afraid to ask me for help about?"

"I…" shit, you guess you have to tell him. close your eyes, breathe, "I've been drawing you. trying to draw you. but I can't, it never turns out right."

you peek, and he's red in the face, stuttering. "me? you draw me? of all the hot people out there?"

you furrow your eyebrows at him. "don't give me that shit. you know you're cute."

he shakes his head incredulously. "are we talking about the same person here?"

"dude, your smile is literally the most radiant fucking force of nature I have ever seen."

"you're hot too! why are you coming after me?"

"I'm not 'coming after you', you're being defensive about your looks, when you shouldn't be! you're gorgeous, baby."

you're both giggling like girls at a sleepover, the anger and frustration long forgotten. now it's a war of who can be more grossly in-love with the other.

"what part of me," he manages between laughs. "are you having trouble drawing?"

"oh god," you groan, remembering yourself and your dilemma. "your lips."

"my fucking lips? you would think that—"

"no," you warn. "shut up. don't say it. don't you dare say it."

he leans in close, his hands have moved up to cup your face. you shiver.

"don't worry," he grins. "I won't."

the kiss is long and sweet, nothing like the ones you've shared in the past. he takes his time, you savor each other. you feel time stop ticking, you feel your heart stop beating, you feel the way he tilts his head. you grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him in. and when you part, you're breathing heavy, in tandem.

"thanks," you manage. "but I needed to see your lips, not kiss you into next saturday."

"nah," he laughs. "I think you needed that too."

you choose your words thoughtfully. "do you need me, too?"

he hums, and—

ding!

dreamwastaken donated $69!

:)

you could die. you could really, seriously die.

the response is instant. you don't even see Sapnap move from you to the PC, flushed down to his neck, apologizing, apologizing, and apologizing again. "change of plans, guys, we're doing an art stream!"

the chat is filled with "huh?"s and "what?"s.

"huh? what?" you didn't have the time to process what just happened.

karljacobs: I thought we were doing a make-out-with-our-secret-boyfriends stream :(

he smiled warmly at you. "yeah. my lovely boyfriend is going to draw me! he's been wanting to for a really long time, and his art is really good. let's go get your stuff."

you're in so much shock that he makes it past you and out of the room, while you stand there waiting. after a pause much longer than you intended, you hurry after him.

—

down the hall, in your room, he's got your sketchbook tucked under his arm, closed. you're sure you left it open when you came out.

you only barely get the words out. "um, did you…go through it? please don't laugh."

your heart sinks when he laughs heartily, but he grabs your hand, resting it on your book, about to hand it off. but he holds you there for a second. "of course not. I respect your privacy." he ponders for a moment. "I respect you."

you can feel the sigh of relief when you let it out. "I…love you."

your holding your book now, as he moves to collect the boxes containing your pens and pencils and colors. he gets them all together, but before he picks them up to head back, he turns around to face you. "is this too much?"

you absently reach for a hand, tracing over the lines on his palms. and you think about it. am I okay? is this too much?

"I don't think so. not with you. I'm okay."

he moves to open the door and grab the rest of your things. "well then, let's not keep them waiting!"

—

edited 27 April 2021

[my-writings-and-musings]

Same anon thank you for answering my question! I was wondering if you could do headcanons for MTMTE Rung, Megatron, Rodimus, Minimus, and Swerve with an Artisic human reader that just sees the good and creative artist side of everything? From books to pictures to even their own bot? Like they can just look at their bot and go out on a whole rant on how beautiful their optics are from the color to their expression. if that’s too many characters you can take any one, I don’t mind! Thank you and have a good day ❤️

You're welcome! I'm always open for clarification, so feel free to ask questions about whatever you'd like if you're unsure on anything. I took a little liberty with this one, but I've got all the requested bots because darn it all these beautiful mechs deserve recognition!

Rung

·He discovers your artistic inclination thanks to years of experience reading personalities and emotions at a glance, but he wasn't prepared for the depth of your conviction in seeing the world through a creative lens, which he learned upon speaking to you about your process as an artist. This surprise grows as he sees you sketching around the ship, your exuberance for the inherent beauty in everything coming through in every conversation you share.

·When he praises some of your sketches on a quiet day in his office and is compelled to ask how you developed your style, he's fascinated by your explanation, and his spark is warmed by how beautifully you describe the world around you and credit it for inspiring you. He's visibly shocked when your list of current subjects and muses includes him specifically, and you can't help but chuckle at the usually calm bot looking so absolutely flustered. There's no way for him to hide any of that feeling when he requests a bit of clarification; there's hundreds of bots on board, what about him could possibly stand out?

·You're happy to elaborate on your process to a bot who so regularly underestimates his worth and lay out why he in particular piques your interest. The warmth and goodness of his being is such a rare and beautiful thing, you explain, but also so rarely appreciated that it drives you to try and capture that essence in a manner one can see. How could you not? Such compassion and empathy and forgiveness should be remembered! You've also seen that he's capable of accepting any genuine apology, and to have that level of mercy after so much war is beautiful, enough that you have to try and show it.

·To say he's touched is an understatement of unfathomable proportions. Removing his lenses to clear optics blurred with tears, he doesn't even know how to begin processing your praise of his character when you add that his physical self hardly fails to encourage you either. His glasses nearly slip from his hands when he hears you say that. You continue quite easily; the kindness in his optics and the sweetness of his smile, combined with his genuinely handsome profile, simply inspire you to start sketching.

·He's touched, but you have to understand, he is NOT accustomed to this level of praise. Between the near tears and the blushing he has to politely excuse himself to recover from this absolute tsunami of emotions, but being flustered and melted at once is enough to have him smiling through a little blush all day long. While he tries to take a little bit of your mindset into his everyday life going forward, he gets a bit dazed every time he sees a sketch of yours that includes his face, as that level of artistic devotion being dedicated to him is more than he'll ever be able to process. Not that he minds...

Megatron

·Being more familiar with the written word, he enjoys the arts but has little experience with those who create them, and time has not been on his side in regards to learning more. Thus, you're one of the first artistically inclined individuals he's been able to discuss the topic with, which he was motivated to do after catching a glimpse of your work. He could swear some of your sketches bear a resemblance to him, but he says nothing on the matter and is certain his optics are tricking him.

·Your talk of technique quickly surprises him by shifting to inspiration, which to you is the primary driving force of your work, as it influences how you go about conveying the subject matter. Eager to share what you mean, you explain that anything can have beauty worthy of capturing if you just take the time to look at it right. Even the most mundane or seemingly unappealing things can be remarkable if you know their story, and you want to convey that energy as wordlessly as possible.

·A little overwhelmed but quite impressed by your manner of reasoning, he rather jokingly asks if even beings like himself could ever inspire you, or perhaps another artist with your mindset. He's caught off gaurd like never before when you, quite enthusiastically, reply that he most certainly can and does! To keep his composure he recalls portraits of his likeness being commissioned to inspire his soldiers, but never believing these fell under the category of art so much as they did propaganda. They often depicted him quite... violently as well.

·Having never seen these pieces, you reply that your own experience is tied more to how you see him now, and you flip through your sketchbook to demonstrate. As close to your level as can be, he's speechless while you explain what you wanted to capture about him in each sketch, whether it's a quick study or a detailed project; and that's how safe he makes you feel. Hearing himself referred to as a protector cuts straight through his powerful armor.

·You depict him looking almost... gentle? Hearing you describe the his immense size as a source of comfort and his strength as a tool of keeping peace processes about as clearly to him as a foreign language, but he nods along and keeps the conversation going until his duties call him away. Though he says nothing of it, he volunteers himself for more of the physically demanding work around the ship. His body's purpose had always been decided for him, but you've reminded him he has the only true say in its use, and that everything really is a matter of perspective. Perhaps he'll take up sketching once this is all over.

Rodimus

·He's certainly always had an appreciation for visual appeal, even if his idea of beauty doesn't often overlap with what most would consider artistically valuable. This and his natural alertness makes him quick to notice you often sketch about the ship, frequently when he's present, but at first he leaves you alone to work in peace. Having a hobby on this crew is beyond valuable, and he doesn't want to distract you from a passion... That is, until he decides on one especially slow day to just ask you what you like to doodle about.

·You can tell he wants to be a little nosy, if only because he's naturally a curious bot about these things, but you're more than happy to share regardless. There's a lot due to the ample downtime on the quest, and he has to squint so he can properly scan the many sketches on the human sized paper. He happily recognizes friends, locales about the ship, even earth things he knows about... but he's not ready when he finds a picture of himself.

·While he remains outwardly playful, teasing you with how he'd pose if you only asked, he's internally flattered that you took the time to draw him. More specifically, he's touched by the way you drew him. The sketches and portraits portray him as a calm but amicable leader, standing tall and serving as a guide to those around him, a true "father to his men" kind of bot... it's everything he wants to be, but is quite certain he's not. He's barely able to keep up his smooth persona when he asks about your process.

·You explain that you find inspiration in everything, but he's been your chosen subject lately for a lot of reasons. It's no secret he's handsome, but you see something more when you look at him, and you did everything you could to show it here; there's a real leader in him. Maybe some bots don't see it under all the bluster and sarcasm, but you see how much he cares for every bot on his crew. He wants to be the best for all of them, and even if he struggles at times, that effort is beautiful to you.

·It takes everything in him to bite back some very embarrassing tears, and the crack in his voice doesn't help him hide the emotion, though he covers that up with unconvincing coughs and claims something got in his optic. From then on he seems to stand a little taller and find his assigned duties a little easier to bear, but you absolutely notice how he poses in what he believes to be heroic fashion whenever your sketchbook comes out. Inspired by his enthusiasm, you invite him to model more officially, and the crew is just happy to see him so enthusiastic.

Minimus

·Being as observant as he is, your consistent appraisal of your surroundings is not something he'd ever miss, but your frequent sketching in the most random places does leave him absolutely mystified. Every time he sees you there's artistic supplies on your person, but he can't find anything that appears to be worthy of putting to paper, so what could you be drawing? He respects your privacy too much, and feels too silly about his curiosity, to interpret and ask you for an explanation.

·Thus it's with some small eagerness that he finds one of your sketchbooks after it's been misplaced, and he sees the perfect opportunity to slip in a question. For the sake of handling something so tiny, he approaches without his armor, offering the lost item back with barely concealed pride at your delight to have it returned. In the moment of truth he nearly falters, but does indeed manage to ask what you draw around the ship. He leaves out the fact that he's observed you whenever you draw in his presence.

·The question has an answer only he seems to think isn't obvious; him! You spend time together frequently, and while everything is fair game for sketching, he's a very regular subject for you. Whether he's wearing the Magnus armor or not, you explain that the commanding aura he radiates is something you can't help but find beautiful. That word choice baffles him enough that he has to interrupt; beautiful? Commanding? Even without his armor?? You're delighted to assure him that you absolutely mean that.

·Hearing you describe the details of your reasoning, like the quiet dignity of his stance or the calm intelligence of his red optics, touches his spark in ways he wasn't expecting. He's calm and speaks softly as he keeps the conversation going, asking questions about your various works and listening attentively when you answer, processing your view of the universe as being packed with beauty in all the places people don't think to look.

·Any bot that sees him during the remainder of the day absolutely notices the change to his entire demeanor; namely that he's smiling a soft and barely perceptible smile. It's not long after he requests a few sketches from you to keep in his office, whether they're of him or not, and he has them framed in places of honor. He doesn't tell you, but you figure it out, that one particular drawing of him you gift for his sake is kept securely stored in a compartment by his spark.

Swerve

·Many bots may see him being a tad bit on the shallow side when it comes to the arts, but our beloved barkeep has his own unique appreciation for creativity and all the ways it can be visually expressed, and you recognize it not long after meeting him. As his bar is a frequent hangout for everyone, you find it to be a fantastic place to sit and sketch, as the variety of bots makes it quite easy to have your choice of subjects even if you have to sit on a table. Obviously Swerve notices and asks you what you're drawing when traffic slows one evening.

·You're happy to show him your work and he's always eager to hear what everyone is up to, so he starts asking questions about your art in general. How long have you been an artist? What's it like suddenly having a whole ship of aliens to sketch? Why draw here all the time? At that query you light up brilliantly, and he's delighted by your enthusiasm as you describe all the incredible sights the bar has to offer.

·You list some of your favorite things to draw, like the many friend groups on the ship that gather here, the brilliant colors of the glowing vats of enjex, and him smiling and rushing with orders through it all. That last one gets a flash of surprise from behind his visor, which is quickly overtaken by exuberant delight; you've been drawing him?! He babbles out a surge of confusing statements that you're eventually able to interpret as a request to see, just one he's too bashful to say directly.

·Happily obliging, you're touched by how he smiles at every little sketch, and feel compelled to explain that he's a big part of why you love drawing here. You try to see beauty in everything, even what often gets overlooked, and there's so very much of that here. The bar is one of those places that everyone knows is special, but you know he's the reason they love it like they do, and that his enthusiasm and hard work hold it all together. You find that inspiring, and actually quite beautiful. It doesn't hurt that his brilliant smile is always a treat to sketch.

·Trying to play it cool and totally failing, he doesn't quite hide that he's near to tears when he asks if you'd like to hang some of your work up in the bar, or maybe have a little corner for yourself to draw from. He just doesn't want you getting squished while you sketch, is all! And having a better vantage point is ideal for someone so small! When you accept, he gives you your own human sized accommodations not too far from the heart of the bar, and every so often when you sketch he'll glance up at you absolutely beaming.

[s-creations]

Hatching Day

José wished he could say he was prepared to raise children. But his past life and self-doubt leads him to think he's not as ready as he promised he would be.

Fandom: DuckTales 2017 / The Three Caballeros       Rating: General Audience       Relationships/Pairings:  José  Carioca/Donald Duck/Panchito Pistoles Additional Tags: Self-Doubt, Depsression, These are minor but still talked about, Hatching, The babies are arriving!

Part of a Series Called: We’re the Three- Sorry, Six Caballeros!

Hello there! I will say, as a bit of a warning, maybe(?), that I'm unaware of José's or Panchito's cannon family members or relationships with their family. There's a lot of creative liberties being used in this AU to match what I want to write. This is just a heads up.

Edit on 02/20/2021: I changed a few words and fixed a few sentences. Nothing major.

José was not much of a ‘family’ person. His own was small and very close minded. It was the father’s way, the man of the house ran the show. You kept your mouth shut or you would be on the receiving end of some punishment. José had left as soon as he could, at the age of 16. No matter how much his mother begged or his father threatened. He left them behind and was honestly better for it. At least, that’s what he told himself. 

 That didn’t mean any relation after this meant much of anything either. They never lasted long. José knew his looks attracted a lot of attention. Parrots were not uncommon. Even more so where he grew up and lived. But his plumage was eye catching and he knew it. Vibrant green was adored and sought after by many. So, while his appearance could draw anyone’s attention in, whatever relationship that could happen fell apart quickly.

 Apparently José’s personality wasn’t too pleasing. Once the charisma fell away, people weren’t thrilled with the parrot’s worries or morose outlook on life. They were expecting to have a carefree parrot with vibrant feathers and an equally blinding personality to cling to their arm. Not a burden. Which was something José had heard numerous times. He quickly learned to play the part of the charmer and leave as quickly as possible the next day. 

 That was how he lived for years. 

 Until he met Panchito. 

 The rooster had been drawn in by the bright plumage, just as others before. José, however, was truthfully curious about the overly friendly and energetic bird. One that seemed to have the parrot stay with him while Panchito soaked in the culture. Curiosity turned to a dangerous attachment that José wasn’t prepared for. One he thought was going to eventually fall away when the rooster realized he didn’t want the parrot around. Only to be taken by the hand, allowing Panchito to take him away from Bahia, back to Mexico where the rooster lived. 

 It was the first time the parrot had experienced someone truly caring for him. Panchito more than patient when José couldn’t carry the suave personality any longer. When he just wanted to hide away and not face the world. Panchito made it clear that he didn’t love the parrot for the facade. He just wanted José. And it was something the parrot struggled with understanding for a while. 

 Just as he was getting comfortable in their relationship and happily traveled around Mexico with Panchito, they attended a local bar that was playing host to the American Navy. Where they met a duck with an interesting accent, a short fuse, and feathers so white it was blinding in the proper light. The relationship with Donald did start as a friendship. But was something that changed to admiration when he showed how fiercely loyal he was. When, on a night out, a stranger had gotten a little too ‘friendly’ with José. It was an amazing show that only lasted a few seconds. The duck knocked the other down with one hit and was making sure José was okay before anyone could even blink. 

 It all turned to painful longing when Donald had to leave. As they watched the ship leave shore, José felt his heart breaking. Turning to the rooster to find a similar look of longing on Panchito’s face as well. It was a silent agreement between the two that, if they ever found Donald again, they wouldn’t let him go. 

 It was a few years later, in a small village in the middle of the jungle, when they found the duck again. Donald seemed to be there with his Great Uncle Scrooge McDuck (the heck!?) and his twin sister Della Duck. The three were there to hunt down some treasure that José doesn’t remember the name of. It didn’t matter as Donald was just as thrilled upon seeing the other two as they were to see him. 

 That evening was spent hidden in a hotel room. Avoiding the heavy rain and scrutinizing eye of Scrooge as they hung around his nephew. The water falling heavily outside hid the already quiet confessions. Tentative kisses were exchanged before they huddled together on the small bed, falling asleep with smiles on their faces. 

 José was shocked but extremely happy when Donald told Scrooge the next morning that he was staying with the parrot and rooster. The older duck was not happy with the idea of leaving his nephew with birds he’d had never met before. It could have turned into an all out fight if  Della hadn’t saved the day by saying it would be best for Donald to take a break from their normal, adventuring routine. Giving the duck a chance to explore the world in his own way. Let him live his life for once.

 If the glare from Scrooge held any indication, he was somehow aware of the budding relationship between the three birds. And was no doubt less than pleased that his nephew was running off with these strangers. But José couldn’t honestly care less. He was with the two people he loved the most in his life and who understood him. The following year and a half was spent traveling the world. Barely a penny to their names, doing performances at hole-in-the-wall bars to make sure they had food and shelter for the night.

  It was a time the parrot liked to reflect on when Donald had to leave them. 

 Their travels came to a halt when Scrooge contacted his nephew. Saying there was one final adventure he needed the duck’s help on. In turn, Donald bargained that he was only going to give up one year to help with this new journey. José still felt a worrying sickness when he and Panchito saw the duck off. Even with the number of times the duck promised he would be back soon. The parrot felt as if there was a dark cloud over the horizon.

 One year turned to two. Donald kept in contact as best he could. Saying the final adventure had a number of unforeseen hurdles. Two became three. Now there was talk of Della carrying. Frustration coming from Donald because his sister was still determined to finish this one final adventure.

 It was halfway through year three that José felt that storm finally hit. He and Panchito began to worry when Donald hadn’t checked in during his normal time. Which only grew when their calls went unanswered. Leaving message after message with someone named Duckworth in hopes that Donald would get back to them soon. It all came to a worrying conclusion when they found the reason for the sudden silence when they reached out to Fethry in a final, desperate act. Only to be hit in the gut when the scatterbrained duck explained what had been happening. 

 The spaceship that took years to build and perfect. Della’s sudden pregnancy, which caused an uproar among the Duck/McDuck family as she wouldn’t tell who the father was. While they’d been aware of Della’s determination of this final adventure, José and Panchito felt sick when they learned that she wanted to fly the spaceship. Even when carrying and finally delivering the eggs, it was all she talked about doing. Then she stole the spaceship the adventuring family had been working on for so long in the middle of the night and left. 

 Just left. No note. No message. Nothing.

 José felt a sickening furry slowly build up within. What kind of person just leaves their own unhatched children? This new adventure wasn’t worth it! The parrot was ready to tell Fethry to let them talk to Della, so he could give her a piece of his mind, wondering why she thought a late night cruise among the stars was okay, when they were told she was gone. An unforeseen obstacle bringing her untimely end. Scrooge and Donald were no longer speaking with each other and the younger duck taking over caring for Della’s unhatched eggs.

 José and Panchito were on the first flight to American they could get. In less than three months afterwards, they were all married, living in a comfortable apartment, holding well paying jobs, and raising three eggs. 

 And José was honestly terrified. 

 He didn’t regret moving, or marrying, or finally settling down. But raising kids? Was he stable enough for that? Donal and Panchito were comforting and supporting when the parrot wasn’t in his best form. But they were aware of what was happening, they were adults. José didn’t have to say anything and they understood. Children were too young to understand why one of their caretakers might be smiling one day and closed off the next. 

 Would José have the same anger issues like his own father? 

 He shivered weakly at the thought, his buzzing mind finding relief when Panchito shifted in his sleep. The parrot tensing as he waited for the other to settle back down before relaxing himself. Donald, who was clinging onto the parrot’s back, mumbled weakly as he nuzzled against the green feathered neck. Despite the comfort and warmth, José still could not fall asleep. Eyes wandering back over to the crib where the eggs were resting.

 They’d been warned by the doctor that the eggs would be hatching soon. Any day in fact. Donald went on full alert to duckling proof the apartment and having the nursery properly prepped. Panchito had been hit with sudden inspiration, pulling up numerous lullabies and stories he wanted to share when the eggs hatched. And José...started to silently panic.

 He shivers again feeling a beak gently preen over the top of his head. Which quieted the spinning thoughts. 

 “I can hear your busy mind.” Panchito whispered, José hearing the exhaustion in his voice.

 “Desculpe querido.”

 “What’s wrong?”

 José pressed closer. Hands slowly brushing through the red feathers. “...What if they hate me?”

 “Who, the eggs? Why would you think that?”

 “With my job, I am going to be gone for so many days at a time. Will they forget about me every time? Will I just be the stranger that lives with them? And you know that I am…” He swallowed, burying himself into the crook of Panchito’s neck. “...What if I do not love them? What if it is just a neutral relationship? What am I going to do?”

 “Shhh, cálmate mi amor. The fact you’re so worried about this shows me how much you care. You can’t judge on something that hasn’t happened yet. And do you truly think we wouldn’t talk about you when you’re away? They will know so much about you it will be like you never left.” 

 José sighed softly. “You make it sound so easy.”

 “Because it is. Now, calm your head and get some sleep.”

 “...Chito? Can you…”

 “Of course, get comfortable.”

 The parrot did as requested. Moving his head back down to rest properly on Panchito’s chest, Donald settled back down as well. José smiled softly when the beak returned to the top of his head. Smoothing through the feathers as José felt himself finally drift off to sleep.

 __________________________

 It was two days later when the eggs hatched.

 José was watching over them in the living room. Resting on the sofa while the eggs were in a cloth nest on the floor nearby. Donald and Panchito working on cleaning the kitchen after dinner. It was calm. The definition of domestic bliss. Until the parrot heard the first crack. 

 His eyes instantly snapped over to the bundle of fabric. Scanning over each egg, briefly wondering if he had just imagined the sound. Only to find a small crack forming along the top of an egg. That grew further pronounced as the seconds ticked by.

 “Hatching…” José was able to weakly force out, barely above a whisper. 

 “What’s wrong?” Panchito turned away from the soapy water. 

 “The eggs are hatching.”

 There was the sound of shattering porcelain. Donald had allowed the plate he was supposed to be putting away in the cupboard to slip from his hands. The duck’s eyes wide with shock. “What...did you say?”

 José was spared repeating his answer when another crack sounded. Louder this time and followed by small peeps. 

 “Oh, okay!” Donal turned only to falter over figuring out what he needed to grab first. “Oh Selene, it’s actually happening. Um-”

 “¡Cuidadoso! The plate! You don’t want to cut yourself.” Panchito advised, offering a hand to keep Donald balanced as he stepped over the pieces. 

 “Right, you’re right. Um, we just...we need… What do we need?”

 José faltered slightly when the egg cracked again, the frantic sounds coming from the kitchen were not helping his nerves. 

 “¡Acalme-se!” The two others froze in their spot, eyes traveling over to the parrot. Who was letting out a slow breath. “Alright, pay attention. Donald, get the broom and dusting pan. Clean up the dish then come out here. Panchito, I need clean towels and warm water. Warm. Not hot. If it is so much for you, it will be too much for them. We will need them in order to get them clean and dried. We also need towels to wrap them in once they are cleaned. Once you have that come out here.”

 Both nodded before breaking away to complete their given tasks. Still trying to calm his nerves, José sat back down, placing a hand on part of the unbroken shell while he picked away pieces. 

 “Hey little one, you are doing great. Just keep pushing. You are almost out.” The parrot let out a small noise of glee when a yellow face suddenly broke free from the egg. Feathers slick and matted down, sticking to the pink skin underneath. A small beak ‘peeped’ softly sounding before the duckling started chipping away again. “There you are… They are breaking out, I can see one!”

 “We’re here, we’re here.” Donald panted weakly as he set a bowl filled with warm water down with an arm full of clean towels. Panchito sliding into the other side of José, letting out small coos and words of encouragement as they watched. 

 That's how all three sat. Pressed together as they gave gentle words, the duckling continuously pushing its way out. There was a collective gasp as the egg finally gave way. The duckling falling out and landing on his stomach. Squirming in the blanket nest as they attempted to right themselves. Donald reacted first. Carefully holding the small form up as his free hand dampened a cloth. Wiping gently over the new feathers and clearing the gunk away from the duckling’s eyes.

 Once cleared away, the eyes opened to reveal a deep amber color. Looking almost brown in a different light. 

 There was no time to rest as the next egg began to break free. As it was closer to Panchito, the rooster grabbed his own cloth to prep. It took less time for this duckling to arrive. While the first seemed to be methodical with its freedom, searching for the best way out, this duckling was more determined to break out as fast as possible. In it’s excitement, the duckling flopped out onto his back. Arms and legs moving frantically as it tried to sit back up. 

 “Aguanta pequeño. You took a bit of a tumble.” Panchito laughed as he cradled the small form close. He cleaned the eyes, both opening to reveal bright blue. The duckling gave a small giggle as they grabbed their feet. “Awww! They’re so eager!”

 José laughed softly at the scene before his attention shifted to the final egg. As the seconds passed, worry started to grow. The parrot’s legs eventually started to bounce as they waited. “The color is still good… How long do we wait? Do we even have a small enough tool to help and not hurt them?”

 Panchito gave a smile and gently preened José’s neck. “It’s only. We just need to be patient. Let them figure it out.”

 That didn’t calm José in the slightest. It was a few more tense moments before the first crack formed. Even then, all three were on edge and it took longer for the first section shell to break away. With a break in the egg, the duckling still seemed to be struggling. Being cautious, the parrot reached forward to help break more away.

 “José…” Donald’s tone held worry and a warning.

 “I think they need help. If a duckling is unable to break free on their own, parents or guardians are allowed to help.” The parrot argued back, continuing his work. A small form flopped into the parrot’s open hand soon, giving a small peep of confusion as they clung onto the parrot’s feathers. Grabbing his own cloth, José continued to speak calmly as he could while cleaning the residue off. 

 Eyes of forest green were soon looking up at José. Head tilting as the duckling seemed to be determining what exactly the parrot was. “Someone appears to be the curious type.”

 The parrot flinched slightly when a cream colored blanket entered his field of vision. Donald gave a smile before shaking the blanket again. Giving a nod of thanks, José took it and easily swaddled the duckling.

 “That was skillfully handled.” The duck casually commented. 

 “I have watched a lot of videos about this. Covered as much information I possibly could. Even asked some of the mother flight attendance for advice. I...I just didn’t know what to expect.” José flushed softly when a kiss was placed on his cheek. Turning to look at Donald, who smiled back.

 “I knew you were ready for this. You were worried for nothing.” 

 The parrot huffed as his cheeks darkened. Feathers ruffled when he stared down a sheepish looking Panchito. “Did you tell Donald.”

 “If it keeps you up at night, then it’s an issue we all need to be aware of!”

 José’s retort was cut short when a disgruntled peeping sound was heard. The duckling in his arms had their face screwed up, legs kicking as best they could in the swaddle. “Oh, they...they are hungry.”

 “I’ll get the bottles.” Donald easily passed his duckling over to the parrot before standing and heading to the kitchen.

 Own duckling finally calming down, Panchito carefully closer to the parrot. He and José leaned against each other as they admired the small bundles they held. The first was in a state of just about to fall asleep. The middle was still wiggling around, but was thankfully staying in the swaddle. The third was still, eyes cautiously looking around as if trying to assess the situation. José marveled at how young they were and how their personalities were already coming through. 

 His heart swelled with absolutely adoration with every second that passed. Bending down to carefully move his beak through the fluffy yellow feathers. The green eyed triplet chirped, giving a wobbly smile as José pulled away. The parrot felt himself just melt. He was so unbelievably happy at that moment.

 “We need names.” Panchito suddenly said.

 ...Aw phooey. 

[misssunflowersandsangria]

Thread

Hello my sparkling Suns!  Suna Family Fluff #2 here! Todays’ ficlet features Temari and Gaara.  I took creative liberties with this one and kind of put more years between Tem and Gaara.  Hope you enjoy it! 

*

**

Temari stepped into the nursery on light feet.  She knew that if anyone found her there she’d be in a lot of trouble.  She peered over the crib to look at the little baby.  He was so tiny.  He’d grown only a little bit from when he’d first been born but he was still so small.

Her father had forbidden anyone from coming into contact with him but it seemed unlikely that something so small could hurt anyone.  

Her mother had passed and while her heart had been completely shattered she didn’t have time to mourn the loss.  Temari’s father told her that she needed to be strong.  That tears weren’t allowed in the desert.  So she choked back her sadness and pushed forward.  She needed to be there for Kankurou and now Gaara.  At least she and Kankurou had some memories of their mother.  Gaara had none.  If she knew her father he’d inevitably blame her death solely on his shoulders. 

Gaara looked up curiously at his sister, his tiny hands moving up towards her.  Temari grinned, taking his small fist in her hands.  

“Hi Gaara, I’m Temari, your big sister.  You’re a lot cuter than Kankurou was as a baby.”  She teased him playing with the baby soft red hair.  Her fingers lightly traced over the symbol on his forehead.  He giggled and smiled at the affectionate touch and her heart melted. 

“I don’t understand father.  You seem very sweet.”  She began to imagine them older, the three sand siblings taking on the world.  

“I don’t know exactly what is going on but your big sister will always be there for you.  Kankuro too but I know that I will be your favorite.  Mama isn’t around anymore....so we need to stick together okay.”  The small smile on his face let her know that at least on some level he understood. 

“Let me show you a cool trick I learned!”  The wind began to kick up in the room moving the mobile above the crib.  Gaara starred up enchanted by the moving objects and colors being reflected throughout the room.

“I still have to work on it but I’m going to be a master wind user.  I wonder what kind of jutsu you’ll use?”  His small hands clapped together, amused and excited.  

“I have to go before they find me there but I’ll be back okay.“  She felt incredibly sad leaving him alone in that room knowing that other than caring for his basic needs no one else would be allowed in there.  He was a baby.  How could they treat him this way?  Regardless, she would be there for him no matter what. 

Temari was able to continue her secret visits for a few weeks.  She’d visit him late at night this need to check on him and to make sure that he was safe pulling her in.  She would sing familiar Suna lullabies, move things around using her wind jutsu, or simply talk to him.  They were wonderful, precious, and quiet moments shared before she was caught and severely reprimanded for doing something so dangerous.  From then on she was constantly under surveillance and had to stop her secret missions.  All she wanted was to spend time with her baby brother.  Why was that so wrong?

For years things only became progressively worse.  Her father had done well to instill in her and Kankuro a profound fear.  They both struggled with being afraid of their younger brother while wanting to draw him in close and protect him.  So they toed that line.  They eventually became his bodyguards as unnecessary as it might have been but also knew to be very careful around him.  It was hard for her to reconcile the Gaara she’d grown up with and the baby that she’d sometimes hold in her arms and dance around with.  Despite what seemed like miles between them she felt an invisible thread that kept them together.   

Temari couldn’t have been more grateful for the events in their lives that allowed Gaara to heal and changed the paradigm of their relationship as siblings.   

When Gaara had informed her that he’d adopted a child she rushed to Suna needing to see this for herself.  

Shinki was a stern and serious child.  Utterly unimpressed by Shikadai’s attempts to befriend him.  Still, he was respectful and it was clear how much he adored his father and was proud of his adopted bloodline.

Seeing Gaara as a father made Temari reflect on their childhood.  “Gaara...I’m so sorry.”

He looked at her curiously.  “Why?”

“For how we treated you when we were younger.  So many times I just wanted to reach out to you but father...well you know the rest.”  She’d carried this guilt for years and now that they were both in this new chapter in their lives it felt like the right time to address it. 

He took her hand in his and it reminded her of when she’d first held his once tiny hand.  “Temari.  None of that was your fault.  You and Kankuro were children.  Honestly, the fear was warranted.  At the time I probably would have really hurt or killed either of you.  So I apologize as well.”

She shook her head.  “Wow, we had a really traumatic childhood huh?”

“Yes, so I am hopeful that we are able to give Shinki and Shikadai a far better one than we experienced.”

“He’s lucky to have you.”

“I feel the same.  I know that we weren’t allowed to be close as children but I always had a feeling that you were there.  That you were watching over me.”  Temari couldn’t help the tears that appeared in her eyes feeling the crushing weight of their past lifted from her shoulders.  He pulled her in close that invisible thread keeping them together.  

Her brothers, their family, it was proof that beautiful things could grow in the desert. 

*

**

I can’t help but cry at the idea of Tem holding baby Gaara!!!  I’d like to believe that despite everything Temari really did try to be there for her brothers.  I hope that you all enjoyed it.  If you haven’t seen it my story with her and Kankuro, “Strings” is on my Tumblr or here

 :D Okay my Suns I love you and please continue to take care of yourselves! 

[tenshindon]

despite the literal hours of research i did for this building, the accuracy of this structure is VERY debatable because of just how vague everything surprisingly was. not gonna lie in the full courtyard map below i took a LOT of liberties alongside the material i could work with. Also after a while I felt my sanity leave through my orfaces so not everything’s appropriately to scale.

as per usual I’m gonna put my thoughts below but I’m also going to put a map of the whole dojo grounds down below the cut. if you don’t care about all of the specifics or justifications and just want some kind of reference for a drawing, story, or just want an idea of Tien’s house, then please enjoy.

FULL MAP:

It’s surprisingly near impossible to find any pictures of existing courtyard dojos, Japanese or Chinese, so I had to get a Little creative and work with what I had. The thinking behind this was that Tien’s students potentially lived at the dojo with him. Admittedly I didn’t mark the buildings on the sides as being living spaces because I’m not even entirely sure, but I let it be a possibility. I also only put two buildings because Tien doesn’t seem to have all that many students (from what I was able to see, 12 students max, not yet counting Yurin), and if I were to divide the rooms appropriately and assuming two people slept in one room, then each student could be accounted for (About 6 students per building).

I knew that there was more to the building and the door in the back wasn’t just an exit because in a later shot the students are seen walking down a pathway to the left side of the building- it wouldn’t make much sense for them to leave the area then renter it. Additionally, when Tien dismisses his class for the day, they don’t make way for Tien’s doorway- they leave through the back, or at least walk to the side. As for where they’re going is an absolute mystery, especially considering the map. My justification was that they were just leaving the dojo for the time being to get some outside food or something- maybe just get out for a bit. Why were they still in their uniform? I couldn’t tell you and for that I apologize.

I put “private rooms” due to Roshi’s “private training” session with Yurin. They were placed at the bottom of the map because when Yurin is running across the walkway, she’s coming from the right- presumably the bottom. Not only that, Roshi is shown carrying Yurin towards the way she initially came. Additionally, when Goku pops in to find Master Roshi, you can faintly see trees in the background, and referencing all of the walkway shots there are a number of trees. It was also important to remember that when the students were walking away, there was no visible buildings behind them, so the final place I had to conclude to put the buildings was at the bottom.

By Tien’s house are simply just entry walkways; there’s nothing in nor special about either buildings. I’m not sure where I read this exactly- I forgot to save the page amidst my breakdown. But if I recall correctly and if this is correct, students are supposed to enter the area through the left while the teacher enters through the right. Either that, or the door on the left could be an entrance/exit and vice versa for the right side.

TIEN’S HOUSE:

The only room I was able to absolutely confirm existed was the room Tien and Goku sat in. Even then, this room itself is very vague on where it is. Judging the position of the camera, I assumed that the camera would be from the doorway’s perspective, seeing as no other wall visibly had any doors. Additionally, I knew they were in Tien’s house specifically because after their conversation ends, someone knocks on the door and the two look towards the left side of the screen, further fueling my theory the door was to the right side of the room. Also, the existence of two different types of windows gave me an idea that the room was absolutely in the top-left corner of the house. It couldn’t be the absolute left side of the house due to the lack of window- and I know there was no window in the room due to the shot that showed the wall directly behind Goku. Other than a brass frame, there was no window nor door- thus the door had to be on the right side of the room.

As for the rest of the house, I honestly just looked around traditional Chinese and Japanese homes as well as modern one-floor layouts and put rooms where I thought they were appropriate. Quick note about the bathroom, I promise there’s probably a curtain or screen of some kind so Tien and Chitaozu have privacy while they bathe. Since this is just a quick map, I didn’t put too much detail into the rooms and furniture.

I put a door in the back of Tien’s house because I figured he’d be pretty devoted not only to his school but just going to the courtyard to train.

Now for the screenshots I used and how I found my measurements as well as just providing visuals for what I’ve said before.

THE DOJO

I used Yurin’s height to measure the door (I used a different shot- the one where she’s ascending the stairs so I could get a better idea of her size compared to the door. I’ll also elaborate on how I found Yurin’s height in a later part of this post). I found that the door was about two Yurin’s high, which was about 10′6 feet high. An additional note is that all three doors appear to be sliding doors as they lack any visible handles. I extended the front doors being sliding doors to the rest of the doors inside of Tien’s house.

This shot was used to identify the ring pull doors in the back. Shots I didn’t include also exposed the fact that Tien’s doorway and the doors in the back were the only entrances in the courtyard.

This shot was used to measure the doorway. I expanded the size of the canvas I posted this on and drew the rest of Tien’s body, then sizing it so it was proportionate to be right next to the entrance. I deduced the doorway was about one Tien (6′0 ft) wide once I put him on his side. 

Using Tien’s height from the previous shot, I used the doorway size to measure the courtyard in total, coming to around 66 feet wide and presumably 66 feet long, as most courtyards are evenly square shaped..

I used this shot to not only acknowledge there was a gap in-between the courtyard and the walls of the dojo, but to also get Yurin’s height so I could use her as my main unit of measurement. Using the traditional heads-high method, I was able to get that Yurin was about 5′3 (5.25 specifically).

Shot used to identify the private room and the placement of the room in respect to the rest of the dojo. I knew this was a room in the dojo because there’s a sign that says “Tenshinhan Dojo” (or more literally, “Tianjin Dojo”)

Bringing back the first shot of the walkway from when Yurin first arrived to the dojo, I combined the two plus a flipped version of the first picture and came up with my walkway. Using Yurin from the shot where I got her height, I set her up lying down and proceeded to measure the walkway from the entrance of the courtyard to the entrance of Tien’s backdoor. I came to about 70 feet. 

Shot to show lack of buildings.

TIEN’S HOUSE

The inside of Tien’s tea room is pretty inconsistent; the identifiably octagonal window isn’t as close to the wall in the second shot as it is in the first shot. For symmetry sake, I technically shrunk the size of the room in the second shot. Since I wanted to establish this room as a tea room, I did a quick search to see how big tea rooms generally were and came to about 9x9. Not only so I could give the room some breathing room and so I wouldn’t have to do any more math because I’d done more than a studying psychologist should, I just took the size of the house’s front doors and used that as measurement for the room.

I included the storage room below so the left window would have an appropriate place to exist. That, and it allowed Tien’s house to be a bit bigger and I was able to make things more comfortable.

Shot to solidify the fact the left outside window couldn’t possibly exist in the tea room.

As for Tien’s radish farm, traditional Chinese farms are typically right on the ledge of mountains. Taking note of the mountains right behind Tien’s dojo, I assumed his farm would be there. Not only that, but the existing shots of Tien’s farm depict a mountain right in the back, so while his farm doesn’t follow the ledge format it at least exists by the mountains in the back. I didn’t see a dire need to illustrate this so I didn’t, but if you want me to then I’ll be happy to make an addition to this post.

Anyway, that’s the end of my work. If you have any opinions please feel free to tell me them. The way I formatted Tien’s dojo/house doesn’t seem right and feels uncomfortable personally, and I feel like it could look MUCH much better, so all input is welcomed!

[ddaenggtan]

forever rain | knj | m

Being dead isn't anything exciting. Just a lot of walking the same halls of the same apartment day after day after day. Things change when the new tennant arrives, though. Kim Namjoon isn't anything you could have expected; not the way he's so careful and gentle with his plants because he breaks so many other things, not the way his friends joke that he's psychic because you refuse to let him get in the face one time, and certainly not the way he comes home after literal months spent moving things away from table edges for him and announces that he knows he's being haunted and he has some questions for you. You didn't know ghosts could fall in love, but he makes you feel alive again, like you're standing in the rain while thunder crashes around you. You should've known nothing good would come of falling in love with someone living, though. You should've known that heartbreak was the only way this could end...that the rain doesn't last forever. 

part of the Love Yourself Collab, please please please go check out the other fics. Everyone involved is so freaking talented and I have been vibrating out of my skin with how excited I’ve been to read all of these. 

pairing | kim namjoon x reader (unspecified gender, even!)

word count | 18.8k | cross posted to ao3

genre/warnings | ghost!reader, slight fluff, hard angst, literally the most angst ever it gets fluffy for a bit but litERALLY this is an angst fic, major character death, unprotected sex (idk what the etiquette for ghost sex is but you should still wrap it before you tap it fam), depictions of terminal illness (v mild), mentions of blood (several, but not graphic), major character death, allusions to violence, namjoon is a klutz whats new, depictions of terminal illness, major character death, i added that tag three times pls dont read this if you aren’t comf with mcd bc i literally tagged it three times so y’all would definitely see it, also probably have some tissues ready bc i cried while writing it so 

a/n | this is, to date, the saddest thing i have ever written in my entire fucking life. formal apologies to this joon bc oh my god you poor soul. i’m not kidding when i say you might cry, because i’m a big baby wuss and cried while writing the fucking outline when i first decided to write this for the collab so like......rip my own heart. i was really honored when i was approached about the LYA collab, bc like,,,,,mE? WHAT? and i was really nervous because i’ve never been part of any collabs in any fandom ever, and to have to do something like forever rain and mono as a whole justice, like,,,,,,, *screaming* y’know?? so i went on mono lockdown and just had the whole thing on repeat and was like “alright. what emotions does this make me feel.” and i eventually settled on the loneliness and isolation that he expresses, and feeling like no one understands what you’re going through, but that ultimately the album as a whole and forever rain give off this feeling of like. things get better, you’re not as alone as you feel, and you just gotta get through the bad stuff to find the good stuff. basically i just got really in my feels about it and was like ‘lets make myself cry ahahaha’ and,,,i dID i cried several times while planning and writing and editing bc im a Soft Bitch and don’t read much angst for that exact reason lmao. so buckle tf up y’all, this a helluva ride!! 

Of all the things you'd heard about death, all the different possibilities that existed in the world, the one thing you hadn't been prepared for was the boredom. You hadn't been prepared for any of it, really, too surprised by your own demise to plan at all, but even if you'd been able to, you don't think that this is what you would've counted on. An eternity - or however long ghosts existed - of being stuck in the same studio apartment you'd lived in when you died. The same walls, the same floor, the same view out the only window of the alley beside the building. It's boring and lonely and boring.

You've found more creative ways to entertain yourself as time passes. First, you started by figuring out just what being a ghost meant. You can't really communicate with anyone, haven't figured out how to make sure everything you say is heard, but you can manipulate objects pretty easily these days. The most difficult thing is becoming fully corporeal - completely visible and able to interact with things at the same time. It's hard enough to be visible, and you aren't really sure what the point of it would be when it would just scare whoever's living in your apartment; that's the last thing you want to do, run them off when they're the best source of amusement you've found.

You won't lie, you were a little offended when the first tenants moved in after you. It was difficult to watch your things get packed up and moved out by your friends, hard to lose all of the little things you loved in your apartment, like the shitty bead curtain you'd gotten as a gag gift or the photo collage of all of your loved ones. It's frustrating to not know how they're all doing these days; the one time you got brave enough to fuck with a laptop to check on them, you nearly broke the thing, and you haven't tried since. Still, it seemed cathartic for them to clear out your apartment, and it was a bittersweet sight, but you tried to focus on the positive side of it.

And then the couple moved in.

Not only did they fuck like rabbits - which is something you're going to stay pissed about, because there's no satisfaction to be had by you anymore, and it's the one thing you can think of that would be endlessly entertaining - but the couple was also grossly obnoxious. They had zero respect for your apartment , or you, and while one could argue that they didn't actually know you were there, it still made the sting of losing your entire life that much worse. You spent you don't know how many nights hovering awkwardly in the bathroom while they fucked, would constantly wander in to see them going at it on the kitchen counter at ass o'clock in the morning, and once you came in to see them tossing actual literal eggs at the ceiling like the absolute fucking weirdos they were.

So, naturally, you got a little mad. How dare they treat your apartment like that? They had no respect, but they were going to learn it real quick if they were going to live there with you, whether they wanted to or not.

They didn't last long after the first night of slamming cabinets and squealing hinges, but the thrown picture frame of their family was the conclusive end to their stay.

There have been others, since then. They haven't all been terrible, not like that first couple, but most of them have been sub-par roommates, and if you decided early on that if the rest of your immortal life is going to be locked in one shitty apartment with the absolute worst view in the city - because no one wants to see the drunken hookups and potential body dumps that take place in that alley - then you're at least going to share said apartment with someone nice to exist with.

You release a heavy sigh, staring at where your hand disappears through the shower wall. You've taken to testing the boundaries of the apartment again; you already know what the result will be, learned in the first few hours that you're stuck here, but you can't help trying when you get really bored. You just got distracted fucking around with the pipes in the meantime, because you're literally too bored to even focus. It's part of why you miss the last tenants so much, because you weren't ever really bored with them around.

A single mother and her two kids, crammed into a much-too-small apartment because it was all they could afford, and they were the light of your un-life. One a budding teenager that wrote angsty poetry who loved your trick of making things float around, and one an adorable toddler who adored playing peekaboo with you and coloring, and a mom that was too busy to notice anything out of the ordinary. It was like having a family again, made you feel useful when you could pull the meat out of the freezer for her to make dinner with or scratch a quick 'do your homework' on a steamy bathroom mirror. It was fun and it made being dead that much more bearable.

You really should've known that letting the toddler draw the two of you would be a bad idea, especially since there were several artistic liberties taken. It's not your fault the kid thought you'd look cool with fangs and bloody holes instead of eyes and claws that reached the floor. It was art, it was supposed to be a little different from reality. Still, you can't blame her for seeing the picture of her kid and 'my new best friend' and immediately calling the landlord. And a priest.

So, perhaps you gave the apartment a bit of a reputation. Maybe it's been a couple of months since the mom moved out and took your two buds with her. There might be the possibility that you've been the slightest bit salty about losing your friends and you've been extra-ghost-y whenever someone comes by to view the place in an attempt to make yourself feel a little better. Can you really be blamed for that? You just want a decent damn roommate for your life after death, and if that means putting the potentials through a little bit of a test, then so be it. You only feel a little bit bad for the landlord.

The creak of the front door pulls you from your thoughts, and the echo of a voice makes you narrow your eyes. Your first instinct is to slam some windows to scare off whoever's in your apartment, but you repress the urge. You'd die of boredom if you could die again, and whoever this is could provide a few hours' entertainment at the least.

You pop your head through the bathroom wall to see what's going on, and wow , who let an actual giant into your apartment? Fucking with the pipes could definitely wait for this guy.

"I know it's last minute, yeah," He says into the phone that's held carefully between his cheek and shoulder. His arms are loaded down with boxes and he's angled away from you just enough that you can't see his face, but he's tall and broad and wearing what looks like the world's comfiest sweater, and you want to badly to wrap yourself up in him. "But you know Joon needs the help. Don't pretend you aren't constantly willing to put off your thesis, I know for a fact that you went out to look at stationery with Tae last week, and everyone knows that's the most boring thing on the planet."

He's quiet, listening to the soft crackle of a voice from the other end. You slide through the wall completely, hovering as close as you dare to try and hear what the other person is saying. Tall, Broad, and Comfy scoffs.

"He can stare at one sheet of paper for at least ten minutes, Yoongi. Do I need to remind you of the time he spent an entire fucking hour debating which set of holiday scrapbook to buy because, and I quote, 'this one has the really nice rose pattern on it that would look great with the invitations, but, oh, look at the pinstripes in this one!'" His voice morphs into what you guess is an approximation of whoever Tae is, and you laugh at the high-pitched, nasally tone.

Tall and Broad spins, eyes narrowing as he looks around the room, and fuck , he's literally gorgeous. You've never seen someone more attractive in your life or your death and it would probably knock the wind out of you if you actually had breath. Comfy McGorgeous turns back around and sets the stack of boxes in the corner, continuing his tirade about Tae and stationery while simultaneously trying to talk Yoongi into coming, you assume, to help Joon move. You don't know who any of these people are, but they're already proving to be the most entertaining bunch that's ever graced these walls.

The door to your apartment flies open, making both you and Boyfriend Material whip your head around.

"Christ, Jin, you couldn't hold the fucking door open for us?" Someone grunts. Beauty Von Softness - or, Jin, as you should probably refer to him - winces and strides over to do just that as two more guys stagger in with a couch suspended between them. The second they're in the door they drop it to the ground and flop onto it, panting and sweaty.

"Listen, I was busy trying to get our resident hermit out of his cave to help us carry some of this shit," Jin spits back. "And you all know what it's like getting him out and about."

"Did you tell him that there's pizza after we're done? Because I've found that food is the best motivator for him," the guy closest to the door says. His hair is soft-looking and long and you wish you could pet it.

The other guy, the one who cursed Jin out and has the softest pink hair you've ever seen, laughs. "Jeongguk, you always think the best motivator is food."

"Well, yeah, because it is."

"For you, maybe. Other people require actual rewards."

"But food is a reward," Jeongguk mutters into the fabric of the couch. Jin tsks and smacks As Yet Unnamed on the back of the head.

"You're lucky I hung up on him when you bombarded your way into this place, or he'd definitely not come help us," Jin says as he leans against the back of the couch.

Unnamed starts to say something else but is cut off by someone running straight into the end of the couch. They all shoot to their feet, spouting apologies as the three of them maneuver the couch into the apartment properly.

"Sorry, sorry, Jimin distracted us from properly finishing our job," Jeongguk says quickly. He looks to the stranger with a small apologetic smile, and you're pretty sure if it were humanly possible, there would be actual literal stars in his eyes.

"Oh, it's okay, Jeonggukkie. I should've been looking where I was going." New Challenger walks straight towards where you stand, and you realize seconds before it's too late that he is not aware there is a massive stack of boxes in his path. Instinctively, you shove them to the side with your foot. Tall And Oblivious sets his boxes down without any trouble, none the wiser about any of it, and the three near the couch are too busy bickering in hushed whispers to have noticed you doing anything.

The newcomer straightens and turns to look at them all with a bright smile, and you think you might actually see The Light in the way his cheeks dimple. If you thought the other three were beautiful - which they are, no doubt about that, you're seriously wondering why the hell a bunch of supermodels are moving stuff into your apartment - then this guy is easily an Actual Fucking God or something. His brown hair is soft and shiny, his smile is warmer than the sun, and you're fairly positive that for the first time since you died, you feel goosebumps along your arms.

"Seriously, Namjoon, we should've realized you'd be up soon. You stay, start unpacking while we go get the rest of the furniture." Jimin shoves Jeongguk out the door while he's speaking, ignoring the taller's complaints, and Jin just shakes his head at the sight.

"Yoongi'll be here soon, he's finishing up another draft of his thesis. Hobi and Tae are stopping to get the pizzas and then they'll be here, too." Jin's voice is calmer than it was Jimin and Jeongguk, more soothing, and it makes you curious. Not only because of the tone change, but because you know Hobi, he owns the building and is the one who rented you the apartment when you first moved in. One of your favorite things to do is scare him when he comes by to make sure everything’s ready for a viewing.

"What? No, I said I was gonna pay for pizzas!" Namjoon looks distinctly more upset about this than someone should over not having to pay for pizza, at least in your mind, and it only makes you more curious.

"Yeah, but you also just moved out of your old apartment because it was too expensive, and had like an hour to load everything into a truck, so you're gonna let their trust fund asses pay for pizzas. We're seven adult men, and Guk could eat an entire horse and still be hungry. I'm not letting you pay for that."

Silence hangs in the apartment for a while before Namjoon gives a soft thanks to Jin. They share a smile before Jin makes his way back out. You follow each step, shadowing him all the way to the door before you're stopped. You lean your entire body forward, struggling against the invisible barrier keeping you inside, and the force of it nearly slams you back into the wall when you sag in defeat.

You aren't sure why you try anymore, but you know yourself well enough to admit that you're not going to stop until you can at least make it to the hallway.

Whatever you expected Namjoon to be like as a roommate, however unknowing he is about the situation, you don't think you could've guessed what he's actually like.

Out of the seven boys you saw the day he moved in, he's the only one living there. Not a complete surprise, considering it's a studio apartment, but you remember when there were nine people living there at one point, and there was barely room for anyone to breathe even if it had been pretty consistently amusing. Still, for one person, he's got a ton of stuff, and it's a shock it all fits. His bed is massive and comfortable and the best place to lay during the day because it's shoved between the brick half-wall and the large windows that take up one wall. The area's supposed to be for a dining table, you think, but you'd had your bed there, too, and the familiarity is nice.

His couch is small and old but manages to fit five of them, and it's a pleasantly jarring difference from the coffee table that looks like - and might actually be - an old steamer trunk. The exposed brick wall you love holds his mounted TV, a feat that took Jeongguk and Yoongi a solid hour and a half because they kept stripping the screws, and it's got one of those 8-cubicle bookshelf things under it that stores a frankly obnoxious amount of books.

He's got mugs for days, an adorable if odd collection of figurines and mini-statues scattered around the apartment, a strange obsession with some reclaimed wood shelf he's got hanging above his bed, but the absolute highlight of it all is The Wall.

It took them three hours to get it installed and set up the way he wanted, between the placements and the thick wooden shelf they’re perched on with supports and a small safety bar along the edge to keep them from falling off, but along the entire windowed wall and partway after it turns the corner runs a long shelf absolutely covered in plants. There are some elsewhere, like the one he keeps hanging from the bathroom ceiling and the couple in the kitchen, but most are on The Wall. Each one is in its own special pot, each a unique color with a name painted carefully along it, and most of them look half-dead. They're all distinct and unique from each other and they all surely have different needs and ideal conditions, but you'd never guess because Namjoon is so wholly committed to them all. He takes time every day to water them and prune them if he needs to, he checks on them constantly. He even reinforced the safety bar for the ones that sit beside his bed, so there was less chance he'd accidentally knock them around while sleeping.

It's fascinating, watching him tend to them. He's so careful and gentle, with absolute precision in every moment. He cares for his plants the way some people would care for a pet or a child. He doesn’t believe any of them are past caring for, slowly nurses all of them back to health and frequently turns up with more he’s saved from some department store. The most endearing thing, though, you decide as you sit curled among the haphazard blankets of his bed and watch, is the talking. It's every day, for as long as it takes him to care for the plants, and it's the cutest thing in the world. He's talking to some succulent as you just stare at him, filling the comfortable silence of the apartment with his soft, soothing voice, and you wish he could hear you when you talk back to him.

"I know they mean well, but at some point, I've just gotta live my own life, y'know? I can't study something just because everyone expects me to, and I can't pursue some dream just because people think I'd be good at it. I've gotta do what's right for me, don't I?" His tone is positive and bright, a contrast to the gloomy sky that casts shadows across the apartment.

You float over, hovering beside him to look at the plant he's lovingly stroking with his thumb. It's in a pretty periwinkle pot, with the name 'Mang' painted in careful but shaky black handwriting. It's not your favorite - that's the one in the bathroom that hangs over its light blue bowl, a quickly scrawled 'Koya' on the bottom - but it seems to be one of Namjoon's personal favorites based on how often he talks to it specifically.

"I think it's nice you do things for yourself," You tell him. He doesn't react, unable to hear you, but it's nice to hear your own voice after so long. You slide one of the plants - Chim, in a small yellow bowl - to the side and away from his elbow, and he doesn't notice. "You know yourself better than they do. You should trust yourself."

He keeps mumbling to Mang, something about everyone following their own dreams and doing what they need over what people want or expect, when you lay your hand over his.

Thunder cracks through the sky and the first raindrops hits the window as your non-existent skin hits his, and it's the most real thing you've felt in a long time. It's as if the scent of ozone and electricity is in the apartment itself, crackling in your hair and filling your nose with the overpowering scent of the sweet summer rain. You can almost feel the water hit your skin, the way the wind whips at your hair, and it's so intoxicating that you almost miss the sharp inhale from the man beside you.

He's not looking at his plant when you look up, but instead at the window in front of the two of you. You glance at it, and for a fraction of a second, you can see yourself in the reflection. The glimpse has you jerking towards it before you can stop yourself, desperate to know if something has changed. You haven't seen your reflection since you died, not in the mirror or the window or the toaster, and maybe, just maybe, it means something's changed.

Your hand stops against the glass of the window as you reach forward. You can't feel the cool of it under your palm, but it's no less a barrier for you as it would be for Namjoon. Something in you breaks as you watch the raindrops race each other to the ground.

"Ah, I forgot the forecast called for rain today," he mutters, eyes focused on the lightning that streaks by. He doesn't react when your fist slams against the glass, nor when you let out the scream that's been building in you for however long it's been since you died. You're so close, not even a hair's breadth from feeling something new yet familiar for the first time in so long, and you can't. You're still stuck in these four walls, unable to even reach the air outside.

You just want to feel the rain again.

You move dejectedly away from the window, ignoring the way Namjoon shivers as you pass. The temperature in the apartment has dropped considerably, you think, between the storm and your own mood. You can't tell, really. You haven't felt warm or cold or hungry or anything since you died that isn't the oppressive loneliness of life after death.

A dry sob tears itself from your throat and you hurry to hide in the bathroom as Namjoon turns to look around him. He mumbles something you can't hear and after a few minutes, he returns to tending to his plants, leaving you to your tear-less cries in peace.

It becomes quickly apparent to you that Namjoon should really have a roommate, if only to save him from himself. It takes a few weeks for you to realize this, but luckily he seems to narrate his life as he goes through it - which is overwhelmingly adorable to you, and you refuse to acknowledge that - and that means that you hear it every time he goes, "Ah, Namjoon, be more careful next time," or "Oh, shoot, that's not, fuck, I gotta buy more eggs now." It's painful to watch, even for you, and at some point, you just couldn't take it anymore. No one else is around to help, but someone needs to you, and clearly the universe means for you to be that someone.

It's a full-time job, protecting him from himself. You've saved countless mugs, pushing them farther away from the edges of counters and tables, and been just in time to shove bowls or vases an inch over so that his elbows glide harmlessly past them. It's almost exhausting, if you could get tired you would, but it's worth it, you think, as you catch the bookshelf under the TV as it tilts. You slide it gently to the floor, glad that Namjoon is distracted by how close he came to losing a toe to notice.

Because that's the other thing about this tree of a man: he's the most oblivious person you've ever fucking seen. It doesn't matter what it is you do, whether it's bouncing his spray bottle of water so it doesn't break on the hard floor or shake the counters so that the knife he's about to drop on his fucking hand falls the other way, he doesn't see a single fucking thing. You'd think he was blind if he wasn't so attentive to the way his plants grow. He notices nothing and you're glad for it because you really aren't sure what he would do if he knew you were going around haunting him just to keep him alive. You just want to help, want to keep the soft smile he wears more often around for as long as possible.

You don't dare to look into why you want that, too afraid of what you might find there.

It's also just fun to watch him and his friends, relaxed and unreserved. You never had many friends when you were alive, just a small handful that you really truly loved and whom you miss every day. Watching these seven boys fills you with nostalgia and a strange sense of joy because they really are some of the funniest people you've ever been around.

Like now, with four of them sprawled on the couch while Jeongguk and Hoseok make themselves comfortable leaning against the bookshelf under the TV - which has been bolted to the wall since it almost broke Namjoon's foot - and Namjoon watches them all from his bed since it's the only other place to sit. There are beer bottles scattered around and decorating the half-wall that separates the bed from the room proper, everyone is varying levels of drunk, and you're curled up close to Namjoon, leaning against the wall so you can stop him from knocking over any of the bottles nearby because you know him too well at this point.

"I'm just saying, I don't understand why they made him so over-powered in the new movies, because he's supposed to be some kid from Brooklyn! Giving him the high-tech suit essentially strips him of the friendly neighborhood persona that he's always relied on!" Jeongguk has been ranting for a while about the newest release in the Spiderman franchise - apparently, he's part of the actual Avengers now, which is a shock to you since the last thing you heard before you died was that the franchise was canceled until further notice or something.

"And I'm saying that if they didn't give him the suit then it would've made no sense how he was able to do those things," Yoongi responds. You're pretty sure he's just arguing to be contrary at this point, because you remember him telling Namjoon the other day that he prefers DC over Marvel.

"Garfield's Spiderman could do those things," you mutter, "And he didn't have a fancy suit."

"Okay, then how do you explain Andrew Garfield's version being able to do that stuff? He doesn't need the suit, he never has!" You preen at the way Jeongguk echoes your thoughts. "I'm telling you, I don't care how good the relationship with Holland's Spidey and Iron Man is, by giving him the tech and the advancements they did, they've undermined everything that Spiderman is supposed to be about."

"Jeongguk come off it, everyone knows Garfield's Spidey was just all bad writing. I mean, what kind of person can do all that stuff, realistically? He's the one that really needed the Stark suit." Taehyung's voice is slurred and quiet, definitely as drunk as the rest of them. 

"What-! No! I could do half of that without being bitten by a weird science spider!" Jin scoffs at Jeongguk's words. 

"Yeah, sure, Guk. The same way you can do that bottlecap challenge."

"Bottle cap challenge, and yeah, I could!" The youngest stands and you don't bother to hide your grimace. 

"This isn't going to end well, is it?" You ask. No one acknowledges you, too busy finding something Jeongguk can kick the cap off of as the boy readies himself. He's steady on his feet but his face is red and he can't seem to stop giggling. 

"If I do this, you gotta call me SpiderGuk from now on, okay?" He says. No one agrees, but it doesn't stop him from laughing again and doing a couple of roundhouse kicks to warm up. 

"Okay, okay, Joonie doesn't have any regular water bottles, but we found a screw-top beer in the fridge so ya gotta use that," Jimin says as he stumbles over with said bottle. Jeongguk just nods, an adorable focused expression on his face. Jimin holds the bottle in the air, and you can already tell his grip isn't tight enough to keep the bottle still when Jeongguk kicks it. 

The next ten seconds happen in slow-motion. Jeongguk's leg flies out to kick but his drunken body isn't able to handle the sudden shift in balance, and he slips. His foot hits the bottle slightly too low, and it goes flying out of Jimin's weak grip into the air. Everyone in the room watches as it hurtles straight towards Namjoon's face, and you react out of habit and instinct, catching it in one hand before you even realize you've moved. 

Everyone freezes, staring at where the bottle hovers in front of Namjoon's face. You're the only one able to see your fingers wrapped around it. A shock jolts through you at the realization of what you've done and you drop the bottle as if it burned you. Fuck, they were all going to freak, then Namjoon would move out and you'd be stuck alone once more. You should've just shoved him out of the way, what were you thinking, you're so fucking stupid-

"Dude," Hoseok mutters from where he's perched on the arm of the couch. "Holy shit, Joon, you're fucking telepathic." 

Yoongi rolls his eyes and smacks his chest. "Telekinetic, you fucking-"

"Holy shit, you've got fucking superpowers!" Jeongguk squeaks. "Do it again!"

Namjoon isn't even able to get a word out before there's a book flying at his face, and you panic. You can't catch it, too rushed, but you manage to deflect it so it hits the bed with a soft thump instead of braining Namjoon straight in the nose. 

"Woah, you really do have superpowers," Jimin whispers. He lobs a bottlecap at Namjoon, and you catch it in your palm before letting it drop onto the half-wall. 

"I don't have...what the fuck you guys," Namjoon insists. His eyes are as wide as saucers behind the thick glasses he has on. He looks freaked out and you want nothing more than to hug him. Your hand reaches out of its own accord, halfway closing the distance to stroke his hair before you catch yourself. 

"Hey, levitate your plants," Jin demands. Namjoon looks panicked as he glances at the wall of plants, and you heave a sigh. With any luck, they're so drunk that they'll remember this as a strange fever dream, but you can't just let them keep throwing things at him. You crawl over to the wall, avoiding Namjoon as you do, and grasp one of the plants tight. It's a white pot with red polka dots, a simple RJ on the side, and it's fucking heavy. You only get it a few inches off the shelf before you're forced to put it down.

"Oh my god, catch this!" Taehyung throws a coffee mug straight at Namjoon's head and you panic again. You catch it, and you've decided you're fucking sick of them throwing things at him, so you lob it back and dart across the room to bounce it safely to the counter before it can break. 

Everyone in the room stares at the mug and then looks back at Namjoon, who hasn't moved from his spot on the bed. 

"Oh my god, you're a superhero," Jeongguk whispers, awe in his eyes. 

"That's fucked up," Yoongi mutters, wincing when Hoseok elbows him. 

"Maybe we should get some sleep," Namjoon says quietly. The others look like they want to disagree with him, and you have no doubt they want to explore the newfound 'abilities' of their friend, but they still start gathering trash together before they head out. 

Namjoon lays awake for a long time that night, glasses folded and sitting atop the half-wall beside you. He's oblivious to the way you watch him, too lost in thought to feel the weight of your stare or the chill in the air. 

"I don't understand," He says after a while. "I really don't, but there's got to be a reason for it." He doesn't elaborate, merely turns over and evens his breathing out until he starts snoring, but you watch him for most of the night. He's fascinating, this human, and you wonder what makes him so different from the others you've met. 

He apparently decides to experiment. You've known Namjoon is intelligent since he first moved in and you saw his collectible encyclopedias, but you hadn't realized just what it would be like in actuality. 

It starts simple. He'll toss something in the air and let it clatter to the ground. Nothing big, just little things like pencils or bottlecaps, and not far, just enough that his eyes narrow as he apparently tries to use his telekinetic abilities to manipulate them. 

It slowly graduates from there. Next comes the way he stares at something across the room, hyper-focused on whatever it is until you notice and move it around for him. It's a guessing game, sometimes, trying to figure out just what he wants to move or how he wants to move it, but each time you're successful, he smiles so brightly, dimples on full display. Who wouldn't want to make him smile like that?

It's hit or miss, sometimes. You're only so strong, and while you've had a lot of practice, you still get tired. You lifted his bookshelf almost a full inch before blacking out. Next thing you knew, a couple of days had passed and Namjoon was staring at a coffee mug. That was a significantly less fun day; between losing time and having to catch coffee mug after coffee mug, you were exhausted and a little shaken. 

So when he stops staring at things for extended periods of time, when he starts to go back to reading and scrolling the internet and bingeing all the completed shows that Netflix and Amazon had to offer, you're grateful for it. He still occasionally tests it out; he's always subtle about it, choosing to stare quietly until you notice and make whatever it is float around for a minute. Once you wandered around looking for him - a feat in a studio apartment - and found him just sitting on the bathroom floor, staring at a shampoo bottle.

You'd like to say that you don't move things entirely because he wants you to. It's a good test of your abilities and how far you can push yourself until it becomes too much, and it's always nice to have actual evidence that you still exist - in some form, at least - in the world. The validation that comes from seeing him smile every time you lift a pencil or slide a coffee mug to the side, it's not for any reason but the satisfaction of knowing that you have some kind of existence. Some kind of impact on the world, even if you can't be seen and can't leave the apartment.

It's part of why you start moving things around yourself more often; you're hoping he just blames it on his overactive 'abilities' if he notices because you really aren't sure what he would think otherwise. But you also know for a fact that just seeing that you have some kind of sway over the world still - over the things inside this tiny apartment - makes you feel just that bit better about being dead.

Which is why it's such a fucking shock when the door to the apartment slams open one evening just for Namjoon to slam it closed again and announce into the air, "So I know you're haunting me, please don't try to deny it, I only want to talk to you."

You freeze where you are, halfway through the closet door from where you were reorganizing his clothes because they made no sense and you were bored. He's looking around the apartment, almost desperate in the way he's searching, and you can't bring yourself to move. It's obvious he can't see you, and you aren't even sure if he's being serious, but the way he huffs and clenches his jaw before moving into the kitchen tells you that he probably is.

You follow him, curious, and watch as he pulls a small package out of his bag and starts ripping it open. You float the remains of what looks like gift wrap over to the trashcan, because you know Namjoon will forget, before going back to watching him. He's only a little careful as he cracks something in his hands and then slaps it onto the fridge, and you peek around him to see that it's some kind of words or something. There’s a wide variety, with no clear theme to them, as well as at least one of each letter of the alphabet. It's then you remember the throwaway comment Yoongi made during that night - "You need, like, poetry stuff, like those magnets that go on the fridge that people write that deep shit with, y'know? I'm gonna buy you one," - and realize that he'd followed through on his vow. 

"Alright," Namjoon says, leaning against his kitchen counter and staring at the magnets. "First and foremost, am I really being haunted or is this some kind of hallucination?" His gaze never falters, doesn’t ever drift from the magnetic words now spread across his fridge doors. It takes several minutes to build up the energy and the courage to move closer to the fridge.

You don't look at him as you move the words around, but you can hear the sharp intake of breath. That's likely all the confirmation that he needs, but still you clear a spot and let the words ' I am here ' sit where he can see them clearly. You wrinkle your nose, disliking how formal it sounds, but you have to make do, you suppose.

"Okay," Namjoon breathes. "Okay, prove it. My brain could work this into a hallucination. How do I know you're really a ghost?"

"Seriously?" You huff. "What the fuck am I supposed to do that wouldn't work into a hallucination, dude?"

He gets fidgety in the few minutes that you spend wondering how the fuck you're going to prove that you're a real actual ghost to someone who clearly doesn't believe in them. His foot taps at the floor and he scratches at his hand, which only makes you want to wrap your own hands around his until he stops, much like your best friend used to lay her legs across your lap to get you to stop shaking your knee.

The realization comes in a flash, and you're moving letters around before you can stop yourself.

Face book, Park Jihyo, best friend.

Namjoon stares at it for a long while before he brings his phone out of his pocket and begins to tap at the screen. You don't get too close; you've got a history with shorting out electronics, and you aren't sure you want to know what your best friend is up to without you there with her.

"Okay," Namjoon says. "Okay, I've never seen her before, so I don't think my brain could work her into a hallucination. Okay. Alright. I'm being haunted. This is fine."

"Calm down, I'm haunting the apartment, not you." He doesn't react to your words, as usual, but it still makes you feel the slightest bit better. He stares at his phone for a little longer, and the curiosity burns under your skin, but you resist. You know from experience that if you try to get too close, his phone will stop working. Just like TV, the stereo, the laptops, everything. You've had enough experience with that kind of thing to know what will happen.

"Okay, Casper," Namjoon huffs out after several minutes of waiting. He looks up and his eyes dart around the apartment, and you wonder if he's just nervous or if he's trying to spot you. "Where are you right now? Can you make yourself visible? I mean, I know you're a ghost, but it feels rude not talking to you to your face."

You huff a laugh but reach for a coffee cup. You know you can't just make yourself visible at will; you've only done it a couple of times, to your knowledge, and none of them have been on purpose. It's even more difficult to make yourself corporeal and physical, harder than just manipulating objects, but you did it once. Back when the single mom still lived here, when her toddler was falling and you had no way to cushion the fall except with your own body; you still aren't sure how it happened, but you remember being able to feel the floor against your back and the warmth of the baby on top of you for a split second before you were gone again. You won't forget that any time soon.

You float the mug towards where you stand, holding it in front of your face long enough that when you pull it away, Namjoon's eyes don't follow it. It's a strange feeling; you know he can't see you, can tell by the way his brow furrows and his eyes slide around the space, but it feels like he's looking straight at you. It feels like you're being seen for the first time since you died.

"So, where are you from, Casper?" His tone is forcibly conversational, as if he's trying his best to keep himself calm. You roll your eyes and move the magnets to show ' here ' and he nods. "You're not gonna try to possess me, or kill me, or run me off, are you? No offense or anything. I figure you would've already at this point, but...cover my bases."

No. Am nice. I think.

"You think? You don't know if you're a nice ghost?"

Does anyone truly know if they are nice? You frown, trying to figure out how to say what you want to say with the limited words available. I can only try. It's still not perfect; there's more that you want to say, more that you want to be heard, but this has to do for now.

"I can accept that. Alright. Just talking to a ghost in my kitchen. Okay. This is totally normal." He rubs a hand over his face, and you're a little impressed. Everyone else that's lived here has freaked when presented with the knowledge that you're a ghost. Namjoon looks very much like his world is exploding, but he doesn't have the same fear and apprehension in his eyes. He's certainly coping better than the single mom.

"Are you the only ghost? Here, I mean, are you the only ghost here?" He breathes a sigh of relief at your 'yes.’ "Can you see other ghosts? Do you know any other ghosts?" The 'don't know, no' that you move around on your fridge seems to unsettle him a little, but there's a curiosity burning behind it that makes your skin tingle.

Can't leave, is what you say next, cutting off whatever question he was about to ask.

"You can't leave at all? The building, or the apartment?"

The second.

"Wow. You're really stuck here?" He looks around the apartment as if seeing it for the first time and sucks in a breath. "What do you do all day?"

Watch. He cocks a brow. You are... You hesitate. The word you need isn't there, everything that comes to you is too poetic or corny for you to actually say, but the weight of his eyes is heavy on your hands. Fun is what you settle on, but it's not right either. 'Interesting' isn't there, nor is 'fascinating' or 'lovely,' and you don't want to scare him off by telling him that part of the reason you watch him so much is that he's so full of life that you feel less dead when he's around.

He laughs at your words though and shakes his head ever so slightly. "Alright, well, I'm gonna shower, so just, don't...watch that?" You squawk at the insinuation that you would, quickly rearranging the letters to spell ' privacy' and making a large angry face out of the rest of the words. He's already turned away, though, and it makes you angrier.

You don't want him thinking that you would peep at him. You already make sure that you're facing the windows when he finishes showering, you've been determined to not be creepy since the day he moved in, and to have him think otherwise is like a slap in the face. You slam the mug against the counter and he startles, turning to gape at it. You carry it to where your words and make-do emoji sit waiting for him to notice them.

"Okay," He says quickly. "Okay, privacy, yeah, got it. You respect my privacy. Appreciated."

"How fucking rude," You mutter as you set the mug back down. You don't adjust the magnets as he disappears into the bathroom. You want him to see them, want him to be reminded of the fact that being dead doesn't mean you don't have basic decency.

You can't get him to shut up now that he knows you're there. He still forgets sometimes, mostly when he's talking to his plants or narrating the way he carefully constructs some origami creation, but more often than not, he's talking to thin air. He spends a lot of time perched on his counter, watching you move magnets around his fridge through the thick lenses of his glasses before he spouts off some other question for you to answer. 

He covers the basics first: how old you were when you died, when your birthday is, your favorite color, what you were studying in school, and of course your name, though he insists on calling you Casper. You aren't sure why but you also don't get a chance to question it, because he hits you with more and more questions every day. Sometimes you don't answer because you can't, too limited by the poetry magnets to be able to really converse; sometimes you just don't have the energy to move the magnets around, but those are days are rare. The only times you use the tired magnet are when you find your limbs too heavy to move, weighed down with the memories of what it meant to be alive. 

Those are the bad days, but his questions make them just a little easier.

"How do you move around? Do you just float everywhere?" Walking, but different. No weight. Soft.

"How are you able to manipulate things in my world? Are they different from things in your world?" Focus. Takes time. Same.

"Do you sleep at all? Do ghosts dream?" No sleep. Just existing.

"You don't eat, do you? Should I be stocking up on snacks for you?" No. Save your sustenance. "What was the last thing you ate?" Don't remember. "Huh. I hope it was something good." Same.

"Were you ever in a relationship?" Once. A long time before. "Do you miss them?" Not anymore.

"What did you do while you were alive?" School. "Oh, really? Do you remember what you studied?" Boring. Important then, but it made me forget to live. Not important now. Namjoon goes quiet for a long moment after this one, staring out the window at something you can't see. He nods but doesn't ask any more questions, and he reads for the rest of the night.

It only takes a couple of weeks for both you and Namjoon to get tired of standing in his kitchen fucking around on the fridge. His legs get tired and he gets distracted by his thoughts, and you can barely keep up with the rapid-fire questions you get.

So Namjoon buys one of those cheap cookie sheets with the slightest lip at the edge and dumps the magnets on that. He leaves it on the coffee table, usually, there for you to pick up if he asks something but out of the way for when he stretches out to nap lazily in the afternoon sun.

You like the cookie sheet more than the fridge. He watches you as you work out your responses, can see the way you start to move one word before moving another instead; it makes it feel more like a conversation.

It becomes a favorite pass-time of Namjoon's, curling on the couch and putting some sort of music on in the background and just talking to you. A lot of nights his questions stop with a lingering silence from one or both of you; yours because you don't have the ability to share the words running rampant through your mind, and his for reasons still unknown to you. Still, you've missed it. You've missed talking to someone, being heard when you speak, having someone ask how you are at the end of the day.

It's the little things.

"You said you can't leave, right, Casper?" Namjoon's curled up on his couch, tucked into the arm with a blanket thrown over his lap, a mug of something warm in his hands to combat the chill of the season, and some R&B track playing lightly from his phone. You knock your fist against the cookie once - a sign for yes that you'd both agreed on. "So, are you just always here then? You don't go anywhere else?"

"Fuck, how do I explain this?" You mutter. You stare at the magnets in front of you for a long time before rearranging them. Not always. Tired sometimes, disappear.

"Disappear?" He reads. "What do you mean? You just, what, stop existing?"

Don't know, you respond. Only happens when tired. When used too much of me. He hums an acknowledgment, eyes focused on where the cookie sheet sits on the couch between you. You? What entertains you?

"Everything," he answers without hesitation. "I'm trying to work through my stack of books I want to read and finish all the shows I'm interested in, but the guys would have my head if I didn't get out and do things like a normal person."

That's where you leave to?

"Yeah." He sets his mug - now empty - on the coffee table and settles into the blankets. He looks cozy and soft and you would wrap yourself up with him if you could. "I take a lot of walks, and bike rides. I like to see the river, the trees, all the animals that live there. The beach is always fun, I get to see all the crabs and whatnot that wander in and out of the ocean."

"I wish I could go with you," you whisper.

Fun is what you spell on your sheet.

"I guess," he mutters. "It's enjoyable, at least. I'll bring you some souvenirs, or pictures next time."

You let the sheet settle on the couch as he turns the TV on, setting up a drama that he's on recently. He doesn't say anything else for a few hours, waits until the sound of rain hits the windows and stifles the apartment in an otherworldly haze.

"How long have you been dead?" His voice lingers in the air. You've been expecting these questions, and you're honestly impressed he's held them back for as long as he has. That angsty teen hadn't hesitated a single second to start asking you questions.

A while. Years. I think .

"Do you ever get tired of being a ghost?" There's something in his voice that you can't place, something that tells you this is more than just his usual morbid curiosity. Every part of your soul - whatever's left of it, anyway - is screaming at you to lie to him, to tell him that no, being a ghost is great. You've never wished he could hear you more than this moment, when all you want to is wrap your arms around him and ask him why he looks so much older than he is.

Sometimes, you tell him. It is lonely here, and boring. Fun to be unseen, but unable to do much more.

He nods like that makes all the sense in the world to him, and he brings the blanket up around his shoulders. "Do you ever miss your friends, or your family?"

Would you not? He huffs out an unamused chuckle, nodding again.

"Yeah," He says softly. "Yeah, I would. Do you want me to help you check on them? See what they're up to?" The single knock that echoes in the room is deafening to you, filled with a hope that you haven't felt in years. You've never let yourself think about them for long; if you did, you don't think you'd be able to come back from whatever that place is that you disappear to when things become Too Much.

Namjoon pulls his phone closer and starts fiddling with it. He doesn't hesitate when he types in your name, and you feel an emotional blush fill you when you see that he doesn't even have to finish typing for your profile to pop up. You glance at him, the way his brows are furrowed behind his glasses and his tongue pokes into his cheek just a little while he concentrates, and you wonder how many times he's looked at the pictures of you when you were alive. How many times has he scrolled through, reading the words people shared after you were gone, scrolling through the grief and loss to get to the words you posted yourself, the little snippets of your daily life that you would give anything to be able to relive?

"Do I still look like that?" You wonder aloud. As expected, he doesn't react, just continues tapping at his phone.

You two spend the rest of the night like that, each curled at opposite ends of the couch while Namjoon slowly looks up your friends and family and updates you on each of them. Jihyo got married, to someone she'd gone on a date with a few weeks before you passed, and she's apparently trying to start having kids; Your mother and father aren't very active, but they never were. They both share pictures of you when you were a baby each year on your birthday, and more recent photos of you on the anniversary. They have a dog now. It's cute. You wonder if it helps them cope with the loss.

Your other friends are doing well, too; most of them are still figuring out their lives, but it seems like all of them are settling in their skin and finding comfort in who they are. They're out there, navigating the world and doing things they enjoy, meeting new friends and making new memories.

You stand by the window for a long time, cookie sheet of magnetized words pressed against your chest as if you can feel the cool of the metal against your skin, and watch rain drip down the panes as you imagine what your life could have been.

You can always hear Namjoon before you see him. He whistles as he walks down the sidewalk, his small way of letting you know he's on his way back from wherever he's gone that day, and today isn't an exception. Relief sags through you and you move away from the windows, let your fingers trail against the ceramic of the newest succulent he'd bought, and head towards the kitchen. The kettle is turned on and heating a few moments later while you pull a mug down from your cabinet and set it carefully on the counter where Namjoon will see it.

It's a regular routine, for the two of you. He heads out, usually in the early morning after turning on some music or a show for you, and when he comes back, you make sure there's hot water for his tea or cocoa or whatever he feels like drinking that day. The sound of his whistling gets louder the closer he gets, a simple way to let you know he's safe and he's home. You glance through the cabinets and quickly make a note on the fridge that he needs to buy more of his special tea blend soon.

The lock turns and you smile, waiting patiently as Namjoon saunters into the apartment. He sets something down on the kitchen counter just as the kettle starts to scream, and you wait while he pours the water and gets it ready.

"The cherry blossoms bloomed," He says. You grin. "They look great. I got some really nice pictures while I was there, I'll show you tonight. I was thinking we could try to finish Voltron tonight if you want. We'll have to go back an episode though, I think I fell asleep during the last one." You knock once against the counter beside you, and he turns with a wide grin to glance at the spot where you stand.

It's ridiculous for your heart to speed up in your chest, for the hair on the back of your neck to rise, for breath to catch in your throat; you don't have a heartbeat, you don't have breath, you're a shadow of the person you used to be, and yet...

And yet, seeing his dimpled smile focused so naturally on where you are, as if it's just second-nature, is like a breath of fresh air after years underwater. It smells like flowers, like dirt and earth and a new beginning. It feels like you're alive again, and you don't want it to end, but too soon he's turning away to finish steeping the tea. Something lingers in the air for a moment after but it's gone too soon for you to place it.

You both settle on the couch, Namjoon tucking whatever he brought home with him under his arm, between his body and the arm of his ratty old couch. Your cookie sheet is in its place on the coffee table, unneeded at the moment. You can't help the glare that you give it; the things you would give to be able to just speak and be heard are endless.

It rattles a little and you look away.

Namjoon is quiet as the show plays. He doesn't react when you move to turn the oven on, but he does laugh quietly and thank you for it when he goes to put his dinner in. He eats and you don't bother him, though the way he keeps his little package hidden away makes curiosity burn through you. Eventually, once he's eaten and washed his dishes and laughed at the way you rubbed them dry before setting them carefully in their places, he settles back into his blankets and turns on the music he loves so much.

He's got a book balanced in his hands and your cookie sheet rests on the coffee table, and you both just sit like that for a long while, enjoying existing.

"You remember your life, right Casper?" You thump lazily against the wall in response, eyes drawn from where you watch the gloomy sky slowly get lighter with the dawn. He isn't looking at his book anymore; he probably hasn't been for a while, based on the way the pages have migrated around his thumb, too busy staring at the wall across from him. "Do you remember your death?"

You hesitate. You've tiptoed around the subject before. He's always been too afraid to ask directly, and it's too painful for you to offer it freely. You thump against the wall once more, and he nods like he already knew the answer.

"Are they very different?" His glasses are falling down his nose and your fingers itch to push them up. Instead, you reach for your cookie sheet. He makes a sound in the back of his throat when he sees it moving, reaching under him for his package. "I forgot, I got you this. Thought it might be easier."

He sets it down and you slide the contents out of the wrapping easily. Inside is a small dry-erase board, complete with markers and eraser, small things that should be easy for you to manipulate. You beam at him; he can't see it, but you think he might be able to feel it because he perks up and smiles a little.

"You don't have to answer," He adds. "I was just curious to know if being dead is really as different as everyone makes it out to be." You nod and thump once against the board before you uncap a marker and start writing.

It's a bizarre feeling, after so long. The muscles in your hand don't ache, no matter how much you write, and you can't feel the smooth surface of the board under your fingers or the weight of the marker in your palm, but it glides against it cleanly and leaves a thick black streak behind.

It takes you a minute to write everything out, get it worded how you want. Namjoon doesn't interrupt you, just watches the marker move against the board and smiles every time you go to erase something that isn't right. Eventually you show it to him.

There are similarities. I'm still me, I still enjoy TV and music and books. Things are duller now, like there's a filter over them, and it's harder to do things. Like when you're in water, or mud, like that. Resistance.

"Oh," Namjoon replies, "That's not what I expected. It makes sense though I guess." His hand moves against his chest, rubbing lightly as he looks over your words again. "Is there anything you actually like about being a ghost?"

"Well, being invisible is pretty cool," You say, writing the words as you do. "And it's actually really fun being able to walk through walls and stuff, even if I can't go anywhere outside of the apartment."

"I'm sorry you're stuck here," Namjoon says. You startle a little, looking up at him. You think he actually heard you for a split second, but his eyes are locked on where you're writing your words out on the dry erase board.

"Yeah, me too," You tell him. He stares at the board for a long moment, chewing nervously on his bottom lip as he does. "Ask what you want to ask, Joon," You write as you say it.

"How did you die?" He blurts. You sigh and he jumps a little, looking fully at where you sit. You're shocked; you know that sometimes little noises cross over, like when Jin heard you laughing, but it's still rare. You can't figure out how it works, but you want to.

You write for a long time, letters small so they fit on the board. The whole thing is crowded together, looks like one long string of letters instead of the story it is.

There's a lot of violence in this neighborhood. You probably know that by now. People are always getting robbed or mugged or something around here. Someone tried to break into my apartment by banging the door down. It didn't work, luckily, but I got really paranoid afterwards. One night I was cooking, and someone's door slammed really hard. I spilled the water I was boiling, slipped. Blacked out after a while, and when I came to, there were police everywhere. I guess I hit my head harder than I thought, because they carted me away, and I couldn’t follow.

"I'm sorry," Namjoon says softly. "You deserved more time."

Yeah. The universe had a different plan, I guess. He smiles at that, and it settles the anxiety thrumming under your skin. Wouldn't have met you, so I guess that's a bonus. He rolls his eyes at you but he laughs softly, so you consider it a win. You doodle on the board then, simple little designs that don't mean anything beyond being able to see your effect on the world.

Namjoon sucks in a breath beside you and you look up at him. He's always been good about looking towards where you are, doing his best to make eye contact with someone he can't see, but he still always tends to look through you.

Not this time.

This time, electricity sings through the air as your eyes meet his. You don't know how, but you know he can see you. His eyes roam over you, taking in the crumpled sweater you were wearing with the stain you like to think is pasta sauce on the arm, the hair you can't ever really tame, the way you sit cross-legged on his old thread-bare couch with a dry erase board in your hands.

Neither of you moves. He looks torn between fear and amazement, every emotion in between flitting quickly over his features, and you're terrified that if you move, whatever spell that's been cast will fade. It had been so long since you talked to anyone when Namjoon slammed those magnets on the fridge, and the conversation has been a reprieve, but to be seen for the first time in years...

It's invigorating.

Watching Namjoon just look at you is something you won't ever forget, not for as long as you exist in the world. He looks at you like he's memorizing every detail, every hair and wrinkle and pore, and just knowing that he can see you fills you with something new.

"Namjoon...?" You call hesitantly. His eyes fall on your lips.

"Again," He says. Your brows must furrow, maybe you frown, you don't know because it's been so long since you've needed to pay attention to your facial expressions, but he notices your confusion. "Will you say something again?"

Breath you don't have catches in your throat, wraps itself around a heart that doesn't beat, but you smile a little. "I'm glad I met you."

Namjoon smiles. It's big and blinding and knocks everything out of you except for that emotion that's been sitting in your chest since the first time you watched him talk to his plants. You lean forward, and you can tell the exact moment you disappear, because his smile falls and his eyes unfocus. A whimper leaves your throat, but he doesn't react, and that may be the most painful thing that's ever happened to you.

"Can I feel you?" His voice is hushed but the words reverberate in your head. His eyes dart around, looking for any glimpse of you, and your hand trembles as you reach out.

Goosebumps raise on his cheek where your hand touches him and his breath stops for a moment, but he smiles again and leans into the chill. You bring your other hand up to cup his other cheek, your dry erase board lying forgotten on the ground, and Namjoon's eyes flutter closed.

"I think I might love you," You say quietly just before you press your lips to his. He doesn't react to your words, but he lets out a soft sigh at your kiss. Thunder cracks through the apartment, a torrent of rain unleashed on the windows, but you don't move.

The two of you sit like that for hours, until he starts shivering and his nose turns red, like it does when he forgets his scarf on the cold days, and his breath puffs in the air. When you finally pull away from him, he smiles, and the blush on his cheeks has nothing to do with the cold air that makes up your form.

"Yeah," He says softly, voice nearly drowned out by the storm raging outside. "Yeah, I can feel you."

If you expected things to change much after that, you were wrong. At least a little. Namjoon still disappears to go on his walks, you still start the kettle the second his whistles drift up to the apartment. He still asks you a million questions, but they're more normal now. Your favorite music, color, what you wished you'd done with your life, if you've been able to corporealize again recently, what you wanted to watch that night.

"Come on, Casper," Namjoon groans. "I promise you can do it." You huff and he smiles, clearly having heard it. You're tempted to just disappear somewhere, rattle some pipes in the bathroom or the kitchen so he thinks you're in there and leaves you alone, but he smiles at you again and you're weak for that dimple.

You grip the watering can again, doing your best to lift it and manipulate it the way you need to. It's heavy, and something about the metal makes your skin itch, but the more you struggle the more you're able to pour the slightest bit of water where RJ - a giant plant that you don't even know the name of - sits in the corner of the room across from Namjoon's bed. It's the twentieth-something time you've tried this today, and you're ten seconds from just giving up completely, but you can tell this is important to Namjoon.

He's been talking all week, between the late nights where you lay over his blanket-wrapped form and the mornings where he ducks out with a soft goodbye. He's told you everything about his plants that you think he possibly could, teaching you about them and showing you how to care for them. It's interesting, you won't lie, and it's always fun to see him light up when you recall something he's told you, but you're exhausted and every part of you is shaky, and you're more than a little worried of what might happen if you push too far again.

Still, Joon hasn't looked great lately, like he might be getting the flu, and you want to be able to help him with all the things he does in the house. You've already started doing the dishes and folding laundry, since those were the two things he was the absolute worst at, but you feel like you should be doing more.

"Good job, baby, I'm proud of you!" You grunt and let the watering can fall back to the ground with a loud thump that almost definitely has the downstairs neighbors cursing Namjoon's name. "See, and now we're done for the day! C'mon, we can put on Sens8 and cuddle."

He's on the couch before you can stop him, wrapping himself in blankets except for one lone hand that sticks out, expectant. You roll your eyes and sit beside him, close enough that if you had a body you would be cuddling instead of just sitting awkwardly beside him.

You know that this is just going to make your hand all pink and gross, right?

He just smiles when the board flips around to reveal itself and wiggles his fingers. "It's worth it," He says. "I'd rather be pink and gross than never get to hold your hand at all."

You can't even feel my hand, Joon, there's literally no point to this. He huffs and wraps his hand around the marker in your hand, shivering at the chill that runs through him when he does. He grins and gestures down to where the tips of his fingers are already turning red.

"Clearly I can feel it, Casper."

You're glad he can't see you, that you don't have a heart that beats or blood that runs, because if you did, your face would no doubt be red. You have no doubts that Namjoon would tease you about it.

He's quiet as you both watch the show; he makes the odd comment here or there, but his mood seems to have calmed some. When he first got back from whatever place he visited that day, he'd been anxious and jumpy and entirely too on edge.

"Hey, Casper?" He asks quietly. You slide a hand against his cheek to let him know you're there, and he leans into the chill again. "What do you think about me?"

You don't move for several seconds, hand still poised around his cheek.

"Like, your feelings. What are they? Will you tell me?" You knock once on the wall behind the couch. Your hand stays poised over your board for long enough that Namjoon starts to get a little restless. Words refuse to come to you. Every time you start to think you have a way to describe to him what he means to you, they disappear as quick as fog on a summer's afternoon. Frustrated, you let the board fall to the couch and scrawl a quick 'hold on' so he knows you aren't just ignoring him.

It's been weeks since you've seen what you're looking for, your cookie sheet with the word magnets having been basically forgotten in lieu of the more personal and convenient dry-erase board, but right now you know that if words won't come to you, you'll have to go to them.

You finally find it, shoved under several encyclopedias and magazines, and the noise you make is so triumphant that even Namjoon hears it. You curl back up beside him, careful to make sure the blanket is wrapped tight around him, and make sure he can see the words as you move them. It still takes a long time, constantly changing and rearranging and stacking to make sure it conveys the things you need it to convey.

You are like music. A symphony of summer days and peach skies with soft rain. You are a storm in the moonlight. I'm not lonely when I have you pouring around me. You make me feel alive again.

Namjoon is silent for a long time, and you wonder if you've gone too far. It's more poetic than you'd like, too frilly and fancy and emotional than you usually are, but they're the only words you have.

After too long, he exhales. It's heavy and deep and it feels like he's trying to expel more than just air from his body.

"You make me feel alive, too," is all he says, whispered into the softness of his blanket in a voice too small for his long limbs. He shivers, and you hear him choke down a cough, and then he disappears into the bathroom for a long time. When he comes back out, he doesn't say anything, just slides into the mass of blankets on his bed and lays his arm out across the mattress. You spread out across from him, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he looks through you and out the window where the rain is letting up.

"Looks like the rainy season is gonna last longer than everyone thought." You slide your hands around one of his large ones and just hold them like that. His eyes sink closed and something like relief stands on his face for a moment before it's gone, swept away by the peace of sleep.

You wonder what it is that he sees when he looks out the window. If it's the plain brick wall and windows of the building next door, or something more.

You aren't sure you want to know.

Namjoon's flu only seems to get worse. He leaves early in the mornings, as if he thinks you might not notice the way he coughs into his scarf just because the sun hasn't risen fully yet. He stays gone most of the days, and even when he apologizes quietly during the twilight when he slinks back in to the sound of the kettle screeching on the stove and his tea already waiting to be steeped, he still doesn't stop.

You've taken to playing blues while he's gone, mostly the old school stuff, digging out the vintage record player he has buried in the closet and setting it up on the coffee table. It’s the only technology you can use without shorting it out. You don’t know why, but it makes you grateful the record collection Namjoon keeps tucked away inside the coffee table that you’ve learned is in fact an actual steamer trunk that he salvaged and restored himself.

The music fills the apartment, distracts you from the oppressive weight of his absence. He knows you wait at the window for him, you told him that back when the two of you were first getting to know each other.

You're so fragile, you had told him. He had laughed at you, quiet and fond, and waited for you to explain further. You're so full of life and breath and possibility, and the world is so big and so dangerous. I'm scared you won't come back.

"Of course I'm going to come back," he told you. You didn't even need to tell him that you're afraid of what being alone might do to you, now that you're so used to his presence. You're being heard again, sometimes even seen, and you don't know if you can go back to the stagnant depression of solitude. "I'll always come back to you."

That was the first time you thought you might love Namjoon. The feeling has only gotten stronger, and now that you wait at the window with your eyes focused on that tiny section of sidewalk you can see at the end of the alley, it threatens to consume you whole.

You wait at the window for hours. You know because you glance at the clock every minute and a half, mocking you with every tick as it hangs limply on the bathroom door. The sun sinks below the horizon, the moon rises to take its place, and they switch again while you wait. The dawn paints the sky in beautiful shades of pink and red and orange and the faintest purple, but you can't appreciate any of it, because you're too anxious.

He could be hurt. He could be gone, and you wouldn't ever know until his friends came to pack his things. He could have left, too; maybe he finally decided that living with a ghost was just too much for him and just ran. Maybe he figured out that you love him, that you would move heaven and earth if it meant he was safe forever if only you could leave this apartment, and it was too much for him.

What if he knows about how you lay beside him every night? How you tuck the blankets tighter around him, cover him in warmth and comfort before settling on top of them and closing your eyes and pretending that you can feel his arm draped over your waist and his breath on the back of your neck. What if he felt you, that night you wandered into the bathroom while he was showering to write on the steam-covered mirror that he needs to buy more eggs soon and got distracted by the way he looked stepping out of the shower? What if he knows your stomach flipped at the long limbs and the hidden muscles and the sheer size of him? What if he knows the real reason you were quiet that night, the way you kept replaying the moment in your mind and wishing you had a body so you could have just touched him, at least.

It's closer to noon than midnight when his whistle echoes up through the window.

"Hey, I'm home," He calls as he enters the empty apartment. You're upset, but you're more filled with relief than anything because at least he's safe and he's here now. He makes a beeline for where the kettle is just starting to whistle, already reaching for the honey and the tea you set out on the counter for him, and you do your best to calm the storm of emotions inside you.

Did you have fun, wherever you were? You ask him, floating the whiteboard in front of his face so he has to acknowledge it.

"Yeah, I did," he responds as he stirs his tea. "Jin invited everyone over for some end of summer thing. I didn't feel too great at the end of it, so I just spent the night there."

Don't party too hard, you might remember how to have fun, you joke. It falls a little flat based on the grim smile Namjoon gives you. Are they gonna come over here again anytime soon? I've missed scaring Hoseok.

He lets out a real laugh at that. "I don't know, maybe. My birthday's coming up, after Jeongguk's, so they could definitely be planning something. I'm heading over to Yoongi's later to help plan for Guk's party. I might stay there tonight, so try not to worry, Casper."

I'll try, you tell him. You both know you'll stand at the window every second he's gone, but you don't want to tell him why. You don't want to tell him that you love him through a dry erase board, or some fancy poetry magnets. It doesn't matter that you may as well have already said so by telling him that he makes you feel alive again; you haven't said the words to him, he hasn't seen 'I love you' in the messy scrawl that is your handwriting on some stupid board, and therefore he doesn't know.

You don't know if you want him to.

He stays gone that night, as he said he might, and reappears the next day to shower and change before he vanishes again. The next time he shows up, he takes a bag with him when he leaves, which only worsens your fears. He stays gone for three days this time, doesn't apologize when he turns up again and just mumbles a soft hello into the air before he makes tea and sags into his couch. He's asleep in seconds, and as much as you want to scream at him, you can't bring yourself to disrupt how peaceful he looks.

When he wakes, he takes a shower and ignores the ' can we talk ' you scrawled in the steam. He packs a bag of fresh clothes and doesn't say goodbye when he leaves, just disappears and leaves you standing at the window with the pail in your hand, caring for the plants he isn't. The slam of the door sounds like nails in a coffin and breaks what little was left of your soul.

He shows back up nearly a week later, and the relief at seeing him again is overridden by the sheer anger at being left in the first place. You don't start the kettle when you hear his whistle, the quiet and hoarse tune of a familiar song barely reaching the window, but there's plenty of noise when he enters.

The cabinet doors are quaking with your fury, the lights flicker and threaten to burst, and Namjoon just leans back against the door. He’s soaked from the storm thundering outside, even his jacket plastered to his skin, and he’s shivering slightly, but you can’t see anything past the rage.

"Where the fuck were you?" You demand; there's no point, it's not like he can hear you, but the way he sighs makes you feel like he can, so you continue anyway. "It's been almost a week, you didn't even think to stop by for ten seconds so I know you're okay? I thought you were dead somewhere, you could've been, like, shot, or something, I don't know, just bleeding out in some ditch, and I wouldn't know! And what about all the plants? I know how to take care of them, sure, but do you know how hard it is for me to do it?"

Namjoon sighs again, the breath catching in his throat and coming out in a cough, but you don't pay much attention to it.

"Why would you act like this, Namjoon? What did I do, is it because of the things I said? Do you not want me to feel like this about you? Because this a damn good way of making sure I don't, I assure you, so by all means, just keep disappearing and leave me alone with the plants you decided to rescue and save!"

His cough gets worse and he just shakes his head, covering his mouth and making his way towards the bathroom.

"If you want me to hate you, it's too fucking late, Joon!" The slam of the bathroom door punctuates your sentence, and you quiet at the sound of continued coughing. You knew his flu was getting worse, but it's never sounded like that. Even when you were alive, you knew that the wet sound that's muffled by the bathroom door isn't what a cough should sound like. The lock of the door clicks, and it shocks you into movement because he's never - never - locked you out of anywhere. He knows it wouldn't stop you, knows it as well as you know that you'd respect that boundary if he set it, and yet here he is, locking you out even as he coughs up what sounds like a lung in the other room.

You hesitate at the door, torn between respecting his boundaries and knowing what’s happening. You want him to trust you, always, and yet you find your hand disappearing through the door before you can stop it. You stand like that for a long moment, just listening to the sounds of his wracking coughs; the sound of a crash echoes through the apartment, though, and you’re through the door completely in the span of a heartbeat. 

Nearly everything that had been on the counter is scattered on the ground, Namjoon himself gripping the sides of the toilet as if he would fall apart otherwise. A single glance tells you that the crash happened as he turned from the sink to the toilet, and if his jolting shoulders didn’t tell you why, the sounds of his retching would. That isn’t what fills you with dread though; the disorientation, the vomiting, all of it comes with being sick sometimes, but the red staining the bathroom sink? 

That’s not normal, and you know with every part of you that it’s the reason he’s been gone so much. 

The temperature in the apartment drops with the sun, but your arms surround Namjoon as best they can. Goosebumps break out on his arms, shivers run down his back, but you don’t move away from him; he doesn’t say anything, just sits there with his forehead pressed against the cool of the porcelain. He stands eventually, ignores the way he passes completely through your body to rinse the sink and brush his teeth. 

You let him stay quiet until you’re both on his bed; you’re pressed up against his side and running your hands along his forearms, idly wondering if you would be able to feel his heartbeat if you were alive. 

“It’s not...it’s not gonna get better,” He says eventually. “There’s not a cure, just some things to draw it out and give me a little bit longer even if they come with more pain. I go once a week to see if it’s gotten worse, check how much longer I have. It’s why Hobi let me move in here rent-free. He pays the bills, says it’s the least he can do. I wanted to be closer to him anyway, so that’s a bonus, I guess.”

“I’m so sorry, Joon,” you whisper. Your board lies forgotten, somewhere on the couch maybe, you aren’t sure and can’t be bothered to pull yourself away from him long enough to find it. You don’t need it right now, though; he knows what you mean by the way the cold presses against his bicep with your palm. 

“I didn’t want you to know.” You’re not exactly surprised at that; you’d figured as much. You just don’t understand his reasoning. “I didn’t want you worrying about me, or anything like that, like the guys do. They always look at me and it’s all they can see. Like they’re already mourning me, even though I’m still here. I didn’t want to feel like that with you.” 

“I know,” you say. You don’t, not really. Your own death was sudden, a shock to everyone you knew; you didn’t get the luxury of saying goodbye, didn’t have the burden of knowing you would be gone soon. 

The two of you sit in silence for a while, until you can feel Namjoon’s chest quivering under your palm. When you look up, he looks at you, really and truly at you , and he has tears in his eyes. 

“I don’t want to die, Casper,” He whispers. You suck in a breath because he can see you, and you don’t even know why, but you don’t want to lose this moment. “I don’t want to leave all of this behind. I don’t want to leave you.” 

“It’ll be okay,” you say softly. His brow furrows and a tear slides down his cheek. “I promise you it will be okay, Namjoon. It gets easier, and people remember but they aren’t stuck forever. And I…” You falter, and it takes his eyes meeting yours to make you realize he can hear you. And there’s only one thing you’ve ever needed him to hear. 

“I love you,” You tell him. “I love you, and I will never forget you.” 

He surges forward, lips meeting yours in a rush of air. You moan at the feeling of him against you, realizing that for the first time since you died, you can feel something under your fingers. His skin is warm against your fingers, his lips soft against your own, and when he reaches up to cup your jaw with his hand, he doesn’t pass through your form. Instead his hand settles heavy against you, and he moves your head to lick into your mouth. 

Tears that won’t fall prickle at the back of your eyes and you climb into his lap before he can stop you. He’s still crying so you wipe away the tears before they can fall, pressing soft kisses to his cheeks, his dimples, his nose, every bit you can reach. A question sits at the back of your mind, and you can see it lingering in his eyes, but neither of you asks it.

“You’re so cold.” His whisper is nearly lost amidst the thunder that shakes the apartment, but it makes you smile a little. 

“Warm me up?” 

His chest is still quivering with unspoken sobs, but he nods. “Always,” he tells you. “I’m always going to be here.” It doesn’t take long to pry him out of his clothes, takes even less time for him to sink into you. It feels just like it did when you were alive, only magnified; you can feel him hot and warm inside you, can feel the beat of his heart in the firm muscle under your hands. His moans are quiet and hoarse but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

He keeps one hand on your waist and the other on your neck, holding you close enough that he can kiss whenever he wants. “You’re beautiful,” He whispers. “The most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.” You just press another kiss to his chapped lips and let him dig his fingers in hard enough that it would bruise if it could. When he’s close to his peak, he stops thrusting, just sits inside you as he grinds your hips down to his, and presses his forehead against yours. 

“I love you,” He tells you, lightning casting his shadow across the wall for a brief moment. “I love you, I do, I wish-”

“I know,” you tell him before he can continue. “I know, Namjoon, I know, and I do, too. I love you, too.” He comes a few seconds later, the warm seed soaking into his sheets because it has nowhere to go. His warmth disappears from under your hands and his arms fall to his lap when the only thing holding them up is gone. All you can hear is your quiet sobs mixed with his and the rain against the window, and for the first time since you came back, you really, truly, wish you had died. There’s no point in being a ghost when you can still feel your heart breaking in your chest. 

“Casper, are you ever scared?” 

It’s the middle of the afternoon. Namjoon is sprawled across the couch wrapped in blankets while Lucifer plays in the background and you doodle aimlessly on your board. You don’t need it as often now; you’ve gotten better at focusing your energy into being heard, though being corporeal still eludes you. You don’t know how you did it that night, but you’re grateful for it. 

“Of what?” You ask, looking towards him. He’s not looking at you or watching the show, just staring at the ceiling. He focuses at your words, lifts himself up into a sitting position. A shiver runs through him when his legs move through you, and you settle a weightless hand against his knee out of habit. 

“I don’t know,” He replies. “Just...whatever comes next. If there’s something that comes next. Being forgotten. Being stuck here forever.” 

You aren’t stupid; you know why he’s asking. The question lingers in the air, colors all of your conversations now, but the truth is that neither of you has the strength to ask it and neither of you knows the answer. 

“Sometimes,” You tell him. “Sometimes I wonder what Jihyo is doing, if she ever had a baby like she wanted to. I wonder if my parents are still alive, and what they say if they visit my grave, what they tell me now that I can’t respond to them.” 

Namjoon nods like he’s already thought of that, and he probably has. 

“Most of the time I try not to focus on it, though. It’s not helpful, it only upsets me, and I don’t…” You trail off, unsure of how to word your thoughts. “I don’t know what might happen if I only focus on the negative. I don’t know anything about what’s true about ghosts and what isn’t beyond that I exist now, and I can’t risk becoming something bad. So I try not to focus on it. It’s easier when you’re here.”

He grins and blows a kiss in your general direction, and you pretend not to notice the blood on his cracked lips. He’s quiet for the rest of the episode of half of another. 

“Have you ever seen a light?” 

“What?” He doesn’t seem to hear you, and you repeat your question on your board for him. 

“A light,” He echoes. “Like, the light.Y’know, the light at the end of the tunnel, ‘don’t go into the light,’ that thing.” 

You hesitate at that. You knew what he meant, what he actually wants to know here. He’s easier to read now than he was in the beginning. 

You watch him as he watches the space where you sit, curled up beside him on his couch. He can’t see you, of course, but he can see where the board rests in your hands. His gaze is heavier than it was when he first moved in; his cheeks are hollower, skin more gaunt with a grey tint that’s only made worse by the constant rain. The sun is just starting to break through the clouds, a brief reprieve after weeks of the dreary stone-colored clouds. It casts shadows along the walls, reflects off something in the window across the alley, and backlights Namjoon beautifully, casts a halo of light around the brittle brown hair you love. 

Once, you tell him. Just once.

“Why didn’t you go to it?” 

There are so many things you could tell him, so many different ways to answer such a simple question, but you find yourself lingering on the one thing you know is the ultimate truth. 

Because I love you.

September comes with even more rain and a bittersweet atmosphere. Jeongguk spends his birthday at Namjoon’s apartment and then comes back a little over a week later, surrounded by the other guys and carrying enough food to last a few months. You stay curled on the bed, one of the only safe places for you to not mess with anyone or anything. Your board is tucked into the blankets, ready to be used but hidden from view just in case. You watch as Namjoon sits on the couch, tucked between Taehyung and Yoongi with both of them leaning into him as much as possible, Yoongi’s hands wrapped in one of his and Tae’s head on his shoulder. 

The other’s aren’t far, leaning against the back of the couch and on beanbags they’d brought with them, all laughing as Hoseok does his best to act out whatever he’d been given in charades. He’s not bad at it - you’ve guessed the last few he’s done - but he is utterly ridiculous in his mannerisms. You know why; it’s the same reason everyone kept smiling when Namjoon refused all of the food he was offered, why Seokjin would crack a terrible joke whenever it got too quiet for too long, why everyone is resolutely ignoring the growing pile of tissues on the table. 

It keeps a smile on Namjoon’s face, though, and a laugh in his eyes, and you can’t ever be anything but grateful for that. 

Hoseok stumbles, nearly falling and whirling his arms to catch himself before eventually falling anyway. You laugh along with the others, grinning at the way Hobi pouts and rubs at his hip. You’re focused on the way Joon laughs, the way it lights up his face and brightens the entire room, which is why you see it first. 

The tickle at the back of his throat quickly becomes a cough, wet and wheezing and enough to make him throw the blankets from his lap and stumble to the bathroom. 

You’re there before he is, helping him slide the door closed and locking it behind him as he bends over the toilet again. The six of them are quiet in the main room, speaking in hushed whispers that neither you nor Namjoon wants to hear. You turn the knob on the sink, wetting a towel while you drown out the sound of voices, and letting a hand run over Namjoon’s back. 

“I’m okay,” he mutters. You ignore the way his voice shakes, the way his lips are redder than before, the way this happens more often than before. Instead, you just press the damp rag to his neck and watch his eyes close in relief. When he stands and flushes the evidence away, you already have his toothbrush ready and waiting, and you stay as close to him as you can until he takes a deep breath. 

“I’m okay,” He repeats. “I’m okay. It’s my birthday, and I’m okay.” 

He goes back out with a smile on his face and a laugh in his voice, teasing Hoseok about the way he fell and reenacting it, even. When he settles on the couch, he urges the others to continue the game. There’s a brief moment of hesitation before Jimin declares that he’s next and pulls something from the bowl on the table. 

You know you aren’t the only one that notices the way Namjoon’s eyes linger on the six men around him, but you are the only one that notices the way they also linger on his steamer trunk, the shelf with his books, the TV, the record player, the scrapbook of his life that they all worked on and Taehyung pieced together over the months, the plants on the wall that he had cared for. He looks around his apartment as if he’s looking at it for the last time. 

As if he’s already planning who’s going to get what. 

He finally asks the question you both have been thinking about, nearly two months later. His breathing comes in ragged pants, his lips stay chapped, and he keeps several blankets around him at all times to try to hide the shaking of his body. Your soft sobs echo through the apartment constantly; while you reheat the tea he doesn’t drink for the millionth time, while you quietly water and prune the plants he’s saved from death the way you wish you could save him, while you sit curled around him as he sleeps, soothing his coughs with quiet whispers. 

Night has just begun to fall, the rain of the day turning into a soft drizzle, and you stare at him blankly, unsure how to process what you’ve just heard. 

“Do you think I’ll come back?” He asks again, slightly louder. As if you hadn’t heard his shaky voice the first time. It’s not the question that floors you. You’ve been expecting this for weeks, months even. You’ve wondered it yourself as you prepare tea and ignore the sounds of him vomiting blood in the bathroom, as he disappears to the hospital and returns with a worse prognosis than before, as you’ve adjusted to the idea that you are dead and he is dying and you cannot do anything to help him. 

You never would have expected the hope that his words carry though. 

“Why does it sound like you want to?” You ask. Your voice is clear in the air and you’re glad for it, because this isn’t something you want to talk about through your board. 

“Because I do?” His response is delayed and sounds more like a question than a real answer. 

“Why?!” You demand. 

“Are you serious, Casper?” His brow is furrowed as he sits up and lets the blankets fall away to sit haphazardly off the couch. 

“Are you? Joon, why would you want to come back?”

“You’re seriously asking me that question? Why would I not? I’ve got so much I still want to do, I never thought I’d get the chance to after I got the diagnosis and now I might be able to. Why wouldn’t I want that?”

“Because it doesn’t work like that! You don’t get to just wander the world and fuck around, Joon, you’re dead.”

“Yeah, but you can still read and write and everything. I’d have all the time in the world to read the books I want to read, watch the shows I want to watch, write the music and stories and lyrics that I want to write.”

“Yeah, so long as it all stays in this apartment!” The light in the room flickers slightly with the force of your irritation. “You can’t do anything that isn’t in this room, Namjoon, you can’t use any of the electronics, you can’t read a book unless it’s here, you can’t write music unless it’s on actual paper, you can’t do anything.” 

“Yeah, and I could make that work. Why are you so upset about this? I thought you’d be happy.”

“Happy? You think I’d be happy that you’d be stuck in these four walls forever, too? Why would that make me happy?” Namjoon stands, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. 

“Because I’d be with you! We’d be together, forever! Do you not want to be with me?”

“Of course I want to be with you, Joon, but not at the cost of you being stuck here. I don’t want that for anyone, certainly not the man I love.”

“And what if that’s what I want? What if I want to spend the rest of time with you? I’m already spending the rest of my life with you, I’m in love with you, I don’t want to leave you.”

“And I don’t want you to go, but Joon, why would I want you stuck here, too? This isn’t something fun. This isn’t anything that I enjoy.”

“Oh, so you regret it all then?”

“I didn’t say that, I just don’t want you to be stuck in a shitty studio apartment for who knows how long when you can’t fucking do half of the things you love! You wouldn’t go on walks, Namjoon, you wouldn’t go with Guk and Jimin to the movies, you wouldn’t get visits from Hobi, you wouldn’t get to shop with Taehyung or Jin, you wouldn’t get to drag Yoongi away from his thesis or celebrate with them when he finishes it! It’s not like being alive, Namjoon, you’d be dead and alone and in hell!”

“Whatever,” He mutters, shoving his arms into his coat. “Why can’t you understand for one fucking second that it wouldn’t be like that with you? I’d rather be stuck here forever than have to die in some shitty apartment and not even be able to touch the person I love.”

“Why can’t you understand that it’s still death? You’d be dead, Joon, your friends would go to your funeral and disappear from your life, and you’d be stuck staring out that window at that shitty alley for the rest of time. You don’t get it, you don’t how terrible it is to be stuck here and watch life pass you by.”

“Then why the fuck are you still here?” He asks. The door slams behind him before you can answer him, and your scream shakes everything in the room. You just barely catch one of the plants in the kitchen, a brown-potted one with ‘Shooky’ scrawled in Yoongi’s familiar handwriting, before it crashes to the ground. You return it to its place gently and huff another frustrated groan. 

You wish you could explain it better, but you know he wouldn’t get it even if you could. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to be trapped between four walls and unable to do anything without massive amounts of effort. And he won’t, not unless he experiences it himself. 

You’ve already watched him wither away. You’ve watched him become thin and sallow and a shadow of the Namjoon who first moved in, and you don’t know what you would do if he came back. You wouldn’t be alone anymore, of course, and you’d have him here with you, but at what cost? Namjoon was built for cherry blossoms and sunshine and the riverside. He would hate being trapped here even more than you do.

Still, you could have been more understanding of his view. You can admit that even being stuck in a shitty apartment wasn’t so terrible when you had Namjoon there to make you laugh or watch TV or read to you. It may even get better if he turned into a ghost; maybe you could hold his hands in yours, could feel him wrap his arms around you, could press kisses to his skin again. 

You move to the window and stand there waiting. It’s not good for him to be out, even if the rain had stopped a few days ago and the forecasters promised it was the end of the downpours. He was still weak, you’d be surprised he even went anywhere to begin with but you know he likes to walk to calm himself down. 

You worry for what feels like hours. You can’t focus on anything, not the way the sun starts to set, not the sound of cars passing or the neighbor leaving. You’ve worked yourself into knots by the time you hear his whistle echo up through the streets, nearly lost in the sound of some argument in the alley below you. You catch a brief view of his coat and smile when you see that he’s got some half-dead plant tucked under an arm. There’s the briefest glimpse of what looks like a Ca scrawled onto it, and your heart jumps in your throat.

You make your way to the stove, turning the heat up slightly too high so that it’ll be ready when he comes in. The arguing outside gets louder but you pay it no mind, pulling the honey out and setting it next to his favorite mug. You’re reaching for the tea when you hear something else. It definitely sounds like Namjoon’s voice, but it’s not in the hall or at the door like usual. It’s raised, like he’s yelling at someone, like it was just a while ago when he was fighting with you. A crash startles you and before you can even reach the window to see what’s going on, there’s a deafening bang. 

You slam your fist against the window, watch the red mix with dirt, and the kettle isn't that only thing that screams. 

“I think that’s the last of it,” Jeongguk says. His voice is scratchy and quiet, but it’s deafening in the silence of the apartment. 

“Yeah,” Hoseok replies. His eyes are rimmed with red and his hands shake as he slides the last mug into a box. “Thanks for the help, Guk. I don’t, um.” He sniffles. “I don’t think I could’ve done it myself, y’know?” 

“I know,” Jeongguk agrees. They’re quiet again, adjusting the things they’ve boxed and avoiding finishing what they’re doing. 

“Oh, can you get that?” You don’t have to look to know what Hoseok is talking about. Jeongguk grunts an affirmation and makes his way over. It’s a strange feeling, having someone pass through you again for the first time since. His hands fly into the air as he tries to lift, clearly not having expected it to weigh anything. 

His reflection in the window frowns, and he tries again, tugging on the pot. 

“I can’t get it,” He says. “Do you think he glued these things down or something?” 

“No,” Hoseok replies as he wanders over as well. “He used to pick them up to re-pot them, remember? And the others came up with no problem.” 

“Well it’s stuck or something, you try.”

Hobi takes Jeongguk’s place and pulls hard at the plot, but your grip doesn’t waver. He huffs and disappears. When he returns, he’s got a butter knife in one hand that he does his best to slip under the pot. He tries hard to pry it up, so hard that you almost want to give in. You don’t though. 

The knife clatters to the floor with as much force as Hoseok can put behind it, a curse following quickly behind it. 

“Fuck it,” Hoseok says. His voice is shaky and you know he’s near tears again. “Just fuck it.” 

“But that was-”

“You can try if you want, Guk, but I just-” He chokes back a sob, shaking his head and moving to pick up the boxes he’d set down. “I just can’t, okay?” He disappears out the door in a hurry, and you wish you could follow after him. 

Jeongguk looks down at the small plant, with its painted periwinkle pot and soft leaves. He runs a quivering finger over the leaf and sniffles. He doesn’t try to lift it again, just stands and lets his tear soak into the soil.

“I wish you could come back to us,” He whispers. “We thought...we expected more time. It’s not...it’s not really fair, y’know? So if you can hear me, if you can come back to us, please do. Please.” 

He turns and leaves, the apartment door slamming behind him like the lid of a casket. Your grip on Mang loosens now that you know no one’s going to try to take it. You’d watched them pack everything else up; you’d let them take the steamer trunk full of records, the shelf full of books and movies, the collection of mugs, the soft blankets, the ratty couch, the rest of the plants he’d cared for so tenderly. 

Piece by piece they had packed Namjoon up and walked him out of the apartment, but this was the one piece they couldn’t have. This was his favorite and none of them knew how to care for it like you did, and you had to. You owed it to him. He deserved to come back to at least one familiar thing, never mind that you woke up not even a day later and it’s now been weeks. If there was one thing you wanted him to see when he got back, it was his favorite of his plants. 

The sun glares into your eyes from where it shines down on the city. It reflects off something in the window from across the alley, would be blinding if you actually had eyes. You pay it no mind, focused instead on the remains of the broken brown pot down in the alley, the way you’ve pieced them together in your head a thousand times just to trace the word Casper with your eyes. You can almost hear his voice saying it, even now.

You whip around, eyes darting through the empty space of the apartment as your hands tighten around Mang.

All that rests there is empty space, mocking in its loneliness. You remember when he moved in, remember how it felt to test the boundaries of the apartment and wish you were free. The want is still there, to leave and never think of it again, never think of him. You know better, though. You could never escape the memory of him, the way he laughed and smiled and spoke. You could never abandon Mang. Not when he said he’d always come back to you. 

You turn back to the window, cursing the sunlight with every other breath. It fades, slowly, into the black of night, before returning again, and again, and again. Days pass, each one feeling like years. Hoseok doesn’t appear to show the apartment, no one comes to collect the small periwinkle pot between your palms, and the ghost of his laugh echoes around you. 

The sun blinds you again. You don’t even know how long it’s been, just that you’ve yet to move. Light glints off whatever hangs in the window across the alley. That's when you see it, a vague reflection in the weathered glass of a dimple and a grin, and warmth surrounds you.

“I told you I’d always come back, Casper.”

[ajokeformur-ray]

I don't really know if you can help me in this but I need to rant and I always find inspiration in your blog, so here we go.

I just found myself in a huge art block and I have projects to do for class and I just can't find the inspiration or the will to draw

Anyway, I also wanted to thank you because you have help me a lot with self shipping and I always found courage in everything you do!

So thanks a lot and I hope everything goes great for you!

Hello, darling!💗💗💗

I’m so sorry that it took me a few days to respond to this ask and I hope that it’s still relevant to you! 💚 I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to help, but I’ll do my best! I’m really proud of you for reaching out to me to rant! Sometimes that’s all we need and I hope that something within this answer gives you even a little bit of help or comfort!💙I’m honoured that you find inspiration in my blog omg???🥺That means a lot to me!💜

I just found myself in a huge art block and I have projects to do for class and I just can't find the inspiration or the will to draw

There are words within this segment of your ask which rang my deja vu bells and I went through my advice tag and I found an ask which talks about writer’s block and ways to combat it. I’ve linked it here for your convenience. I know that writing is different to visual art, but hopefully some of the points I discussed a few months ago in that ask will also be relevant to you in some way!💚

Procrastination can be a part of having a creative block and it’s something many people know well. I definitely struggle with that as well, when I have writing projects due (requests) as well as things which I want to write. When I have no will to work on my projects and I just want to write... for the sake of it, I procrastinate on one task by working on the other. I set a timer and I will spend thirty minutes on my project, and then I’ll reward myself for that by procrastinating for ten minutes and working on the piece I want to write. Flipping back and forth can decrease productivity for some people, but in my experience it only ever helps me to do this. I say this because it’s working on two things at once and you’re receiving that fulfilled immediate gratification which is a customary part of procrastination by “putting off” the project which has to be done in favour of working on something else for ten minutes. This also helps your brain to process what you’re doing on one project while you chip away at the other and vice versa. It’s not something which works for everyone, but it works for me so I thought that I would share this with you!💙💜

So admittedly, I am not a visual artist. I struggle to even draw a circle without the use of a compass, so it’s safe to say that I’m unfamiliar with visual art techniques. I also don’t want to say something to you which is potentially unhelpful or misleading in any kind of way. As such, I took the liberty of researching ways to overcome an art block while I was here on Tumblr, and I found two really good posts which can explain things a lot better than I can.

The first one I found is here.

The second one I found is here.

I’m sure that there are many more posts out there, and I found these posts by searching ‘how to deal with art block’. Lots of posts came up and hopefully something within those two posts will be able to help you as well!💖

I feel like I’ve barely been of any use to you, my love, and if that is indeed the case then please accept my apologies. If you have any more questions or if you want to discuss this further, then please know that my ask box is open! I’m honoured to have been able to help you with self-shipping, darling, and on that front too, please feel free to ask me anything! You can even gush about your F/Os to me if you want to sksksk I wanna hype up my OTPs!🥺🧡 I’m humbled that you find courage in the things I do, darling, that really means a lot to me asdfghjk you’re most welcome omg nonnie idk who you are but I love you and I wanna give you a virtual hug (or a respectable head nod if you don’t want to be touched for any kind of reason!🥰💗). And thank you so much skksksks things are... a Lot right now but I’m doing my best!💘

I’m sending you lots of love, darling, and thank you so so much for reaching out to me! I really hope I’ve been able to help you!💝

[our-heroes-rise]

Maybe some Todoroki headcannons for falling in love with young s/o and how he tries to woo her?

sure thing bb. since you weren’t too specific with your request, i took a few creative liberties. and, maybe, might have strayed a bit from the prompt…? but i hope you like it! this was also another one that i had SO much fun writing, and, honestly, might write my next fic on this au, haha. *whispers* oh, and please forgive me for the terribly long wait.

(they’re both over the age of 18 to make my life a little easier)

———————————————————————

Pro-Hero Todoroki:

Shoto meets you during an evacuation mission. In the aftermath of a terrible earthquake, he finds you struggling to lift a fallen support beam off of your unconscious friend’s leg, crying for help. Honestly, he hardly pays any attention to you, he’s in full Pro mode and only calmly asks you a few evaluating questions of your friend’s current state before he sets into action, firmly ordering you to evacuate with everyone else. The job is quick and he has your friend’s leg free in less than a minute, handing them off to another Pro while he goes to respond to another cry for help.

And he doesn’t think of you at all until almost a month after the incident. At just the age of twenty-one, he leads a very busy life, already ranked as number ten in the nation and number seventeen worldwide. He’s saved a lot of people and seen millions of faces, you can’t blame him for letting one slip his mind.

It’s one of his rare days off and he decides to meet up with Yaoyorozu for coffee before she leaves for an intel mission in Europe. The cafe isn’t anything fancy, a small low-profile place in downtown Hosu where he knows they’ll be capable of having a peaceful meal to catch up. But there’s something about the barista that takes his order that seems oddly… Familiar, and he can’t for the life of him place what it is.

He’s about to give up trying to figure it out when you approach the table he and Yaoyorozu are sharing.

When you speak your voice is soft and your gaze apprehensive, cheeks dusted in a light shade of pink that has his heart fluttering in a way that’s new and confusing to him. “I-I - uh - I’m sorry if I’m interrupting you two, but I just wanted to thank you, Sh-Shoto, sir, for saving my friend a while back. I’m sure you don’t remember, but you freed my friend’s leg during that earthquake a couple weeks back, a-and I just thought I should thank you for that since they never got the chance to.”

She called me sir.

“Oh, yes, I remember,” he says, mind drawing to a brief stall as he takes you in for maybe a moment longer than he should. He’s received many thank you’s from fans and people he’s saved before, that isn’t what currently has his tongue it’s just - had you always been this pretty? “I thought I recognized you earlier. I’m - I’m glad that I was able to help you and your friend, is their leg alright?”

And that interaction is just the first (or second, really) of many more that follow.

Shoto visits the cafe more frequently now. It still isn’t often, considering his hectic schedule hardly allows enough time for him to sleep and eat on a regular basis, but whenever he gets the chance he goes to that small cozy cafe in downtown Hosu. Because the coffee is good, he tells himself the first few times he goes, even though he spends most of his time sitting at the breakfast bar doing his best to strike up a conversation with you.

Because the barista is beautiful, he finally admits to himself as he sets eyes on you for the umpteenth time during his too-far-to-count-anymore visit.

Shoto is still very much the emotionally clueless boy he was in high school and although he understands his attraction towards you, that doesn’t mean he knows exactly how to go about it. So, for a while, he simply makes it his goal to learn everything he can about you through his visits. 

And that goal doesn’t really change when he figures out you’re a nineteen-year-old college student. Sure as hell makes him question his decision for a second, but he ultimately decides that your age had nothing to do with his judgment of your character. Honestly, the fact that you hadn’t ratted him out to the press was enough to tell him you were more than just trustworthy. He still loved talking with you, listening to you go on about what you wanted to do with your life, learning about your passions, your likes and dislikes.

However, it is one of the things that makes him hesitate in asking for your number. He didn’t want you to think he was weird and scare you away or anything. But when he hears he’s going to be leaving the country for a couple of weeks, unable to see you at all, he forces himself to ask during his last visit to the cafe.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you tell him, a small frown pulling at the corner of your lips, and his chest grows cold. He opens his mouth to mumble out an apology when your face breaks into a shit-eating grin, “I wouldn’t want to be a distraction to the great Shoto Todoroki while he’s on the job. Not trying to be blamed as the reason the world’s precious Icyhot hero never came back home.”

He doesn’t feel much pressure to act older around you, since, for the most part, you two seem to share the same maturity level. You joke around a lot more than he does but he’s decided that has more to do with you not your age. He would be lying if he said he disliked that part of you though. (He loves it.)

Shoto coughs half a laugh and rolls his eyes, “I think I’m more than capable of handling myself at this point. You don’t have to worry about me, especially not when - uh, nevermind, sorry,”

“No, what were you going to say? Especially not when what? You can’t just leave me on a cliffhanger like that!”

He casts a half-hearted glare at you over the lid of his coffee as he takes a long sip, trying to hide his flushed cheeks. “Especially not when I have a reason to come back.” It’s muttered in a low breath, but you still manage to hear it all.

And that’s all it takes for you to scribble down your number on a napkin and shove it into his hand, flushed cheeks puffed out in a pout, mumbling something about how he should warn you before saying stuff like that.

Your relationship progresses slowly, but he admits that he has more to do with you this time than his busy schedule. He just wants to take it slow, he’s still unsure of many things and he understands how different the lives that you lead are. Also, that nagging worrisome feeling that he’s going to scare you away if he moves too quickly is still there, yet he’s still scared you’ll lose interest in him. That you’ll turn him down because you’ve found someone who’s your age with more time to give to you, so he does everything he can to keep you interested and to show that he cares without being too forward about it.

Shoto makes it a point to text you at least once a day to check in on you during his breaks at work and his heart sputters like a choking car engine whenever he sees your name flash across his screen.

He tries his hardest to facetime with you too, that way he can see your face and hear your voice. However, most times it’s really late at night and feels bad for keeping you up when he knows you have school in the morning. Oddly enough though, it’s also when you have your deepest conversations. He’s not sure what it is about the night, but he finds himself opening up to you more, telling you things that he hasn’t told most people he’s close with. And it scares him a little.

That is until one certain late night facetime while he’s away in another country on a mission that has his heart doing a complete 360.

“You’re such a good guy, Shoto. A good hero, not just a good guy. I wish you hadn’t had to endure so much when you were younger, but, I guess, that’s what makes you such a strong and passionate hero. This world is lucky to have you. I’m lucky to have you - uh - In my life, I mean! I-I know we’re not together or anything but - uh - I-It’s just, well, it’s crazy to think that out of all the people you’ve met, that you decided to keep me close to you. And even though you’re only, like, three years older than me, you don’t make it feel that way. I-I mean you make me feel comfortable and I enjoy talking to you, and I appreciate it a lot, really, I do. And I cherish our relationship, w-where-wherever it goes. Always.”

Shoto doesn’t know what to say. You’ve snatched the breath from his lungs and all he can do is stare at you with the most adorably love-stricken expression on his face.

You look away from the phone half a second later, pretending to find something in your lap, that’s out of sight, extremely interesting, but he can still see the red that’s stained your cheeks. At that moment, he wishes with every fiber of his being that he could reach through the phone and kiss you. That he could hold you close and confess every love written thought that’s running through his head because, shit, he hadn’t realized how hard he had fallen for you until now.

“Th-Thank you, Y/n, you don’t know how much that means to me.” He takes a moment to compose himself as you give him a small nod, still embarrassed apparently about what you said. That doesn’t deter him though, in fact, it drives him forward towards his next few words even faster. “When I get home,” he starts again, normally cool voice shaky with apprehension, “will you have dinner with me?”

“You mean, l-like a date?”

Shoto sucks in a deep breath before he nods, “Yes, a date.” He adds quickly, “If that’s alright.”

You look back at the phone looking utterly relieved and taken aback and he’s once again struck with the overwhelming want to kiss you. “Y-yes.” Your grin nearly blinds him. “Yes, Shoto, I would love to have dinner with you.”

Oh, do the tabloids have a field day with that headline. “Pro-Hero Shoto Spotted At Dinner With Young College Student; Should We Be Concerned?” “Shoto’s First Date? She’s How Old?!” “Pro-Hero Shoto Has Discovered His Type”

You especially find the tabloids amusing, taking to occasionally calling him “old man” or “old timer” as a joke. He pretends to be annoyed by it, but you know he thinks its just as funny as you do. Leave it to the press to blow a three year age difference way out of proportion. It’s fine by the both of you though because you have each other, and you both know the true nature of your relationship, which is all that matters.

———————————————————————

✨ written 10/12/19 ✨

[alice-m00n]

AN: Thank you for your request, I hope that I did could do it some justice. I will say that I took a bit of creative liberty with it, but I hope that you’ll enjoy!

Today was the day, he was finally going to ask the stunning woman who worked at the cafe to a date. He could feel his heart beating in his throat and his palms getting sweaty, but what can you expect when he’s been trying to work up the courage to ask this woman on a date for weeks? 

“Would you like anything else, Sensei?” 

“O-Oh, just the bill please.”

“Of course.”  

Come on, he could do this. Even Saiko-chan had cheered him on earlier! 

“M-Manager!” 

“Yes?” 

“T-This upcoming Sunday, there’s going to be a coffee fair, they have quite an impressive selection of vendors. It’s said to have a lot of different coffee beans from around the world. Have you heard of it?”  

“No, I haven’t. But it does sound interesting.” 

 “Um… I was able to get a pair of tickets. But I didn’t know who would be interested. I-If you don’t mind, would you consider going with me as a date?” he asked, feeling his face growing warmer with every word. 

The seconds passed by slowly. All he could  hear was the sound of his heart beating anxiously against his chest. Oh, what if she’s going to reject him and she’s just thinking of a way to let him down slowly? Does that mean he won’t be able to show his face here again? Does that mean he should tell the kids to stop coming too-

 “I’ll have to think about it.” Eh? “Is that alright?” 

“Yes, of course! Take as much time as you need, although it is this weekend, so maybe it would be best to decide before then...” Stop rambling Haise, or she’ll say no on the spot! He should leave while he’s still ahead! “Then until next time.” 

“Yes, take care Sensei.”  

As soon as he left :re, he sighed  out. Thank goodness, she didn’t say no! Well, she didn’t say yes either, but if she’s at least taking the time to consider it, that means that his chances aren’t completely zero right? 

…Right? 

~~~

What the hell was that! She never expected that he would actually ask her on, on a date!

Kaneki spent how long before even working up the courage to even speak to Rize, so she expected Sasaki to be no different, but- Just what was she supposed to do? 

Unfortunately for her, the man stopped by the next day and asked, “Um… Would you happen to have an answer yet?”

Of course not! 

But instead of saying that, she decided to lie through her teeth, “I’m sorry, I was busy last night, so I couldn’t think about it.” 

“Oh it’s completely fine!” he responded as he nervously rubbed at his chin, “I did spring it on you suddenly. Just take your time to think about it.”  

“I will. Now, is there anything that you’d like to order?” 

He sheepishly smiles and orders his usual before leaving to return back to work. Touka sighs the second that he’s out of view. 

~~~

Their next conversation mimicked the one before it. 

“I’m sorry.”

And again. 

“I still don’t have an answer…”

And again. 

“I’m very sorry.”  

Still, he smiles at her and says, “Ah, then I’ll come by again tomorrow.” 

When he acts like that, it’s just like when she ‘taught’ him how to first brew coffee. Instead of  getting angry, he just smiles and moves forward. Why doesn’t he get upset with her? Even though she’s delayed her answer for days? 

It’s getting harder and harder to draw the line between Sasaki Haise and Kaneki Ken, aren’t they the same person at the core?

But it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t! It doesn’t change the fact that she can’t get involved with him.

Why did she even drag it this long to respond when the answer was obvious?

“Touka.” Yomo placed a fresh cup of coffee down, “Here.” 

“Thanks.” 

“Are you going to respond to him tomorrow?” 

“Yeah. There are too many risks if I get too involved with him.” 

“Touka. It’s ok if you want to be happy.” 

“I…I am happy.” And she means it. Mostly. 

So what if just a few years ago she had to throw away everything she knew without any notice? They were safer now and they managed to build up a new home (even though it’s a little emptier than before)   

So what if the last words that she said to Kaneki were ‘don’t come back’? He’s alive, that’s more than she could’ve hoped for. 

Yomo stared at her, “Is that so? It’d be great if that was the truth.” 

SLAM!

“Of course it’s true!” she protested after slamming her coffee down. 

Yomo just stared at her, not getting shocked or angry. Instead he reached out and ruffled her hair, “Maybe you should give it a little more thought.” 

“Hey-” 

“I’m turning in now.” 

Touka glared as he headed upstairs but said nothing. Of course, he would just leave her alone with her thoughts like this. But what more does she have to think about? It’s true that she’s happy now... Isn’t it?

Touka sighed before taking another sip of her coffee. She knows very well that happiness comes with a price. She’s not reckless enough to gamble for more. Even with their minimal interactions now, she feels like she’s on some kind of tightrope. If she says a single wrong word or if she makes the wrong expression, everything that she’s been building up could be lost.  

This home that she built for Kaneki.

The relationship that she’s developed for Sasaki. 

It didn’t feel right to ‘be happy’ with him while he knew nothing of their past.

~~~

The rain was pouring down harshly, it almost sounded more like hail than rain. There wouldn’t be many people coming in this weather. But just as she was about to lock the door, she spotted a certain pudding haired investigator. 

Without  thinking much, she opened the door and called out to him, “Sensei?” 

“Ah, Manager,” he greeted. His hair was so soaked that it was drizzling down water, “Sorry, I don’t think I can come in without making a mess.” 

“It’s fine. Please come in. Here.” 

He accepted the towel with a quiet, “Thank you.”   

“I’ll make you some coffee, so please have a seat.”  

 “I’m really sorry for troubling you so much this week. I was really looking forward to your answer, whatever it may be, but if you don’t want to, I completely understand. I’m sorry if I put you in a difficult position.” 

Touka set a cup down in front of him, “Why did you ask me to go with you?” 

His face turned a little red, “U-Um… You’ve always caught my eye ever since the first time that I came here. But even though you’re smiling, you always looked a little sad… And then I tried to think of things that would make you laugh. ”

“Why do you care so much about me?” 

“Somehow, I didn’t want to leave you alone.” He gave her an embarrassed smile, “I know that’s a bad answer, but I really can’t describe it.”  

Those words… 

He told her those words right before he decided to leave. 

It’s like when he first came here and he started crying. Just what is she supposed to do when the line between Sasaki Haise and Kaneki Ken becomes blurred?  

It feels a little silly at how just a few words can weaken her resolve. 

“Touka. It’s ok if you want to be happy.”

...Is it really ok to let herself be swayed so easily? 

“There’s someone who you remind me of. That person said they wouldn’t leave, but they did. I’ve been waiting for them to return ever since. That’s why it’s been difficult for me to give you a reply.”  She looked right into his eyes,  “Even so, is it still alright for me to accept your offer for this weekend?”

The moments trickled by slowly. 

She was fully expecting him to leave, because of what she said. What does Sasaki Haise think? Isn’t it unfair of her to try and find ‘happiness’ with him while she thinks of  someone else?

And yet, his eyes held no contempt or judgement. Instead, he smiled warmly at her, “I’d be honored if you did.”