#and right when i realized there was a non zero chance of me going to the 500 this year and him not competing. that was a fun day

[yukipedia]

sick of this shit alexander

[honeygrahambitch]

"I want to introduce you to Will Graham."

It was the sixth time Will was hearing that phrase from Jack. To say that he was regretting attending the FBI congress was an understatement.

His social battery was below zero and his facial muscles were hurting from forcing smiles to all the strangers who were all bombing him with dry compliments and uncomfortable questions.

How did you catch Hobbs?

Is it true that the Ripper has a soft spot for you?

Is it easy to do your job?

He managed to excuse himself to the bathroom and to leave the hotel lobby where everyone was drinking and having small chats. He was not sure where he was heading but at that point everything else sounded better.

He went down a corridor. Turned left. Turned right. Left again. His phone buzzed. Jack was texting him to ask if he was sick. The thought of being completely honest about his thoughts regarding the event was very tasty.

"No, I was just thinking of going outside for a few minutes. I will be back soon."

As he was walking and texting he realized he had no idea where he was anymore. He walked into what looked like another great hall, like the one where the conference was. Had he walked in circles? Was he back again?

He walked in and looked for a few well-known faces. Hanging out with Beverly was definitely a better idea than hanging out with Jack. She was better at reading all his subtle cues.

He grabbed his phone again thinking about sending her a text. As his gaze was focused on the screen of his phone, he suddenly bumped into someone's back.

"Sorry-" he started but then relief was all over his face.

"Will, what a wonderful coincidence." Hannibal greeted him.

He was holding a glass of champagne, wearing a dark navy blue suit. His tie was only slightly darker and his hair was impeccable just like the usual.

However, Hannibal's surprise was even bigger. Bumping into Will was an occurrence that he had fantasized about many times before. Bumping into Will wearing a non-plaid shirt was the ideal dream. All his attention was now on the only man in the world who could read him like a book.

"Yeah, it's good to see a well-known face. Are you here for the FBI congress too?" Will asked a bit confused. Why didn't he know Hannibal was going to be there too?

"The FBI congress?" Hannibal asked and nodded towards a big banner that stated The Annual Congress of Psychiatry and Mental health.

It was them when Will realized he was in fact in a different hall.

"I must have got lost while..."

"Running from Jack Crawford?"

Will laughed. "Actually, yes. Sorry, you were probably in the middle of a conversation."

"Not at all." Hannibal replied. "You are the most important person in the room."

"Yeah, sure." Will replied to Hannibal's charming antics.

"No, I'm serious. I mean, you are definitely the most important to me but this is a psychiatry congress, Will. If any of my colleagues recognize you, you will start running again."

Will looked around and felt like a mouse in a cat shelter.

"Is that Chilton?"

"Unfortunately so. Let's go out, shall we, dearest?"

"Definitely." Will said and allowed Hannibal to guide him outside. Hannibal's hand made his way to the small of his back, as if he was reassuring him that no one would bother him while he was there.

The cold outside felt like a second wave of relief. As his phone buzzed again he saw Beverly's name pop up on the screen

"Jack is losing his shit. Where are you?"

"Can you distract him for a while? Please?"

"I will introduce him to the candy bar. But you owe me one."

Will rolled his eyes and put his phone back in to the pocket of his pants.

"Is Jack worried about your whereabouts?" Hannibal asked as they walked down a cobblestone alley which went through the labyrinth garden of the hotel.

"Yeah, worried that he can't show everyone his precious unicorn."

"What were the chances of you running into another congress where you still are considered the precious unicorn?"

"Turns out the chances were not small enough. What are you do-?"

"It's cold." Hannibal said as he took off his suit jacket and put it on Will's shoulders.

"No, keep it on."

"I definitely had more alcohol than you did, it keeps me warm."

"I was never able to tell."

"It's definitely necessary. Especially when Chilton is invited."

"Don't act like you don't enjoy this kind of congresses, doctor. You love the spotlight. Minus doctor Chilton."

"I do." Hannibal said, an amused smile on his thin lips. Will was looking through him just like one would flip the pages of a book.

"I will be fine. You should probably go back to your peers."

"I spent the whole weekend with them. I am more than happy to take a break with you."

"Should we pick it up from where we left if last week then?" Will suddenly asked as he discreetly looked around them. Judging by the silence, they were probably the only people in the whole maze.

"You mean before Jack called?"

"Why is that such a frequent occurrence?"

"Because you allow it, mylimasis." Hannibal replied and stopped, putting himself in front of Will. "Where were we?"

"Your hands were right here." Will said as he grabbed them and put them on his hips. "And you were telling me...what were you telling me?" Will teased.

"How I genuinely believe there is no being on this earth who equals your beauty." Hannibal said and leaned in for a kiss which Will dodged.

"And what else was there?"

"Then I said that even God must perish in jealousy because of how much I adore you, my beautiful deity."

Will nodded. "Why are you feeding my ego?"

"It needs to be fed too, my dear." Hannibal said as he managed to steal a kiss. "No part of you will stay hungry while I'm here."

"Keep talking." Will said and tried to banish the voice in his head that was calling him a spoiled kid.

"People build altars and churches to show their devotion to God. They believe that their endless buildings mean something. They don't know what true worshipping is."

"And you do?" Will asked as he allowed himself to lean in and kiss Hannibal. His touch was soft but the way he bit his lower lip until blood came out made Hannibal yearn for more.

"I can show you at home." Hannibal said instantly and grabbed Will's hand. He was going to find the way out of there, he would put Will in his car and they would leave that place behind.

And at home, he would give Will all the adoration he deserves.

[skepwith]

More Parts of the Revenge for OFMD Fans

Part of a series: Revenge Master Post.

This post is about stuff in the body of the ship, going more or less from top to bottom. I’m saving the sails and rigging for my next post. If you want to know more basic terms like fore and aft and bow and stern, look for “Parts of the Revenge” in my master post.

Obviously, using these terms is entirely optional, since David Jenkins et al. are free and easy with the ol' historical accuracy. This list is for pedants like me and people who like historical and specialized language. Enjoy!

Main Deck

The low “walls” on the sides of the open decks were called the bulwarks—they were to keep people from falling overboard. On the Revenge, the bulwarks are topped by a rail (railing).

A gap in the bulwark, together with a set of rungs on the hull, was called an entry port. It allowed people to climb aboard from a dinghy.

The top edge of the bulwark was the gunwale, pronounced gunnel. The expression “loaded to the gunwales” is still used to mean very full. The top edges of a dinghy are also called gunwales.

An opening in the deck is called a hatchway. I wrote about hatches a while ago, but what I didn’t realize was that the hatch is the part that covers the hatchway. The wooden grid that lets light and air through is called the grating.

In the bow, the curving rail that goes from the figurehead to the hull is called the head rail, which would’ve been really helpful to know for my toilet post. Oh well.

Stede’s journal could at a stretch be called a logbook (or log). This was a book in which an officer noted details of the ship’s daily progress and journey. Probably a bit less fanciful than Stede’s version.

Weaponry

The Revenge has guns (the word used for cannons) on her main deck and her gun deck. Before a gun was fired, the barrel was cleared with the sponge, then loaded with gunpowder and shot and wads of cloth, all of which was tamped down with the rammer. There were different types of shot, or ammunition; cannonballs were called round shot.

To fire a gun, a lit fuse (usually a slow match) was brought in contact with the vent at the top of the gun—called the touchhole—to ignite the gunpowder. (The wick added in OFMD isn’t accurate. Shocking, I know.) The slow match was usually held with a staff called a linstock, tucked into a notch on the end. You didn’t want to be right next to the cannon when it went off, because there was a non-zero chance it would misfire and explode in your face.

Despite what you see in movies, cannons didn’t produce a lot of fire and smoke; the cannonball did damage by going unstoppably through hulls, masts, and people—often many at a time—like a deadly Energizer bunny.

The gunpowder was kept in kegs in a small room called the powder magazine. (A magazine is an ammunition storage area.) This room was in the hull of the ship, below the water line, to minimize the chances of a stray spark sending the whole ship up in flames. The shot was kept in the shot-locker, a small room in the hold (though this word wasn’t recorded till 1805). As we know, Stede calls this the ball room.

Besides the regular cannons, the Revenge also has swivel guns, small cannons mounted on swivels. These were too small to damage another ship; they were there to fire at boarders and approaching boats. Or, you know, to set off fireworks.

To take an enemy ship, sailors might use a grapnel (or grappling hook). These were attached to a rope and thrown at enemy bulwarks or rigging so the ships could be pulled together for boarding.

The Gun Deck

Everything on a ship had to have a special name: stairs were always called ladders; the floor was called the deck; and a wall or partition inside the hull was called a bulkhead.

Some of you may know that a ship’s kitchen is called a galley. However, this usage wasn’t recorded until 1750; the earlier word was cook-room.

Likewise, the mess is where you eat on a ship, but this sense wasn’t recorded until the late 1800s. In OFMD’s time, mess meant “a group of people who eat together,” like officers of the same rank or sailors on the same watch.

You might know a berth as a shelf or box to sleep on, like Stede’s (and Ed’s) bed, but this usage wasn’t recorded until the 1790s. The earlier meaning, used from at least 1706, is “a room where a particular group (such as officers or midshipmen) eats and sleeps.” So you might call Jim’s room a berth—except that it changes hands, and its name has been firmly established as the Room.

A berth is also a place in a port or harbour where you can moor (park) a vessel, and thirdly, the safety margin around another vessel or object, which gives us the phrase “to give [it] a wide berth.”

Finally, the area where the animals (remember them?) were kept was a small triangular area in the bow called the manger. This seems to be where the Revenge’s en suite is, at least as far as I can figure, but if you want to include the animals for whatever reason, they’d probably live somewhere around there.

Storage

Some of the stuff on board was stored in casks, a.k.a. barrels. These could be any size, but a large cask was also called a butt. A scuttlebutt was a butt full of water attached to the deck for sailors to drink from. Unfortunately, the word wasn’t recorded before 1800, and the “gossip” meaning not till a century after that. But it’s a great word and you should use it anyway.

A keg was a small cask, usually less than ten gallons, used for things like gunpowder or rum.

A sea chest was a wooden box used to store an officer’s personal effects—or to confine a nosy hombrecito.

The Ship’s Bottom

(As it were.)

In several of my posts and diagrams I said the lower decks of the Revenge were the gun deck, the orlop, and the hold. But my friends, I made a grievous error: the Revenge has no orlop. I know!

In season 2, for the first time we get to see what’s below the gun deck. When Frenchie opens the secret passage in the kitchen, he reveals a set of stairs—sorry, a ladder—down to a grim, damp space. The kitchen is on the gun deck, so this is the deck immediately below it, and while on most ships that would’ve been the orlop, in this case it’s the hold.

The hold was the lowest compartment of the ship, used for storage and cargo. It also sometimes held the ballast—heavy stuff (e.g., pig iron, gravel, stones, lead) put there to improve the ship’s balance. The lowest part of the hold itself was called the bilge or bilges—the area where bilgewater collected and had to be pumped out.

Episode 3 shows the water on the floor—sorry, deck—making it pretty clear we’re in the bilges of the hold. On top of that, an Instagram post by crewmember Will Giles (shared on Tumblr by @ourflagmeansbts) mentioned repurposing the “bilge set.”

Which all proves that the Revenge’s hold is immediately below the gun deck, with no orlop in between.

The keel is the structural piece that runs lengthwise along the middle of the hull’s bottom. Keel-hauling was to drag someone along the outside of the keel, underwater, as a punishment—very nasty, often fatal.

Also underwater, at the stern, is the rudder, whose movement makes the ship turn. On a dinghy you steer by moving the tiller, a horizontal bar attached to the rudder post. On a ship like the Revenge, you turn the ship’s wheel, which is attached to the tiller via cables, and that moves the rudder.

That’s all for now! Coming next: sails and rigging, in port, and more sailing lingo.

Sources: Wikipedia, historicnavalfiction [dot] com, Oxford English Dictionary

[fictionobsession]

devotion

Pairing: Alastor x f!Reader

Summary: She would give anything for him.

Word Count: 1,997

Warnings: blood, canon typical violence, Alastor being psychotic

A/N: okay friends, first time writing for Al. this was not beta'd or really edited at all so if something seems weird just... assume I meant to fix it. also, this was written as a QPR, but there's a little feelings on reader's side if you squint. I'm not 100% on how in character this is for Alastor, but we tried and that's what matters right

---

She plopped onto the shitty couch and pulled her knees to her chest, looking around the shitty house where they'd been hiding out in the middle of this shitty swamp for the last two shitty weeks. The wallpaper was peeling and yellowed, the floors covered in mold and mildew, the running water only worked half the time, and, more importantly, the refrigerator was empty as of six nights prior. Her stomach rumbled just thinking about a nice juicy cut. She sighed, closing her eyes and allowing herself to sink into the daydream of food.

She knew when she'd gotten into this hobby with Alastor that there was a non-zero chance she would wind up on the run someday. She just wished they could have put it off a bit longer, had a bit more fun. She laid her head back against the rotting couch until she heard the creak of the floor near the front door.

Her eyes snapped open and her brows furrowed as she took in Alastor's hunting attire.

“Al, where do you think you're going?”

“Well, my dear, unless you feel like us both starving to death in this dismal abode, I thought I'd better go get some food.”

“Alastor. You know we've heard the dogs nearby. You can't possibly go out there without getting caught, at least until we've had a couple days where we haven't heard 'em.”

“Again, starving is not on my agenda, so we don't particularly have another choice.”

Another choice. Her face hardens as she realizes what another option might be. She stood up and crossed the room, grabbing Alastor's arm before he could open the door. “There is a way for us to make it out of this without you leaving. Or rather, a way for one of us to make it out of this.”

He hummed, and she could see the wheels turning as he put together what she was implying. “I'm not sacrificing myself for you to get away, you know.”

“I know. That's why I'm just asking you to get it over with quickly. You'll get more time, and I – well, I'll at least get to go out on my own terms. If I have to go, at least it'll be for you.”

His eyes widened just a bit, more reaction than she'd usually get, before he shrugged. “Okay. Painless it is. Not usually my style, but I think I can figure it out.”

She laughed, a genuine, full laugh. “I know, Al, and that's why we've worked out so well. But I think you could at least do that much for me.”

He pulled his hunting knife from where he had already slid it into his belt. “Are you ready?”

And with one nod, everything went black.

-

It seemed instantaneous, appearing in hell. She looked around, taking in the chaos around her. Literal dumpster fires, public sex, casual street murders, Hell had it all. Of course, arriving in Hell wasn't a surprise for her. You don't kill that many people and expect to get into Heaven. She wasn't even sure she had believed in the whole afterlife thing until she was experiencing it. She shrugged it off, finding the closest place with a mirror she could use for free.

Her body was... different, certainly. But intact, and honestly, she was quite happy with it. Given the various types of demons she'd seen just in her brief time there, it could've been a lot worse. She wandered, putting together a plan of action for getting herself set up in Hell. It seemed she would need income to make most things happen, which made finding a job a top priority. She also needed a place to sleep, as it seemed unsafe at best to stay on the streets.

She got a job fairly quickly at Ozzie's, though she wasn't thrilled with the outfit they made her wear for the whole thing. But it was money, and easy work, so she stuck with it. Asmodeus offered her a fairly decent rate on rent nearby, as well, so she could have done worse.

Shortly after getting settled, she started feeling pressure on her body in random locations and at seemingly random times, almost like someone was grabbing or poking her to get her attention. Occasionally she'd get hot spots, which she at first attributed to it being hot in Hell. Little scrapes and cuts would appear sometimes as well, but they always healed up quickly. It wasn't until the final time it happened that she realized what had been happening over the past few weeks.

A perfect bite imprint appeared on her forearm, accompanied by a sharp pain, and she realized it must have been an effect of Alastor in the living world. She traced her finger over the mark, which had healed into almost a scar, but not quite. It was a bit pink, but wasn't angry and fresh. She smiled a little to herself, happy that her sacrifice hadn't been in vain.

As time went on, she found herself tracing the mark when she was feeling stressed, upset, or particularly lonely. It never healed all the way, making it always a bit sensitive to touch, and served as a reminder of why she was here. The mark always made her feel closer to Al, which brought a little comfort when things got crazy.

She had managed to stay within the same few blocks that she knew were heavily policed by Asmodeus's people. However, six months into her stay in Hell, she finally had to leave her little neighborhood to buy some things for the bar. She packed her gun, a knife, and made sure she was dressed inconspicuously – the rumors about the surrounding areas were very...detailed...about what might happen to someone who ended up on the wrong side of a fight.

Unfortunately, her preparation didn't keep her from getting spotted by some Sharks outside the store as she started back toward her apartment. She tried to hurry, sliding between demons and other sinners, before slipping down an alley to attempt to lose her tail. It was too late by the time she realized it was a dead end, and the Sharks started cutting off her only entrance.

She took one step, two, keeping them in her sight until her back hit the brick wall behind her. Her hand reached for her gun, ready to pull it when the lead Shark got close enough. Their glares were paralyzing, and she could smell the smoke and alcohol on them at that distance. She felt herself start to shake, taking a deep breath to steady herself before -

“You wouldn't want people to think you're picking on those of fairer means would you?” The sound and feeling of static crackled through the air like lightning as a dark shape enveloped the opening to the alleyway. A long, thin shadow ripped through the air, straight through the lead Shark, throwing him against the side of the neighboring building.

Green sparks shone through the seemingly infinite blackness, a pair of what could only be described as antlers growing from the approaching shape. Two more tendrils, picking up the remaining Sharks and tossing them into the air like dolls. She wanted to close her eyes, but couldn't look away from the gore. Sure, she had seen a lot of violence in her time in Hell, but she hadn't seen that level of overkill in quite some time.

As the last of the Sharks fled only to get a tendril through the skull, she pressed herself as far into the corner as possible, sliding down the wall and pulling her knees to her chest. There was only the hope that the demon forgot she existed, and the knowledge that if he hadn't, she would likely be next up for second death.

The shadow approached, darkness fading as he got closer until finally it revealed a man. A tall man, with horns, but just a man, nonetheless. He was straightening out his red coat, and twirling something around in his hands as he approached. “Always good to have an excuse to let off a little steam. Always good.”

He put a hand out to help her up. As she lifted herself off the ground, he was already vaguely shaking her hand, introducing himself. “Name's Alastor, pleasure to meet you. Quite a pleasure.”

His name hit her ears about the time he caught a glimpse of her bite, and both stopped dead in the middle of introductions. She looked up, eyes widening as she realized that yes, that was a microphone, and yes, in fact, it had been quite a while since she'd seen that level of overkill, one could even say since her living days. He looked different now, sure, but as soon as she looked into his eyes, she knew that was her Al.

“Well maybe don't wait so long to come save my ass next time, eh, Al?” She smirked up at him, waiting for him to process what was happening. His nails traced the pattern of his own bite on her arm. She caught sight of his tongue tracing across his teeth, as if he was just then realizing how different they'd really become. “I bet your imprint looks a bit different now, doesn't it?” She spoke more to herself than to him as she reached to pull her sleeve down over the mark.

“Why, I should hope so, my dear. I should very much hope so. Let's see just how much it's changed then!” Without any more warning than that, he pulled her arm to his mouth and bit, hard. The new mark bled, sure, but it healed up more quickly than it probably should have, covering his old impression with his new one. His ears twitched subconsciously, his ever-present smile nearly faltering as he watched the blood drip, drip, drip down her arm. He shook himself out of whatever thoughts were distracting him rather quickly before acting like no time had passed at all since they'd been together last. “Now, I don't think I should leave you alone again. It seems to me that you still can't stay out of trouble, my dear! Come along, let me show you where I've been staying!”

“But – Hang on! Al! I've got to go to work!”

“Ah, there'll be no more need of that anymore. We'll send a notice to... whoever you're working for when you get settled.” He raised an eyebrow, practically daring her to argue. She knew, though, that she'd never gone against what he'd wanted before, and she didn't particularly want to start now. She took the elbow he'd offered her and allowed him to lead her out of the alley.

Occasionally, as they walked, she would catch sight of a shadow that seemed to be following them.

“Oh, don't mind them. They're just keeping an eye on your wellbeing. You better get used to it! Having a friend like me, why, other overlords will just be dying to get their hands on you!”

She scoffed, a look of adoration crossing her features before she tactfully replaced it with annoyance. “I'm not going to get any rest now, am I?”

“Oh contraire, ma cherie! You're going to get everything you've ever wanted and deserved. I owe you that after what you did for me up there, wouldn't you say?”

“Oh I just can't wait to show you Cannibaltown! You've got to meet Rosie, yes. You'll get along very well, very well indeed. And she makes the most delectable little treats! Maybe we'll go by tomorrow.”

As he continued rambling, she hummed approval when appropriate, watching him out of the corner of her eye with a mix of caution and longing. As he led her down streets she'd never seen before, she realized maybe this was all her afterlife had needed after all.

[genshxn]

✤ 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐜: 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝

part 2 of Looking After the Sick

written pre-3.3 • 3.2 archon quest spoiler warning technically still applies

author drivel. WROTE THIS WHILE I'M STILL RIDING THE SCARAMOUCHE WAVE THAT I HAVE FOR LIKE NO FUCKING REASON I DON'T KNOW WHY THIS IS HAPPENING TO ME WHAT IS GOING ON THIS FUCKER HAS ME IN A CHOKEHOLD HELP. right yeah anyway- every time i write fanfiction there is always a non-zero chance that someone is going to get slammed into a wall. take that as you will.

synopsis. you're not sick anymore, so you finally take matters into your own hands after he basically irl ghosted you for a few days.

contents. scaramouche can't deal with himself so he doesn't want to deal with you, he gets shoved into a wall, you tell him how you feel, plus a suggestive comment if you squint.

w.c. 2.4k words omg help me

taglist. @frissy

You looked down at It was about time to get Kunikuzushi back to his own room. Luckily, due to his inorganic composition, he’s quite light, so you don’t have much trouble hauling him around in various positions… when you’re not sick. With your lack of strength and shitty breathing, it was quite the slog trying to get the unconscious puppet back to his room, but you did manage it in the end. You laid him down on his bed somewhat ungracefully. After straightening out his messy limbs, you took one last look at his ’sleeping’ face. He’s quite beautiful when he’s this quiet. If only he had an ounce more of that calmness when he was conscious. With that final thought, you shuffled back to your room, collapsing onto the bed with a prolonged sigh (and cough).

30 minutes later, you swear you heard his faint scream from the other side of the Sanctuary. 

The whole reason you went to such an effort to try and get him back to his own room was because you assumed that he would want to be alone once he finally rebooted. And you were right—he still brought your food like he was ordered to by Nahida, but every time he entered the room, he wouldn’t say anything to you, let alone even look at you. He would enter the room without a word, place the tray of food next to you and then rush out again. If you were lucky, he’d maybe throw a fresh blanket at you. Without fail, you’d get nailed square in the face with it every time. 

In the time you were alone, which was about 99% of your waking hours, Kunikuzushi’s words ruminated in your mind. You were "making [him] feel all this shit…" and "toying with [his] already shattered heart like [a] plaything…". You wanted to roll your eyes at how painfully on-brand the wording is, but it seems like he’s gone and developed feelings for you. If all he did was say those things to you, there was more room for doubt in his words, but paired with his actions, there was no mistaking it. Kunikuzushi had developed feelings for you at some point. Looking down at the empty hand he held, you reminisced on the feeling of his soft hand in yours. It was so tender compared to the front he usually put up. You close your fist with a determined look on your face—once you’re better, you’re going to confront him about it. 

By the fourth morning after making up your mind, you finally felt human again. You woke up  with the sunlight hitting your eyes… But when that happens at this time of year, that means it’s already mid to late morning. So you’ve managed to sleep in even more than normal. With a sigh, you roll over to get out of bed but notice the food tray in the regular spot. On it sits a lonely cup of tea. Upon feeling the mug, you realize it must have been sitting there for a while, because it was only lukewarm—it must have been brought in while you were asleep. You go to gulp it down so it doesn’t go to waste, but the familiar taste hits you immediately. It was just like the tea in the chazuke that Kunikuzushi made you a few days ago. He must have made the tea. Whether it was his own idea or Nahida’s, you appreciate that he brought it to you either way. Right as you’re about to place the mug back down, you notice a tiny, plain notecard that must have been sitting beneath the cup. 

The Radish wants you to hurry up and stop being bedridden. 

Jokes on him, you’re feeling 100% better and are about to hunt his ass down. After getting changed out of your pyjamas and into some semi-presentable clothes, you set out on your quest of looking for the emotional wreck of a puppet. 

You exit out into the hallway, not quite sure where to begin. You begin to think of some possible places he may be, but your thoughts are cut off by a little radish-coloured child wandering into view—it’s Nahida.

"Oh hello, (Y/N)! I’m glad to see you up and about. How are you feeling?" The young god marches up to you with a cheery look on her face. She only comes up to at most your waist. 

"Normal, finally. I’m completely better now. Ku took good care of me… for a few days." You bit the inside of your cheek remembering the event from four days ago. 

"Ah yes, something happened between the two of you, didn’t it? I wanted to see if he would talk about it, but it seems he’s gone back to bottling things up. Can I ask what happened?" 

"Yeah, he’s doing it to me too… You wouldn’t happen to know where he is, would you? I’m gonna try talking to him." 

Nahida puffs her cheeks. "Ooh, that’s going to be tricky… Well, I believe I last saw him come out of his room a few minutes ago. He didn’t have his hat on, so I don’t think he’s planning on leaving any time soon." 

"Thank you so much. You’ll probably be able to tell later on if things go well! Please excuse me now," With a little bow and wave to the god, she sees you off with a returned smile and wave, continuing on her way down the hallway. 

Now to find that Kunikuzushi. It doesn’t take too long to get to the general area of his room. He couldn’t have gone far if he didn’t have his hat on. He never leaves without the thing. 

You can feel yourself beginning to get fidgety. As much of the fearless ex-Fatui Harbinger tamer you are, you’re still just a person with your own nervous feelings to consider. You’re not the one that has the potential to be met with humiliating rejection… right? Judging that you’re dealing with Kunikuzushi, everything could easily be flipped on its head in a matter of seconds. Your eyes turn downcast, mindlessly watching the floor in front of you as you walk. So of course you’re not watching where you’re going because you knock into something—or maybe something walks into you. Either way, it makes an incredibly familiar screech. Your head whips up to see what it is and you come face to face with just the person you were looking for. 

"Kuni—" 

"W-watch where you’re going!" He stammers, moving to hide his face behind his arm. He looks down at you with either contemptuous or embarrassed eyes—you only saw them for a split second before he turns tail and tries to run off. 

"Wait, I need to talk to you!"

"No you don’t!" He calls back, looking over his shoulder.

You run up behind him and try to catch his wrist again, and you do manage to briefly get a grip on it it… until he leaps into the air in a blast of air, yanking himself from your grip. 

You’re left reeling from the sudden gust of wind to your face while Kunikuzushi lands back down and sprints off. He turns to face you one last time and calls out "Leave me alone!" Hey, that’s the most eye-contact he’s made with you in the past four days. 

"Kunikuzushi, you get your ass back here right now!" You begin to sprint after him down the hallway. "Being alone will fix none of this, and you still have to consider how I feel!" 

He makes a shocked cry and almost trips over his own feet. There’s your chance—it’s now or never to catch up to him. Before he can escape away from you again, you manage to corner him against the wall with both hands hovering near either of his shoulders. He’s pressed up against the wall as much as humanly possible, face horrified and tomato red. "LET ME GO." 

"No. Kunikuzushi, listen to me. You can’t just avoid me for the rest of your life." 

"What, a-are you projecting on me or something? You wanna… you wanna be with me so bad you can’t even go four days without talking to me." His 'smug smile' seems more like an embarrassed frown. 

"You interpreted the statement like that. I think you’re the one projecting, Ku," You sigh at his pathetic attempt at deflection. "Which is exactly why I need to talk to you."

"Ngh…" He grunts out while looking off down the hall, hiding his mouth behind his wrist. "This is about… that night, isn’t it? What do you even want?" He frowns, glaring at you. Even when he’s this much of a hot mess, he still has a beauty to behold. 

"That’s the thing… I’m not really sure." You sigh, eyes casting off to the side. "But I would like to go somewhere a bit more private, if possible." 

"HUH? B-but—" His face heats up even further. 

"Would you rather the two of us be caught like this here in the hallway?" 

"No." He avoids your gaze again. "Ugh, c’mon, let’s just go to my room or something It’s right there." 

You let go of your cage around him and he walks stiffly to his bedroom. Once you’re in, he closes the door behind you. His room is neat and simple, not too different from your’s. A few random belongings and pieces of clothes strewn about suggest that he’s begun to feel more comfortable which makes you happy to see. But Kunikuzushi’s not in the mood for that right now. 

"So?" He asks impatiently. "What do you have to say that about… that?" He crosses his arms and shifts his weight to one leg. 

You take a step to approach him, which makes him instinctually back up a step. His expression falters with nervousness. “Well. Your confusing feelings are most likely a crush." You say. 

“Argh, I know that! I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.” He folds his arms across his chest crankily, looking off to the side. “It’s just… been so long. B-but anyway! What do you even…” he gestures around wildly with his hands, struggling to articulate. “…think of all that?!” 

“That’s the thing… I’m not fully sure,” You reply. Mind you, you do have some idea, but you want to put it to the test first. 

"Wh-what?!" He sputters in disbelief. "How can you—! Ugh, I’m right, aren’t I? All you want to do is pl—" He begins on a pessimistic rant, and you’re not having it. 

"But…" You cut him off. Despite your hammering heart rising in your chest, you grab him by both sides of his collar and yank him closer to you, placing your lips on his half-parted ones. Kunikuzushi’s eyes open as wide as can be. You can feel your a warmth and almost giddiness radiate inside you. The kiss itself is a slightly awkward one, thanks to how stiff Kunikuzushi is the whole time, but you can feel yourself melting against him. 

Eventually, you have to let him go. You take note of the fact that you don’t want to, but breathing is still somewhat important. The stunned Kunikuzushi steps back against the wall, eyes and pupils blown wide. Nothing seems to go through his head for a brief second. 

“Hello?” You wave in front of his face. “Don’t fucking tell me you’re short-circuiting again..." Your warm feeling quickly suspends at the looming threat that he may pass out again. If he does, at least his bed is literally right there, and you’re ready to catch him if necessary.

He wordlessly brings a hand to his lip, evidently still computing what just happened. Looks like you just temporarily tanked his processing speed instead. You watch in real time as his face flushes even deeper. 

"WHWHWHWH—" In an instant, his expression morphs to one of shock. Looks like he’s finally back with reality. 

"You know, I missed the feeling of your hand." Now it was your turn to pick up his hand and interlace your fingers with his. You hold it up between the two of you and it give a little squeeze. Kunikuzushi stares at them with wide eyes. "I think it helped me figure out how I feel about you.’ 

"...Wh-which is?" 

"I mean, it should be obvious since I just kissed you on the lips like that, but I think I like you t—“ 

Now it was Kunikuzushi’s turn to cut you off. With his free hand, he holds your face by the jaw and leans in to kiss you back. You’re stunned by his new found confidence. This time, he actually moves against your lips with far more experienced at this than you would have thought—then again, he has been alive several hundred years longer than you have, so what do you know? You can feel the emotion behind it—tender but with an unmistakable fervour. He lets go of your still-joint hand and brings you closer against him with his hand around the small of your back. Your arms find themselves wrapping around his shoulders. A few moments later. you pull back with a gasp of air and a hammering heart. It was also your turn to be left reeling. Kunikuzushi on the other hand, appears quite pleased with himself. 

“Hah, you drank the tea I left you this morning, didn’t you?” He still holds your face with his hand. You watch as he swipes his tongue over his lips with a smug grin. 

“AHEM.” Your face heats at his comment. “Yes, I did. The Radish wanted me to stop being bedridden after all… On another note, you look quite happy,” You say with a smile.  

“‘Cause I am, stupid,” He laughs softly. “You do my head in with all the shit you make me feel, but right now, this isn’t so bad.” 

“Oh yeah, you mentioned that you went to Nahida about your confusing feelings?” 

“…I did. What of it?” He looks at you with a slightly confused expression, rather contrary to the smug one he had before. 

“She’s probably the last person you want to go to for human emotions. She says she really doesn’t understand them since she’s been stuck alone for 500 years." 

“…So she really does have the same understanding of emotions as a radish.” He muses, looking off in some random direction. 

“Wait, KUNIKUZUSHI, WHAT DID YOU SAY TO HER?” 

 In response, he just pokes his tongue out. 

[ohcorny]

i need to post loic soulsov character analysis because if i don't i'll die. he's been plaguing my thoughts for *checks watch* like three to four days because we get SO much information about him and who he is in just this one nugget of the game and i'm spinning out of control about it.

spoilers for the most raw bits of the prelude so obviously go play the game first and then come back and read me ramble and make wild assumptions about this man and the direction of his character

so i have been obsessed with this (paraphrased because i'd have to whip through nearly the whole game again to correctly quote it) exchange between the voice and loic:

"Are you prepared for the world Ysme would create?" "Could it really be any worse than this one?"

and god. bro. bro. the absolute devastation necessary for this man to feel this way, about a woman who lied to him from the moment they met (which he clocked! very early on!), mugged him with a gun, SHOT him with that gun, and then when she became his ghost-god immediately realized she could force him to commit suicide by cop if she wanted. this woman did all of this to him, and when given the opportunity to just let her die--arguably justifiable given her goals and how she threatened him and the fact her death was entirely of her own doing--he doesn't. even though "don't let this woman die", a morally good thing on its face, is actually "let this violent, selfish woman become god with the ability to remake the world in her image, while also becoming her slave" and he knows it.

because to him, that's preferable to the world he lives in. your world has to be so bad for that to be the case.

and it is! his world is that bad. not the physical actual world, which yes, is harsh and cold and dangerous outside the mosaic, but his world, his daughter, in an incurable coma. there is a cruelty to somebody you love being incurably sick. to the selfish, hurting heart, it can be worse than if they were just dead. you can mourn somebody who's dead, and move on from your grief, but as long as they're still living, you're shackled to hope, constantly grieving. there is no moving on, there is only waiting for it to end. you might bargain, as loic does in his search for the flower to cure her, but it's still just waiting.

and when ysme comes into his life, he gives up on waiting. he has been haunting his own life until then, doing good at lamplight because it was within his power while he was there, but i don't think it was ever with dedication. it was something to pass the time as he looked for the flower. essentially selling his soul, surrendering his free will to ysme, this incredibly dangerous, selfish woman, is better than living as he has been. because he's selfish too.

what i like so much about loic is that he's presented as this very kind, soft, unassailable dad who wants to do the right thing. A Down to Earth Good Guy, to contrast with the chaos of ysme, but he's fucking selfish! while he couldn't have predicted the raw physical power of exalted ysme, he still knew she would receive the power to remake the world. and he still decided: fuck this world.

the natural assumption is that his kindness will balance out ysme, and i'm here for that narrative, but honestly. i think she's going to make him worse. the seed of selfishness is already in him, and he's indulged it by giving her power over him, and that must be in some way a relief. he's effectively surrendered responsibility for himself and his actions over to her. he can no longer be fully blamed for anything now that she has power over him.

and i think he's tired of being nice. i think he's ready to go apeshit.

.........and while that would make a good button to end this on, i have to mention: there is a non-zero chance he thinks she's hot and the idea of being a goddess' slave is hot. he's a grown ass man who we know for a fact HAS fucked, and while ysme was like "i thought you were a dead wife guy. i guess you still could be" my money is on divorced. my theory is lia was going over to her mom's house in that flashback.

like yes, all of that above is the main motivator, but i'm not ready to discount sex. loic wants to be lifestyle dommed. because what i just described about surrendering his free will is literally the appeal of being a sub: giving somebody else control, so you don't have to feel the weight of it. this is a story for adults about adults and it is on that le guin shit of linking a sexual fantasy inexorably to the world building and plot thrust, and i am ESPECIALLY here for that.

and i think that's everything i had to say about loic soulsov. i am exorcised. i'm better now.

[goddessalthena]

UsaMamo Week 2024 - Day 4 - Free Day

I'm late with this one, but better late than never, yes? This themeless installment just so happened to line up with wild card day. Fortuitous, no? A note to those of you who have read my previous posts in this series: I've added a timeline of sorts to the beginning of each chapter in order to make things a little easier to follow as we jump around. Day XX BU (Before Usagi) & AU (After Usagi)

(This is the third part. You can find Ch. 1 & Ch. 2 here.)

(Tentative) Title: A Matter of Timing Summary: Aged up, Friends to lovers UsaMamo Non-Senshi AU told in a series of snapshots. Rating: T (for language) Words: 3058

Free Day

Day 491 AU

“I know, I know! I’m late, but you would not believe the day I’ve had.”

Minako looks up at Mamoru with the expression of one who is not amused. "Har har har," she deadpans before smacking the seat of the empty chair beside her. "Sit your ass down, Chiba. You're three rounds behind."

Mamoru smiles and rolls his eyes before stepping aside. "Happy to, but we're going to need another chair." Minako blinks when she notices the woman to his right. “Everyone, this is Yūki Tomoko.” Minako’s eyes zero in on his right hand which is currently hovering directly behind the small of Tomoko’s back. “She’ll be joining us tonight." Minako’s eyes narrow.

All other eyes at the table go wide and a thick, palpable silence descends over the group until a shrill, “Hi, Tomoko-san!” rings out from the back. Mamoru’s eyes fly to the face he’s been dreading/anticipating seeing all week long. Even from a distance he can tell that Usagi’s cheeks are visibly flushed, but that’s more than likely due to the three empty beer bottles in front of her and not the fact that he’s brought a mystery woman to one of their gatherings for the first time since they met. He tells himself that that’s fine. That bringing Tomoko here tonight isn’t about seeing how Usagi reacts.

He figures after downing three or so beers of his own that’ll be easier to believe.

“There’s a free chair over here!” Usagi bellows, waving one arm in a wide arc. Makoto catches the rogue limb with a deft hand before it can hit her in the face. “Let me just—” There’s a screech of metal on tile and about two seconds go by before Mamoru realizes what she’s about to do. He reaches Usagi just in time to stop her from going ass over teakettle when she heaves the empty chair up off the floor. Makoto has frozen halfway out of her seat and is giving him a look that is part astonishment, part admiration. Mamoru shoots her an awkward smile as he settles Usagi back into her chair.

“Oh em gee, she’s so pretty!” Usagi hisses in his ear in the loudest stage whisper known to man.

Mamoru can feel the heat flooding his own cheeks now, but he manages to nod even though all he can think is, ‘Nowhere near as pretty as you are.’

It’s not until he’s carrying the empty chair back to a waiting Tomoko that it occurs to him to wonder why there’s an empty chair at all. Someone must be missing. His brain catalogues all of the faces he’s seen in the time it takes to swing his head back in Usagi’s direction. Makoto’s on her right, Ami’s on her left, and the douchebag is nowhere to be seen.

***

Forty minutes later Mamoru’s still wondering where Usagi’s jag of a boyfriend is. The guy has been glued to her side for months now—four months to be precise—crashing one get-together after another, trying to insert himself into their tightly knit group, seemingly oblivious to the fact that everyone but Usagi sees him for the pompous gasbag that he is. Mamoru wants to ask someone—mainly Usagi—where the chode is tonight, but he hasn’t had a chance. Bringing Tomoko to their regular group night has caused quite the stir. An eventuality that he had counted on but is now regretting.

The group has been peppering her with questions ever since she sat down and Mamoru can’t get a word in edgewise. Tomoko is completely at ease amidst a sea of inquisitive strangers as he knew she would be. He’s seen her manage raving meth heads in the ER without breaking a sweat, so she’s more than capable of handling this crazy bunch. Tomoko is intelligent, but not pretentious, confident, but not arrogant, witty, but not sarcastic. She is the perfect plus one and Mamoru cannot wait for her to leave.

Tonight is not going at all how he’d planned.

Reika draws Tomoko into a discussion about Cairo—they’re both avid travellers—and Mamoru leans back in his chair and tries to feign interest while keeping his gaze from wandering down the table. He thinks he’s been doing a decent job of the former, not so much of the latter. It might be easier to focus if he didn’t find Usagi staring back at him every second glance. Makoto has cut her off and swapped her to soda but her cheeks are still rosy. He wants to go over there and talk to her but he can’t. Right? That would be rude.

Right?

“You’re staring.”

His gaze slides to the left. Minako is eyeballing him. He doesn’t care. “Where’s—”

“Twat-wad?” Minako answers before he can finish. Her gaze flits to Usagi. “Not here.” That’s all she offers. Hard to say if that’s all she knows. She glances at Tomoko who is laughing at something Motoki has said. “Your date is charming.”

“She’s not my date.”

“Does she know that?”

“Yes.”

Minako drops the side-eye and looks him full in the face. Mamoru holds her gaze. After a few beats she raises an eyebrow and leans back in her chair before turning her eyes to Usagi. “Hmm…” she hums. “Interesting.” That’s all she says, but Mamoru knows that’s not all she’s thinking.

***

Tomoko joins him at the bar twenty minutes later. “Now that is a chatty crew.” Mamoru offers her an apologetic look but she just laughs. “They’re really nice. I never would have guessed a nerd like you would have such cool friends.” This isn’t the first time he’s heard this, and he doesn’t really know what to say so he just shrugs and takes a sip of his beer. “I don’t get it though, I thought you brought me here to appease a jealous boyfriend. Where’s Mr. Insecure?”

“MIA, apparently,” Mamoru answers, stealing another glance at Usagi. She’s hugging Ami and trying to coax her into staying for one more round. Usagi knows Ami won’t stay because she’s got an early morning and she’s the most responsible one in their group, but she’s asking anyway because she knows it makes Ami feel loved. Usagi is amazing like that.

“Damn, you’re in deep. No wonder he’s jealous.”

Mamoru jerks to attention to find Tomoko studying him with wide, sympathetic eyes. He opens his mouth to speak then realizes there’s nothing he can say so he just sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Tomoko laughs and pats his arm. “I won’t tell you it gets easier because I know how much it sucks, but who knows? He didn’t show tonight. Maybe your luck is about to change.”

“I don’t believe in luck.”

“Well then, I guess you’re fucked.” Mamoru nearly spits out his beer. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand then gives Tomoko a questioning look. She crosses her arms. “If you really don’t think luck is going to lend a hand, then you better stop watching from the sidelines and get in the game. You’ve brought me here to play defence when you should be on offence.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Offence?”

“Who cares if the boyfriend is jealous? It’s her attention you’re after,” Tomoko tells him, nodding her head at Usagi. “You want me to help you get it?”

They stand shoulder to shoulder as Mamoru considers her offer. Ami is finally parting from the group, but Usagi is insisting on walking her all the way to the door. Usagi never lets anyone leave without at least two goodbye hugs. Everyone complains about it but she never seems to care, and she always gets her hugs. No matter how much they grouse about it they all humour her. Because they love her. How could they not? She wears her heart on her sleeve. There’s not a false bone in her body.

Mamoru turns to the bar and sets his empty bottle on the polished wood. “Thanks, but I’m not interested in playing games.”

“Then why did you bring me?”

Mamoru sighs. “I told you. He doesn’t like me. He thinks I’m a threat.”

“Yeah, but why do you care what he thinks?”

“I don’t. I could care less what he thinks.”

“Then what—”

“He’s a jackass, but for some reason beyond my comprehension he seems to make her happy. Except for when he’s sulking like a petulant child.” Mamoru takes a breath and flattens his palms against the bar. “I didn’t bring you to spare his feelings, I brought you to spare hers.”

Tomoko lays a hand on top of his and quirks her mouth in a half smile. He tries to mirror the expression but his heart just isn’t in it. The harsh sound of shattering glass makes them both jump and whirl around. Usagi is standing in front of them and her feet are surrounded by shards of broken glass. She stares at the pair of them like a deer in the headlights for two, maybe three beats, then her face turns beet red and a string of barely intelligible apologies—and several curses—spout from her lips as she drops into a crouch. Mamoru and Tomoko cry out in unison when Usagi reaches for the glass, but they’re too late. The damage is done, blood is already seeping from her left palm, and everyone is springing into action.

A waiter is rushing up with a broom, Tomoko is asking the bartender for a first aid kit, and a chorus of voices are crying out in concern. Mamoru is only vaguely aware of all this though because ninety nine percent of his focus is on Usagi. He scoops her up from the floor and into his arms before she has time to fully register the injury. It seems like the natural thing to do; he doesn’t want her to step on any of the glass, and as he makes his way to the restrooms it simply never occurs to him to bother putting her down. It’s possible she’s protesting, but he’s too busy deflecting the group and telling Tomoko to bring the first aid kit to the ladies’ room to listen. It’s not until he gets inside and sets Usagi down on the counter next to the sink that Mamoru realizes how fast his heart is beating. He’s pretty sure it’s not because of the extra cardio.

He takes a breath and looks at Usagi. “Are you okay?”

She blinks up at him with those wide blue eyes of hers. “Yeah,” she says but her voice is shaky.

After a few more breaths he feels calm enough to take a look at her hand. The wound doesn’t seem very deep, he needs to clean it to be sure, but it doesn’t appear to need stitches. He raises his eyes to her pale face and shakes his head. “Didn’t anybody ever tell you not to touch broken glass?”

Usagi looks instantly repentant which makes him regret the gentle rebuke. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”

“What? Don’t apologize,” he tells her, reaching over to turn the faucet on, “you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I ruined your moment.”

The quiet comment throws him off balance and he shoots her a puzzled look. “What moment?”

Usagi peers up at him from beneath her lashes and Mamoru’s heart skips a beat, but his question goes unanswered because Tomoko arrives with the first aid kit. Mamoru sees Usagi’s immediate blush but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it because there are more important things to focus on. He gets to work cleaning the wound. Tomoko offers to assist but makes no comment when he insists on tending to the injury himself. After they agree that stitches aren’t necessary—Usagi looks particularly relieved to hear this news—Mamoru dresses the wound. Usagi has been unusually quiet throughout. Mamoru chalks it up to shock.

“Looks like you’ve got this under control,” Tomoko says. Mamoru pretends not to notice the edge of amusement in her tone. “I’ve got an early shift tomorrow so I’m going to take off.” She flashes Usagi a genuine smile. “It was nice to meet you, Usagi. Take care of that hand.”

Usagi nods and offers her a shy smile in return. “Nice to meet you too, Tomoko. I hope you’ll come again. I promise not to bleed next time.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Mamoru says dryly.

Usagi shoots him a quelling look. “Quiet, you.” Mamoru smiles.

Tomoko laughs at the pair of them then turns and heads for the door. She lifts her hand in a casual wave and calls, “See you at the hospital, Chiba,” without turning back, and then she’s gone.

It’s just the two of them again.

Usagi gazes at the bathroom door for several moments before turning her eyes to Mamoru. A faint blush lights her cheeks when she finds him watching her. This small reaction kindles a glow of warmth inside his chest.

“Tomoko seems really nice,” Usagi says. Her voice is soft and sweet and maybe just a little bit timid. It’s not like her to be shy.

“She is,” Mamoru agrees, taking a small step closer to her.

“And smart,” she adds, raising her chin to hold his gaze.

Mamoru nods and places his right hand on the edge of the counter a scant few inches next to her left thigh.

Usagi swallows. “And she’s a doctor.”

He smiles. “Yes, she is all of these things.”

“You two look good together.” Mamoru looks past her, to their reflection in the mirror. He knows he’s biased, but he thinks they look good together. He wonders what Usagi saw when she was watching him with Tomoko. What she was feeling. Was it anything like how he feels when he sees her with—

“Usagi, where’s Hideyo?”

Her smiles dims and she looks away. There’s an excruciating pause during which Mamoru holds his breath, and then Usagi says the three words he’s been longing to hear for four long months. “We broke up.” It takes every ounce of Mamoru’s considerable self control to swallow the whoop of delight that bubbles up in his throat. Usagi stares down at her bandaged hand and mumbles, “Don’t tell Minako. I’m not ready to hear ‘I told you so’ yet.”

It’s not easy to force his features into a sympathetic expression when he’s feeling nothing short of ecstatic, but Mamoru understands that this breakup must be painful for her so he focuses on that and the urge to dance a jig begins to fade. “What happened?” Translation: how did the asshat fuck it up again?

Usagi’s gaze flits to his face then back to her hand. “I don’t…really want to talk about it.”

“All right.” He doesn’t really want to talk about it either. Sayonara, shithead.

“I just…” Maybe she does want to talk about it. “I think I made a mistake getting back together with him, and I’m mad at myself for being so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, Usagi.”

“No, just hopeless.”

The bitter reply hangs in the air between them, reminding Mamoru that if anyone in this bathroom is stupid, it’s him. He cups her shoulders in his hands and waits for her to look up before he speaks. “I should never have said that. I was out of line.”

Usagi shakes her head from side to side and leans forward into his grip just a little. “You were being honest with me, just like Minako was. That’s what real friends do. They tell each other the truth, even when it’s hard. I want you to keep telling me the truth.”

‘Okay, I love you.’

He gives her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Okay, I will.”

“Even when I don’t want to hear it?”

He nods. “Even when you don’t want to hear it.”

‘I hope you will though.’

“Good.”

Usagi smiles and Mamoru experiences a flash of perfect awareness. A window has opened. A perfect moment of opportunity, and there’s no telling how fleeting it might be. He’s had a number of chances like this before and he’s squandered each and every one of them. He promised himself it wouldn’t happen again. That when the time came, he’d be ready. The secret he’s long been harbouring unfurls in his chest and suddenly it’s too massive to contain. It rises up in his throat, sails along his tongue, and presses against his lips, begging to be set free.

“You’re a terrible singer.”

Usagi’s mouth drops open as Mamoru stares blankly into the mirror behind her head. A complete fucking moron wearing his face stares back at him. It’s unclear who, out of the three of them, is more shocked by what he’s just said.

“Shut up!” Usagi snaps, eyes sparking with indignation. She swats his chest with her uninjured hand for good measure. “I am not!”

Mamoru looks down at her and part of him wants to die. To just curl up into a ball right here and wait for death to claim him. But another part of him can’t help but notice how impossibly, unreasonably, irresistibly cute the girl in front of him is. That part of him thinks maybe it’s worth sticking around. You know, to see what she does next. He could go either way, but…

Usagi thrusts a self-righteous finger in his face. “I’ll have you know that some people really like my singing! I’ve been compared to Adele.”

Mamoru blinks. “Human people?”

“Shut up!” Usagi huffs as she hops down from the counter. “What do you know? Listening to you sing karaoke is like listening to an ox strangling a goat.” She sticks her nose up in the air and stomps off.

Mamoru stares after her in bafflement for a beat before jogging to catch up. He reaches the door and pulls it open in time for her to sweep through without missing a step. “An ox strangling a—what does that even mean?”

He’s gonna stick around. It’s definitely worth it. She’s definitely worth it. He wants to see what happens next. He’s got a good feeling that it’s going to be amazing. He can’t wait.

Today wasn’t the day. It wasn’t the right time. He wasn’t ready.

But he will be. One day soon, he will be.

***

Thanks again for reading! ❤️ NGL, three prompts was about three prompts more than I thought I'd write a week ago, but it's a welcome surprise.

Be sure to follow @usamamoweek for all of this year's content!

Many thanks to our awesome hosts @random-mailbox and @lilliebellfanfics for making this event possible. 😘😘

[tobiasdrake]

love your db analysis posts! i'd love to hear your thoughts on ultimate gohan, if you have any. between him having little to no reaction to finding out everyone on earth is dead, and randomly letting gotenks fight buu instead of himself, he did not seem to be the same character at all to me, and iirc even piccolo says so, i just... find it hard to believe a non-rage-triggered power-up would do that to him.

Much like Android 16, I do wonder if there were more plans for Ultimate Gohan that wound up being scrapped by the shift in narrative direction.

We're first introduced to the concept of Ultimate Gohan as the Elder Kaioshin is explaining his abilities.

Gohan's dormant power has long been a recurring attribute of his character. In fact, this isn't the first time he's had an elderly sage draw out his dormant power.

Teaching him to draw out and control his dormant abilities was (stealthily) part of Goku's training with him. That Gohan was finally starting to make it his own and tap into his true ki is the reason for why he was repeatedly unimpressed by Goku's abilities.

Gohan didn't even realize it, but through his mastery of the Super Saiyan, he'd also begun to take control of and internalize the tremendous ki he'd always had stored away in him. And as he came into his own ki, what he could sense of Goku's ki proportional to his own didn't make sense to him.

Super Saiyan 2 was, then, the culmination of Gohan's development. His full power, channeled through the Super Saiyan and its amplifying effects - both for better and, uh, for worse.

But it's been seven years and Gohan's been indulging in his true love of academia, in accordance with the agreement Goku and Chi-Chi made about his future.

Goku may have successfully escaped having to get a job by conveniently dying at the last possible second, but Gohan's future is set on a course. He's going to be an academic. It's what Chi-Chi wants for him, and it's what Gohan wants for himself; Even Goku acknowledges that.

Seven years of rigorous study and zero martial arts practice later, Gohan isn't the guy anymore. In fact, examining just how much Gohan isn't the guy anymore is the whole point of his fight with Dabra.

Goku eyeballs Dabra as being roughly around Cell's power. This allows Dabra to serve as a yardstick for Gohan, so we understand what it means for him when he fails to measure up.

Gohan that was a Zanzoken/Afterimage. Nobody even does those anymore. They became obsolete after ki-sensing was normalized, because everyone can now easily sense which "image" is the real one. The one other time we saw a Zanzoken return post-23rd Tenkaichi Budokai, it was against Frieza, who can't sense ki.

Dabra is mocking you right now. He legit thinks you're so shitty at martial arts that you'll fall for this amateur-hour guff. And he's right.

I kinda feel Geets here. If I had to watch my last chance to ever fight my rival get wasted on this, I'd be losing my mind too. He fucking fell for a Zanzoken; Can I just take over already?

So. Yeah. Full Power Gohan isn't a thing anymore. He can still tap into the form - and for some inexplicable reason so can Goku and Vegeta - but this is no longer Peak Potential. Which is where the Elder Kaioshin comes in.

This is a classic formula of Dragon Ball. We've seen it in the RRA, Piccolo, Saiyan, Namek (twice!), and Android arcs. First, Goku gets the shit kicked out of him - sometimes even to the point of being presumed dead.

While the surviving cast members scurry about trying to find a way to face the bad guy, Goku - sometimes unbeknownst to them, sometimes not - is recovering and preparing to come back stronger than ever. This typically takes the form of some sort of godly trial or ordeal guaranteed to make him stronger than ever.

Then, at the 11th hour when all else has failed and all hope is lost, Goku makes his return to have one last epic battle for the fate of the world/universe/cosmos.

This is the Dragon Ball formula. Has been since the day the Four-Star Dragon Ball saved Goku's life from a lethal Dodonpa. Of course, getting Gohan back up to speed isn't going to be enough, since Majin Buu in his weakest form was able to do this to our Cell-adjacent yardstick.

I wonder what Dabra Cookie tastes like? I imagine it's like the wafer part of a Keebler cookie. Sugary and nice on its own but better with fudge.

So. Yeah. If Gohan's going to throw hands with Buu, he's going to need more than the power he fought Cell with. Fortunately, that's the Elder's specialty, and what makes this different than that other time Gohan had his dormant power drawn out.

That's right, we're limit-breaking again. Not the limits of human ability, the limits of Saiyan ability, or even the limits of Super Saiyan ability; We're limit-breaking Gohan specifically. Elder Kaioshin's abilities can not only draw out Gohan's full dormant ability but push it beyond Gohan's natural limits.

Full Power Gohan? Nah. This is Limit-Breaker Gohan. Not his full potential; Beyond his potential. Something entirely different from the Super Saiyan, but similar enough that he doesn't require much alternative instruction.

Kinda feels like a thing that shouldn't be able to exist, to be honest. After all the time that's been put into things like the strain of the Kaio-ken on a body, the effects of Frieza having power beyond his limits, or even what trying to use Super Saiyan 3 in a mortal body does to Goku in this very arc.

The idea of Gohan channeling ki beyond his limits seems like it should have some drawbacks, doesn't it? We do get some hints that something's weird about Gohan's new power. Piccolo can't even recognize his ki signature in this state.

This form is doing some weird shit to his ki. And, as Piccolo notes, Gohan's harder now. Gohan is here to take care of business, and nothing is going to get in his way.

But. Then. The switch happens. Suddenly, Gohan is no longer the protagonist and we need a way for Majin Buu to suddenly be too much for Gohan to handle. So we go from this:

To this:

In the span of two chapters. All so that Buu can ass-pull a brand new ability that's never once been mentioned before even though Kaioshin will later cop to having seen him do it twice, that will instantly make Ultimate Gohan stop being a solution to this problem two chapters after his debut.

A plan that, in fact, he began putting into place one chapter after Ultimate Gohan's debut. Never in the history of Dragon Ball has a brand new form or ability been obsoleted this quickly.

And then Gohan was basically thrown in the dumpster and this was never spoken of again, with Ultimate Gohan just becoming his new Strongest Transformation in follow-up products. You can feel the climactic final act being aggressively aborted around him, in favor of Goku and Vegeta's third act.

Hell, at one point, Goku even suggests bringing in Gohan to fight Pure Buu. Y'know. Since Ultimate Gohan is the strongest in the universe and all that. But Vegeta nopes it.

No explanation offered. He's just like, "That's not the plot anymore; Try to keep up, Kakarot." To be fair, Goku had a chance to bring Gohan into this too. They're both aggressively elbowing Gohan out of the spotlight here.

Mad disrespect.

[bellysoupset]

I love the carsickness story! Dizzy Leo and concerned Jonah is EVERYTHING!!!!!

If you do decide to do a part 2, I have an idea. You don't have to use it, but hear me out:

So, most of the time carsickness can last for a few hours, but sometimes it can take MUCH longer. Same night in the motel, Jon wakes up to the sound of Leo vomiting in the bathroom. They're both confused because they thought Leo would be better by then, and Leo is just so upset about being sick that he's an adorably pathetic combination of sick, emotional, and grumpy, and as concerned as Jon is he can't help but find it a little adorable.

Also, maybe Bella has a horrible headache that makes her nauseous in the middle of the night and Luke is super worried about her.

Suddenly, Wendy and Vince are woken up and are transitioning between helping Leo and Jon to helping Luke and Bell, and they're both just so tired but neither of them are gonna stop helping until Leo's and Bell's auditions for the freaking Exorcist are over.

P.S. I started cackling as I wrote that last sentence. I'm so effing sleep deprived!!😭😭😭

Double whammy of Leo&Bell in pain! Just changing the timing because since they left Maine at 8 AM and the trip lasted only 2 hours, there's no way part two would take place in the middle of the night.

----------

Jonah wasn't trying to be an asshole. Not really, he didn't slip out of the room, once Leo was finally asleep for good and no longer dry heaving every thirty minutes in the ice bucket, just to be a dick to his friends.

However, he couldn't pretend to be happy about the situation. Anyone with more than three working neurons would've been able to tell that putting Leo in a van, a vehicle famous for setting off motion sickness, for four hours, had a very high chance of ending up with him hurling. Jon couldn't understand how he was supposed to act like this wasn't Bella's fault, when she could've easily prevented this by not puppy eyeing her way into going to a fucking music festival when she could barely stay awake more than a couple of hours and wouldn't even enjoy the bloody thing!

So yeah, he wasn't trying to be a dick but it was really hard not to be one right now.

There was a small diner, adjacent to the motel, and Jonah slipped in, stomach growling painfully since it was well past midday and he was so used to having an early lunch thanks to work. He didn't expect to find Bella, Luke, Wendy and Vince inside, but that was on him, he should've guessed they were hungry too.

If Jonah could turn around and pretend he didn't know them, he would have, because right now he was far too angry to be able to keep a pleasant conversation. Instead, Vince spotted him from across the diner and waved, smiling brightly.

"Come sit down, we're just about to order!"

Bless his soul, Jonah thought bitterly, stepping closer and avoiding looking at Bella, lest the nastiest part of him snapped at her.

"What are you ordering?" he asked, sitting next to Wendy and glaring at the plastic menu in front of him.

"How's Leo?" Bella asked, causing Jonah to grit his teeth.

"Asleep," he said, roughly, before turning to Vince, "so? What are you ordering?

"I got a greek salad," Wendy replied, raising an eyebrow, "did he take the dramamine?"

"Yes," Jonah squeezed the menu in his hands, trying to focus on the goodies that were probably filled with saturated fat, "I'm gonna get the chicken salad."

"I'm really sorry, Jon," Bella said, reaching over the table to grab his hand, "really, I didn't think-"

"Clearly," he interrupted her, then before he could take the words back, Lucas let out a scoff.

"Don't be such a prick, it's no one's fault," he said strongly. If Jonah had ever considered letting go of the matter with Bell's apology, he immediately changed his mind, zeroing Luke's face with a cold glare.

"It absolutely is her fault Leo just got so sick he can't get up from the bed! Anyone with a brain could realize he'd get carsick in a trip like this and we're only here because none of you can tell her no!"

"Jonah, calm do-" Wendy started, but he jerked away from her hand when it came to rest on his bicep, face burning, still glaring at Lucas, who seemed to inflate with just as much anger.

"Leo is a fucking adult who could've said no himself," Luke spat, "you treat him like a child, he's a grown man and if he's sick that sucks, but it's not Bell's fault-"

"So it's fine to push him around to make her happy, but Bella can't take any fucking responsibility!?" Jonah slammed his hand on the table and he was aware he was causing a scene, aware he wasn't that furious at Bella and this was all just exacerbated by the fact that Luke got on his nerves like no one else could. Still, that did not stop him.

"Push him around!?" Lucas stood up too, raising his voice, "who pushed him around!? We asked a simple question and he could've said no! You're acting like a dick because things didn't go your way, just grow the fuck up-"

"Luke, stop," Bella grabbed at his sleeve, trying to pull him down, "Jon's right, it's my-"

"Nice to know just how much you care about him or literally anyone who's not Bella," Jonah cut her off, "you selfish prick."

"You're such a fucking asshole, Jonah! He's carsick! He's not dying!"

"And Bella has four stitches, so we have to go on a fucking road trip to keep her happy! Hypocrite much?"

"Could you two stop?" Vince interrupted them, yanking at Lucas' arm and forcing him to sit back down, "I don't care if you want to squabble like two teenagers, but this is a family dinner, so show some fucking respect. Shut up, Jonah," he snapped as Jon opened his mouth, "either solve this outside or you both shut the fuck up."

"Fine," Jonah scoffed, getting up and power walking outside, "as soon as Leo is better we're getting the fuck out of here."

He was still seething as he entered their room back again, almost trembling with rage to quell the desire to slam the door shut, but not wanting to wake Leo up...

"Leo?" Jonah frowned, his voice coming out at least an octave deeper with how angry he was. The bed was empty, "Leo?"

"Here..." Leo croaked from the bathroom and Jonah took a deep breath to calm himself down, before walking to his boyfriend.

He was expecting to find Leo looking like death, but still he wasn't prepared. His hair was matted down and he was shirtless, lying against the bathtub while his chest heaved with a tired panting.

"Why are you shirtless?" Jonah frowned, crouching down and Leo let out a tired scoff, his head lolling a little as if his neck couldn't support it.

"Puked on my shirt."

"Fuck," Jonah cupped his cheeks, "the meds did nothing?"

"Made my puke pink," Leo said playfully, before pushing Jon's hand off his cheek so he could pitch forward with a gag, hastily pushing the toilet lid up. He coughed and gagged, bringing up frothy bile and then letting out a whimper, resting his forehead to the cold ceramic.

"My stomach hurts," he whined, shoulders shaking as he gulped down the tears, "Jon, I feel like shit..."

"I know, I know," Jonah bit down his lip, rubbing his naked back. He wanted Leo in a hospital, with a nice IV hooked to his arm, zofran knocking him out. Instead they were in the middle of nowhere and he could clearly tell Leo was starting to get dehydrated.

"Please do something," Leo whimpered, hugging his stomach with both arms, "I don't understand how I'm-" he gulped down, "still sick..."

Jonah felt helpless as he said, "you gotta drink water, Leo."

"It's just gonna come back up," the blonde groaned, curling up as much as he could, "everything else did..."

"I know, but at least it won't hurt your throat as much and you won't be super dehydrated..."

Leo groaned and moaned as Jonah stepped outside the bathroom, returning with a bottle of water, "do I really have to?"

"Yes," he turned the cap, holding it to his lips, "c'mon baby, little gulps."

If Jonah ever entertained the idea the water was staying down, Leo got rid of that notion by burping against his hand, then mumbling "shit-" and turning to the toilet as the water came back up, just as transparent, practically ready to be bottled up again.

He panted heavily over the toilet, squeezing his eyes shut, "my head hurts..."

"It's because you're dehydrated," Jonah said, his heart squeezing, "let's try the water again, just a little sip."

Two hours later and a whole water bottle completely wasted and Jonah was at his wits end. Leo had long given up leaning over the toilet, since he had nothing to bring up, and was lying on the bathroom floor, his cheek pressed to Jonah's thigh, crying.

Or at least Jon thought he was crying, he wasn't exactly sure since the tears were few and scarce.

"Shhh, close your eyes," Jon combed his fingers through his hair, "your brain should make sense we're not moving soon..."

"Is this..." Leo sniffled, muffling a sick belch against his jeans, "is this how your vertigo feels?"

Jonah raised an eyebrow, "I wouldn't know," he said, instead of answering worse, since he didn't want Leo to think he was being a baby. He wasn't being a baby, he was in pain.

"I'm so hungry," Leo groaned, rubbing his own stomach, "but just thinking about food..." he gagged and Jonah tensed up, wondering if he was about to get another splash of acid on his jeans. He was incredibly glad he hadn't eaten anything either, otherwise he'd have puked by now.

There was a knock on the door and Jonah let out a scoff, thumping his head back softly against the tiles. If it was Lucas acting like a kicked puppy, he didn't want to hear.

"Jon, the door..."

"I don't care," Jonah rubbed Leo's arm up and down, noticing he was covered in goosebumps from lying on the cold ground, "baby, let's go back to the bed?"

"I don't feel... Jon, I'm gonna puke again..."

"Right now?" Jonah grabbed his bicep, ready to hoist him up, but Leo shook his head, gulping down as acid reflux hit his throat.

"Soon..."

"Yeah, no," Jon decided, grabbing Leo and pulling him sitting up, "you're gonna catch fucking pneumonia lying on this cold ground, you can puke in the bucket by the bed, c'mon."

It was a hassle to bring Leo back to the bed when he was so unsteady on his feet and once they fell on the mattress, Jonah considered just lying there, with his boyfriend starfished on top of him, before there was yet another knock on the door.

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, causing Leo to whine against his neck.

"Don't yell, my head is killing me..."

"Sorry," Jonah rolled them on the bed, fixing Leo's head on the pillow, "give me a second..." he walked to the door, deciding that he would punch Luke if he said yet another stupidity.

It was much to his surprise when he opened the door and his visitor was nearly an entire foot shorter than he was expecting.

Wendy was holding a little to-go box of food and she was pouting, "peace offering?"

Jonah raised his eyebrows, unsure if he accepted the peace offering when he knew damn well Wendy never let anything go, "what do you want?"

"I brought you food, since you're probably starving," she answered instead, holding the box before his face. He let out a sigh, stepping to the side in a wordless acceptance of her white flag and she entered the room, immediately gasping.

"Leo?!"

"Yeah, he's still throwing up, I don't know what to do..." Jonah said, while Wendy abandoned the box in the tiny table next to the frigobar and rushed to the bed, touching Leo's clammy cheeks.

"Hey, blondie, open your eyes for me..."

"He's awake, he's just weak," Jonah vouched, opening the box and immediately stuffing his mouth with the fried chicken she had brought. His stomach was hurting from hunger.

"Leo?" Wendy patted his cheeks, "honey, hey... Can you hear me?"

"Why are you in my room?" Leo answered and Jonah snorted at the bitchy type of comment that was normally reserved for his ears only. Wendy let out a relieved sigh.

"You look like death."

"Thanks, I feel like death too," Leo croaked, turning his face away from her touch, "stop pinching me."

"He's dehydrated," Wendy said, squeezing the skin between her index and thumb.

Jonah rolled his eyes, "I know, but he stopped puking for twenty minutes now. I'm gonna try water again."

"Water won't do," Wendy scoffed, getting up, "I still have the sublingual zofran I got for the Sicily trip..."

"You do?" Jon raised his eyebrows and Wendy glared at him.

"You'd know if you weren't sulking in your room."

"Stop being mean to him," Leo groaned, shoving Wendy's knee and she slapped his hand away, unbothered by the fact he was sick or not.

"I'm gonna be mean to him all I want. Ask your boyfriend why he made Bella cry," she said, before getting up and barging out to grab the medicine. Leo groaned, taking a second to be able to look at Jonah with glassy, unfocused eyes.

"You didn't."

"I didn't," Jonah agreed, but he wasn't sure of it. He had been so furious at Luke, he hadn't actually spared Bell a glance. Guilt made his stomach churn, "I don't think I did."

"Jon..." Leo groaned, then grimaced, planting a hand on his chest, his throat bobbing up and down. Jonah sighed, crossing the room in two steps and grabbing the ice bucket, holding it under Leo's chin to catch a thin dribble of water and bile.

The blonde groaned loudly, forcing up a sick belch and then collapsing against the pillows, struggling to catch his breath. He closed his eyes again, a pained frown on, then rasped, "go apologize..."

"You're out of your mind, poor thing," Jonah rolled his eyes, rubbing his back, "take a breath, baby, Wendy's got the good drugs. They'll knock you right out."

"Uhm..." Leo winced as a cramp hit his stomach, "apologize, Jon."

"Nope," Jonah leaned in, kissing his temple, "shhhh, stop talking."

Wendy walked back in the room, holding a paper box with tiny pink meds and now with a bottle of gatorade in her other hand. Jonah felt incredibly grateful, his cheeks burning with a guilty blush.

Surely Wendy was just exaggerating it, right?

"Open up," she bossed and Jonah gently forced Leo to open his mouth, the blonde frowning with indignance, but far too weak to fight him. Once the little pill was put on his tongue, Wendy glanced at her phone, checking the time.

"We need to wait fifteen minutes," she said, as if Jon didn't know that already. He stared at Leo, who was not asleep, but seemed to be, face all slack, slumped over the pillow.

"I didn't make her cry, did I?" he asked in a low voice, brushing Leo's sweaty bangs away from his forehead.

Wendy scoffed, "yes, you did."

"Bella doesn't cry," he argued weakly and Wendy glared at him, moving so he couldn't avoid her eyes.

"She does when she's got brain surgery literally fifteen days ago and some jackass decides to yell at her for wanting to get out of the house."

"I didn't yell at her," Jonah pouted and Wendy leveled him with a cold glare.

"Lucas is going to punch your teeth in," she warned him, "and I'm not lifting a finger to help."

"You are terrible to me," Jonah groaned, moving his hand down to Leo's cheeks, "baby? Are you still awake?"

"Unfortunately," Leo whined, but he sounded much more at ease, "I think the meds are kicking in..."

Wendy glanced at her phone, lifting it up so Jonah could see only seven minutes had passed. It wasn't time enough for the medication to be really acting, but regardless Jonah stroked Leo's cheek, whispering, "good, let's wait just a little bit more, love."

"Uhm, kay..." Leo yawned, slumping even more against the pillows.

Wendy gestured to the door with her head, mouthing the words "go apologize" and Jonah frowned, glaring at Leo, as if to say he couldn't just leave him alone. She rolled her eyes in response and gestured at herself, "I'm here."

Realizing he'd have no choice but to apologize, Jonah got up from the bed with a groan of his own, "if Luke punches me, I'm punching right back."

"He's not gonna punch you..." Leo mumbled, sleepily and Jon rolled his eyes at his little reassurance.

"I'll be right back."

-------------

As far as Luke was concerned, they should all just go and leave Jonah and Leo stranded behind. That'd teach him to not be a fucking asshole all the time.

Bella had started to openly cry in the diner and while Luke knew that the emotional fluctuations were a direct result of the head wound, that didn't stop him from seeing in red as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer.

"Shhh, Bell, calm down, calm down," he chanted, almost rocking her on the seat. Bella crying was out of character enough, but her crying in public and not minding it? He felt like he was the one with the head injury.

Vince let out a pitiful noise, moving closer, "beautiful, Jonah is just being a prick because he's worried about Leo, he doesn't mean that..." he reassured her, but Bella shook her head, her whole face all red.

"He-he-hessright," she sobbed, causing Luke to squeeze her just a little tighter.

"Jon hasn't been right about a thing in his entire life," he scoffed, kissing the top of her head, "don't listen to him, baby."

She wasn't listening, Jonah had successfully reduced Bella to a mess of nothing but tears and eventually they decided that having lunch there, where all the other patrons were still watching, wasn't gonna happen and they got their to-go boxes, Luke almost carrying Bell out of the seat as she still shook with sobs.

He was going to kill Jonah, he thought darkly, helping her into their room and trying, once again, to wipe the tears away, "babe, shhh, it's not that big of a deal, I promise you..."

"It - its though!" She curled up on the bed, hugging her knees, "he's right, it's my fault, I pro-proposed the trip, I-" her shoulders shook as she forced the words out, "I got Le-Leo sick and now Jon hates me and- I wish we had never gone in this st-stupid trip."

Lucas let out a scoff, rubbing her back, "no, Leo got sick, shit happens, it's got nothing to do with you..."

"You-you don't understand," Bella huffed, squirming away from him, "stop touching me."

"Bell..."

"S-stop!" She pushed him away, rolling on her side and curling up on fetal position on the bed, "just-just leave me alone."

Lucas moved away from her on the bed, but he didn't get up, watching her like a hawk. Eventually, the sobs stopped as Bella got knocked back, exhaustion taking her under.

There was a knock on the door and Lucas got up stiffly, cracking his neck. If it was Jon, he was going to wring his neck.

Except it wasn't, it was just Vin, holding a little cupcake, "I brought Bella her favorite."

"She's asleep," Lucas scoffed, moving away from the door to let his best friend in, "can you believe he called me selfish? That idiot?"

Vince shrugged, unbothered as he circled the bed to plant the cupcake near the bedside table on Bella's side and pushed a curl away from her face, "you're gonna wake her up, calm down."

"I'm going to kill him, that's what I'm gonna do," Luke decided, barging for the door, only for Vince to run after him and grab him by the back of his shirt.

"No, you're not. Leo's still sick, you're gonna stop being a prick yourself and sit the fuck down," Vin scoffed, dragging him back inside.

"He made her cry!"

"You helped!" Vince whisper yelled, shutting the door, pinching his nose bridge, "look, I know you're angry. I'd be too if I were in your shoes, but you can't just go deck Jon down. You're an adult, stop that, dude."

Lucas grumbled, crossing his arms and refusing to listen to reason, throwing Bella another anxious and guilty glare, "it's not fair she thinks it's her fault, Vince."

"I know, Luke, but punching Jon isn't gonna change that, it'll just make her feel worse," Vince sighed, sitting on the bed and tucking the blankets tighter around Bella. It caused Lucas' shoulder to drop, the gentle act of affection that Vince clearly wasn't thinking about.

They were his family, he didn't want to punch Jonah, even if he was furious at him. He certainly wasn't happy about Leo feeling sick either.

He settled back down on the chair, picking at to-go box of food, while Vince relaxed, now confident Luke wasn't about barge in the room two doors down.

Lucas was just about to calm down, when Bella stirred on the bed, fifteen minutes later. Vince moved as she lightly kicked him, letting out a groan and rolling on the bed, with a frown on.

"Bell?" Vin called, touching her arm, "you awake?"

She opened her eyes, confused, her brows meeting in a harsh frown, before sitting up suddenly and making a horrible choking noise... And throwing up all over her band t-shirt and the blankets on her lap.

"Fuck!" Vince lurched back, narrowly avoiding getting his arm covered in vomit since he was reaching to thump on her back. Lucas jumped up, circling the bed to grab the waste basket, but it was too late, the mess was made and chaos installed in the room.

"Shit," Luke cursed, holding the paper waste basket under her chin, while Vince moved on the bed to hold her hair back, tears starting to run down her cheek as Bella continued to heave.

"m'sorry-" she slurred, spitting a mouthful of acidic vomit inside the bin, wincing, "my head- my head'hurts..."

"Shhh, it's okay," Lucas whispered, rubbing her back, "it's alright, baby, don't worry about this."

"I made- made a mess," Bella coughed and Vince let out a little noise, bunching up her curls in one hand of his, twisting it in a knot.

"Don't worry about that, I'll take the blankets to the motel's laundry," he whispered, meeting Lucas concerned glare over her head.

"Yeah, I'm gonna help you out of this shirt, baby-" He glanced at Vince who nodded, getting up from the bed and moving to where Luke had unceremoniously dumped their bag hours before.

"Can it be one of yours?" he whispered, crouching down before the clothes and heard Luke's little "sure" as response.

Vince cringed as he fished out the shirt and could hear Bella whimpering and getting sick again, crying about how her head was exploding.

"Is this normal?" he asked, passing Luke the shirt and starting to peel off the ruined blankets from her lap, trying to avoid making a bigger mess.

"Yes... I don't know, I think so. The doctor wasn't very specific," Lucas said, still rubbing her back, "Bell, are you done?"

"I don't know," she groaned, voice echoing inside the bucket, "my stomach hurts."

"You don't think its a bug, is it?" he asked and she shook her head.

"No, everything... Everything just hurts, Luke..."

Vince successfully managed to get the blanket folded up and lifted it up, away from his body, "I'll be right back."

"C'mon, baby, let's get you cleaned up," Luke said, nodding to Vince and wrapping his wife's arms around his neck, lifting her up easily. He planted her sitting on the closed toilet, leaving the new shirt on top of the sink and carefully maneuvering the destroyed one off of her.

"This is so humiliating," Bella whimpered, curling up as Luke wiped her chin and mouth with a wad of toilet paper, "I'm tired, Luke..."

"You can slee-"

"No, I'm tired of this," Bella shook her head, "I'm tired of being sick and in pain, I'm- I'm tired. Please, make it stop..."

His heart squeezed and his eyes stung, causing Lucas to gulp against the knot in his throat, "babe, you're getting better, I promise you... "

"No, I can't, I can't do this anymore," Bella teared up all over again, "I'm so fucking exhausted and everything hurts and I- I made Leo sick and I hate this stupid trip and my stupid brain and-"

"Shhh, you're gonna make yourself sicker," Lucas interrupted, kissing her brow and carefully putting the new shirt over her head, "I know you're in pain, baby, but you have to know Leo wasn't your fault. None of this..."

"Except it fucking was," Bella scoffed, curling up on top of the toilet, hugging her knees to her chest, "I feel awful, Luke..."

There was a knock on the door, so Lucas rolled his eyes, jerking his head so he could yell "It's open!" to Vince, before looking back at her.

"No, it wasn't, Bell-"

"It was though," Bella insisted, a fresh new batch of tears running down her face, "Leo is sick and everything fucking hurts and I- I don't know what to do, I wish we were home..." she whimpered, clutching her head and Lucas flinched as he saw a thin line of blood start to run down her nose.

"We'll be home soon, baby," he said, while frantically rolling up more toilet paper, wiping the blood from under her nose, only for even more to continue to gush down.

"I don't... I don't feel well..." Bella mumbled, paling considerably and Lucas lurched, grabbing her by the shoulders before she could hit her head back against the metal flush.

"I got you, I got you-" except that he didn't. He was in way over his head, worried beyond logic and unsure of what to even do first. Bell's face white and clammy, her throat bobbing nervously as it looked she was about to throw up again, blood still gushing down her nose, covering her lip and her neck-

"Here," Jonah said, sidestepping him and holding a bunch of toilet paper under her nose, grabbing Bella's nose and squeezing the tip, while leaning her forward.

"Get the fuck out of here," Lucas scoffed, but there was no heat, he was too worried and too relieved it was Jon to give a shit.

"Shut up," Jonah kicked his thigh, then gestured for the trashcan, "get the bin, she's gonna be sick."

Lucas scrambled for it, holding it open just in time for Bella to let out yet another stream of vomit, barely gagging, sounding and looking out of it.

Jonah gagged, ducking his face in his shoulder and Luke ignored him, holding Bella's forehead.

"Shhh, get it up, baby..."

"I'mreally-" she burped again, choking in the sick, "m'reallyry-sorry..."

"I know, I know," he whispered, while Jonah let out a guilty whine above her head, rubbing her back.

"It's fine, don't think about it," he said, his voice a notch softer and Bella let out a groan, clutching the bin's edges until her knuckles turned white.

"Everything is spinning..."

"Bella, hey-" Lucas patted her cheek, "don't pass out, baby, open your eyes-"

"Luke," Jonah shook his head, his voice a whisper, "it's okay, she's okay," he said calmly, "I got her."

And he really did, because a second later Bella's spine gave up on her and her whole weight collapsed against Jon's leg. He cupped her head, crouching down to steady her on the seat and shoving Lucas out of the way.

"Let's get her lying down, feet up, it's probably just a blood pressure drop because of the nose bleed..."

If Lucas noticed just how his voice trembled, he didn't say anything. Together they managed to get Bella back in the bedroom, piling some pillows her under her legs to make the blood flow back up and then...

Then there was nothing to do.

Jonah moved uneasily, eyes darting from Bell to Luke and then back again, "I... I shouldn't have said that."

"I care about Leo," Lucas scoffed, at the same time as Jon spoke up.

Jonah let out a groan, rubbing his face, "yeah, I know, I'm just pissed off-"

"And I'm just pissed because you're not being fair with her," Lucas pouted, "if it's on anyone, it's on me. You know I was the one who asked Leo to tag along, not Bell."

"Because of Bella."

"I'm still the one who said it, so at least be pissed at me, not her."

Jonah let out a scoff, rolling his eyes, "I'm always pissed at you, Lucas, there's no difference there."

Luke snorted, carefully combing his fingers through Bella's hair, avoiding the stitches, "how's Leo?"

"Knocked out, still sick, dehydrated. Wendy got him some good drugs though, so I'm hopeful he'll feel better soon..."

An awkward silence followed and they both avoided each other's eyes, before Lucas huffed, "I'm sorry, this trip was a stupid idea."

"It wasn't," Jonah shook his head, "but bad fucking timing..." he sat on the edge of the bed, "I didn't mean to make her cry, I swear I didn't."

Luke raised his eyebrows, unimpressed, "well, you did."

"I'll apologize to her," Jonah promised, his pride be damned. Luke sighed, nodding.

"Fine, if you apologize to her."

"If you apologize to Leo for making him come."

"I didn't make him come."

"Lucas," Jonah glared at him and the other man pouted, nodding again.

"Fine, I'll apologize."

[sungbeam]

nonidol!ji changmin x bff!fem!reader

after the death of his best friend, changmin’s been left to grieve and wallow. but when you suddenly come back to him in the form of a ghost, he realizes that this might be his chance to right some wrongs. (aka; changmin has seven days with your ghost to figure out why you’ve been returned to the land of the living.)

▷ genre, warnings. childhood friends au, you are literally dead./major character death, mentions of a car accident, implied past bullying, swearing, fluff, comedy as a coping mechanism, angst, comfort/hurt, grief and survivor’s guilt, so much crying that you might get tired, just telling you now it is not meant to be a romantic plot but there r hints bc i’m a sucker, i’m not religious but ur a ghost(?), getting over one’s best friend’s death is not easy folks so that’s why y/n goes ghost B)

▷ total wc. 16.8k </3

▷ permanent taglist. @tayunji @im-a-big-mess @honeyhuii @y3jiishot @crazywittysassy @seomisaho @stopeatread @enhacolor @rnjfy @jaehunnyy @kpopjackie @spiderrenjunfics @soobin-chois @stayarmytinyzenmoa-l @ethereal-engene

a/n: hey hello! ik this prob won’t get a lot of interaction bc it’s a tbz fic and non-romantic main, but it would mean a lot to me if u reblogged and shared this :’) otherwise, hope u enjoy, and here's some mood songs: yellow (coldplay), last (dvwn), & let's hurt tonight (onerepublic)

DAY ZERO

JUYEON wasn’t really the best at approaching people in this way. There was something about sad people that made him feel helpless, and the fact that this was Ji Changmin, one of his closest friends, the helplessness had collapsed into a sinkhole in the pit of his stomach. Even Chanhee, someone who was arguably closer to Changmin, sat silently after Kevin’s proposed question.

Kevin lifted the straw of his coffee to his lips, eyes glued to a crack in the table they surrounded in the local coffee shop by the school campus. “So… no one has any ideas?”

Sad, drooping heads.

Chanhee blew a puff of air out from his lips as he propped his chin onto his palm. There seemed to be a permanent frown etched into his face nowadays, not far from how Changmin looked. “I wish that we knew how to get through to him, y’know? I think if he would just let us, then we could at least be there with him.”

“He’s grieving, Chanhee,” Kevin replied firmly, but not unkindly. “If he wants alone time, then he deserves that time to himself. But I do think that he needs to come out of his apartment. I mean… his parents will not be happy when they find out he’s skipped almost a month’s worth of classes.”

It had been about a month since that dreadful night you died. Changmin and his friends had all awoken to the news that there had been an Accident. It was on the corner of two streets, on the opposite side of campus, that you had been run down by a drunk driver on your way home from a late shift. Since then, Changmin refused to crawl out of his apartment, insisting on hoarding himself away. He’d only come out of the apartment to let Gana frolic and do his business, but would then proceed to go straight back to his hobbit hole.

This was a far cry from the Changmin they knew—the one who would drag his friends out to the permanent Haunted House attraction in the middle of July, the one who refused to return to his own apartment until he nailed a dance move just right. But the day you died seemed to be the day that Changmin had as well.

Juyeon chewed on his bottom lip, knee bouncing up and down fervently with anxious energy. He hated feeling helpless. As Kevin and Chanhee continued to talk themselves aloud through their own thoughts, Juyeon pulled his phone out from his pocket and sent Changmin a series of texts. When he finished, he shoved the phone under his thigh to keep from constantly checking the screen for disappointment.

“…could always call up Sunwoo and drive him up here. I’m sure he would gladly intrude to cuddle—”

Juyeon was suddenly yanked back out from tuning in when he felt his phone vibrate. His eyes widened slightly in surprise as he watched the little bubbles appear under Changmin’s name.

juyo: hey changminnie~ wanna come get bbq with us tonight? it’s on me !

juyo: ice cream afterward on me too

kyu: okay

kyu: what time?

———

Changmin didn’t know what possessed him to come out of his apartment to hang out with his friends. For far too long, he had refused to hang out with anyone else besides Gana and his lonesome. But something in him ignited at the sight of Juyeon’s texts and offers; perhaps it had been his stomach and dwindling bank account.

Nevertheless, he told Juyeon that he would meet him there, and he wasn’t about to flake on his word.

He exhaled a haggard sigh from his mouth, the breath turning to visible air in front of him. His nose and cheeks were pink from the cold nipping at his skin, but the sensation felt nice, felt normal. He ducked his head, puffy and tired eyes hidden beneath a red baseball cap, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark hoodie as he walked across the street to reach the lively and warm embrace of the bbq restaurant.

He spied his trio of friends lingering just outside the door, small smiles on their faces as they talked about something amongst themselves. Chanhee threw his head back in a laugh at something Juyeon said, and Changmin suddenly felt out of place without even being there. What if he was just going to ruin the mood? He didn’t want them to be sad or walk around eggshells around him. What if he cried, just out of nowhere? That would definitely ruin the mood—

Before he could swivel on his heel and turn back, Kevin caught his eyes from down the road, his face lighting up. He raised a hand to wave him over, catching the attention of the other two who turned to look. “Yo, Changmin! You made it, man.”

Changmin tried for a smile, his shoulders relaxing. This was fine; he was going to be okay. “Hey guys.”

Chanhee immediately rushed over to him and crushed him in an embrace. “I can’t believe I’ve missed you,” he lamented into Changmin’s jacket.

Changmin chuckled, affectionately patting his friend’s head. “Well, I’m not surprised. I missed you, too, though.”

When Chanhee pulled back, there was an expression of stark disbelief on his face. But before he could point out that Changmin actually admitted to missing him, Changmin was greeted by Kevin and Juyeon.

Juyeon pulled him into a small side hug. “How’re you feeling?”

Changmin swallowed. The tears pricked at the corners of his eyes and his inner voice was shouting at him to hold back. He sucked in a breath. “I’m… I’m okay. How’re you guys?”

There was an exchange of looks between the other three as if they didn’t believe him or they were all silently trying to figure out what best to respond with. Kevin was the one who said, “We’re doing okay, too. Come on; our table’s ready.”

And that was perhaps the very response that Changmin was hoping for—and yet, at the same time, he wondered if he would have liked it better if they called him out for lying instead.

———

Changmin stumbled into his apartment, hand flapping against the wall blindly to find the lightswitch. His dark bangs hung in his eyes as the lights flickered on. He winced, digging his thumb and forefinger into the corners of his eyes to stave the brightness. As he kicked the front door shut, he heard the jingling of Gana’s collar as his pup came up to circle around his legs in warm greeting.

He bent down slightly to scratch behind Gana’s ears. “Hi, boy. Yeah, I’m back.”

He let out yet another sigh and dragged himself over to the couch, collapsing onto the cushion dented with the imprint of his butt from heavy use. Gana leapt onto the couch beside him, dutifully taking residence on the cushion and resting his fluffy head in Changmin’s lap.

For the first time in a month, Changmin had smiled, laughed even. He didn’t like admitting that it had made him feel good; he didn’t like that he could be happy when you’d died so soon ago. The devil perched on his shoulder whispered insecurities into his ear and that high he had been on while out with Chanhee, Kevin, and Juyeon disappeared. Replacing it was that gut-wrenching guilt in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t even describe the deep sadness that fell over him like a tsunami wave. Everything had come to deafening silence, like when he would dunk his head beneath water. Everything became muted… he was slipping again.

Changmin leaned his head against the back of the couch and let the tears trail down the sides of his face. He was trying to breathe—inhale, exhale, inhale—but he would only choke on the sounds of his sobs.

Gana crawled into his lap now, warm mass like a hug. It was the only thing grounding Changmin to reality now.

Do you even deserve to be happy? He wondered to himself, shifting to sit up and wipe the tears from his cheeks with the backs of his hands. Did you deserve to go out and be happy when Yn can’t?

Changmin swore under his breath, angrily pawing at his face again, willing the waterworks to stop. “God, stop crying, you fucking wimp,” he growled at himself.

It wouldn’t help; of course, it wouldn’t help.

His frame trembled and quaked and… and…

Changmin gently moved Gana off of his legs so he could make his way over to the little side table beside his TV. It used to be where he stashed yours and his favorite movies, video games, and board games. But now, it had become home to pictures of you and him, tealights, and your favorite plushie that he kept from when your parents asked to meet with him.

All of it. Why was it here if only to remind him of the person he treasured most lost to the cruel hand of fate?

He collapsed before the table, knees pressed between his body and the cold, hard ground. He clasped his hands together, tears pouring down his face. “If I could just see you again, Yn… just one more time,” he managed to choke out. “Just one more time. Please.” Would that even be enough?

DAY ONE

LIGHT filtered in through the shutters of the apartment windows and directly into Changmin’s eyes, but what woke him up was the incessant sound of Gana’s barking. Changmin groaned, body rolling around onto its side as he reached for his phone charging on the nightstand. It was ten in the morning, well past his first lecture of the day’s allotted time.

He sniffled, hand reaching up to gently touch his puffy eyelids. God, eight hours and he still woke up sore as—

“Jesus, it’s still a pigsty in here.”

Changmin froze. Gana kept barking.

He blinked. He must have been hearing things, because he couldn’t have just heard your voice say that from out in the living room.

Changmin shook his head. He really needed some coffee or something. Now he was hallucinating you? How much worse could his mental health get? Maybe he really should have accepted that offer from your parents when they’d asked him if they could pay for any counseling services he needed. He rose from the bed with a yawn, arms stretching up over his head.

Gana had stopped barking at this point, and Changmin mentally thanked whatever it was that was making his dog go mad for…

The thought ran dry in his head like words dying upon his tongue. He stepped over the threshold between his bedroom and the main living space, and his eyes landed on something awfully peculiar… Not something, rather someone. You. He was staring right at you leaning down to scratch Gana behind the ears.

His heart leapt into his throat and his eyes fluttered shut. This could not be happening.

“Holy shit!” Your exclamation made his eyes shoot open. You were gaping at him now as if you were surprised to see him. “You’re supposed to be at class!”

He couldn’t help but retort in his own defense, “And you’re supposed to be dead!” But here you were, in the flesh—in an old T-shirt from your high school Science Olympiad team and comfortable sweats—petting his dog.

Changmin grasped his bedroom door frame, free hand flying to hold his head. “Oh my god, I’m going insane. What was in that ice cream last night?”

There was no plausible reason for you to be standing in his living room right now. Not when you had been dead for an entire month. He had been at the funeral, had sobbed his heart out over the pile of dirt they’d shoveled over your grave. A prickling sensation came to the corners of his eyes and he willed himself to not start crying again. He didn’t even know he had tears left to cry after the session he’d had last night.

“Changmin.”

He shuddered.

Your voice was softer this time as you slowly moved away from Ghana. “Changmin, it’s Yn Ln. You know me.”

He peeked out from behind his hand and sniffled. Nevermind, he was definitely crying. “Stop,” he rasped, shaking his head. “Stop. This is just a figment of my imagination. Yn is not really here; she’s definitely—” His voice broke and he let go of the door jamb so he could bury his face into the palms of both of his hands. He let out a shaky breath. “I need coffee.”

He averted his eyes from looking in your direction as he shook some sense into his head and headed straight for the kitchen to start the coffee pot. He could hear Gana’s collar jingle as he bounded after him.

You could only stand there where you had been before and watch with sad eyes as he kept his back to you the entire time the coffee brewed.

One scaldingly bitter cup of brew later, Changmin leaned his back against the counter to face you. His face was set in a permanent grimace from the gross after taste of that hot bean juice, but the slight buzzing sensation at the back of his head was definitely a sign of alertness. Okay, now to solve all his problems.

“So you’re a ghost?” Were the first words from his mouth.

Your face dropped into a deadpan that was so you, Changmin almost broke out into hysterical giggles. “That’s your first question?”

“It’s a very valid question.”

You sighed. “Yes. Sure, I’m a ghost.”

He narrowed his eyes on you, lifting the mug in his hand to his lips, then frowning when he realized it was empty. “Okay, but how do I know you’re really Yn? How do I know you’re not just a projection of my crippling depression, and that you’re actually my Yn?” He didn’t know where the my had come from, but he was going a little too insane to care.

You made a face at him, nose wrinkling up cutely. He could see you in all the little mannerisms, and to be honest, he wouldn’t be surprised at all if you turned out to be simply a figment of his imagination because he knew you that well. He could probably resurrect you into an animated character if he knew how to animate in the first place. “Changmin, how am I supposed to prove to you I’m actually Yn? You can’t just recognize me?”

Maybe his brain was just tuning into work mode to block out all of the emotions. At the moment, he let his playful, curious side win his body over. “I dunno,” he grinned. “Ooh! What is my middle name?”

“You don’t have a middle name.”

“What is my favorite movie?” He stopped short, his pointer finger tapping his chin. “Wait, that’s too obvious. When’s my birthday?”

You squinted at him in disbelief. “So your favorite movie is too obvious, but your birthday, which is on your birth certificate, isn’t?”

He huffed. “Okay, what did I wear to Juyeon’s fourteenth birthday party then?”

Your hand moved to hold your forehead. “Changmin, how the fuck am I supposed to remember that.”

“THAT’S EXACTLY WHAT YN WOULD SAY!”

“THAT’S BECAUSE I AM YN, YOU IDIOT.”

When Changmin doubled over himself in laughter, your lips settled into a thin line. He thunked his mug onto the counter with a concerningly loud crash so he could brace himself against something with one hand. (Maybe he really was going insane.)

You fixed him with a look. “Are you done messing around, Ji Changmin?”

His eyes, squinting from all his laughter and the biggest grin on his face, twinkled from where he peered over the counter at you. The sight almost brought a smile back to your face. “You’re just fun to mess with, Yn-ie.”

———

Reality came crashing down on Changmin in as little as five minutes.

“So… you’re a ghost?”

This time, when he posed the question, it was smaller and mellow, his body settled onto the couch with his legs pulled up to his chest as he peered up at you through watery eyes and a childlike disposition. Gana had retreated into his bedroom to snuggle into his bedsheets, leaving only you and Changmin in the main living space. You were perched on the wooden coffee table across from where he sat on the couch. You didn’t have it in you to be annoyed at him when he looked so… looked so unlike himself. This wasn’t the Changmin you knew before: ballsy, smiley, unafraid. There was something so blanched about him, like he was washed over in some kind of filter. It was unnerving.

You bit your upper lip, hands drumming against your legs. “Yeah.”

He stared at you for a moment, then pointed at the TV remote next to you. “Move that.”

“Pardon?”

“Move it,” he repeated.

You moved it.

“Why aren’t you just phasing through shit if you’re a ghost?” He asked, hands tightening around his knees.

His logic, or well—some semblance of logic—was trying to help him process this, that much you understood. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I was literally just manifested here.”

“So you know you’re dead?”

You nodded. “I don’t know how long I’ve been dead for—”

“Three weeks and four days,” he blurted. He averted his gaze for a moment and picked at a stray thread on the couch. “Three weeks… and four days.”

And suddenly, you felt as though you reflected how he looked right now: eyes shining, frown engraved into your face. Your body went numb from the shock and the sudden realization that he had been counting. You swallowed. How were you supposed to comfort him through your own death?

“Can I hug you?”

Your head perked up and you met his small gaze again. You nodded. “Yeah,” you cleared your throat and held out your palms like an offering, “yeah, c’mere, Kyu.”

At the sound of his nickname, he practically pounced across the gap between you two, and into your arms. You were able to grab hold of him and keep your own body upright, and you felt him fist the material of your shirt in his hands as he sobbed into your chest. He could feel you, all of you—could smell your shampoo, feel the warmth of your neck. He could squeeze and grapple onto you as if you were truly here. God, what he would have given to hug you one last time. His knees were definitely bruised from how hard he hit the floor, but he had slid down far enough that he was clinging onto and crying into your stomach, all while one of your arms came around his top half and the other settled comfortably in the nest of his hair.

“I—” he blubbered into your dampened shirt, “—I missed you so much, Yn. I missed you so bad. I—I can’t—I don’t even know what to do without you. I missed you so, so badly.”

You squeezed him a little harder and leaned down to lay your body over his. “God, I’m sorry, Kyu. I missed you, too. You’ll be okay, hm? You’re gonna be okay.”

He shook his head against you in insistent refusal. “Mm-mm. No. Can’t do this fucking shit without you—can’t do this ‘live your life’ shit without my—my best friend.” He wasn’t even sure how he could manage to get words out. Even if he had known he would be given the opportunity to speak to you one last time, he wouldn’t ever be able to settle on the right words to tell you. This moment was no different. All that spilled from his mouth was nothing short of the truth, though.

———

Hours later, you and Changmin laid on the length of the couch with his face tucked into your neck and his body lying atop yours. You’d coaxed him to move with you onto the couch, knowing that his legs were probably screaming in agony for being pressed against the hardwood floor. He hadn’t said anything for a long time; only deigning to lay there in silence as he assured himself that you really were a solid mass beneath him. He came to realize one thing in particular, however—you lacked a heartbeat.

Everything about you seemed perfectly and incredibly human, except for that fact. He felt no pulse aching from where he nestled by your jugular. All of those crime dramas he’d spent hours upon hours watching with you had come in handy in learning how to feel for pulses. He tried to get past the fact that you didn’t have one; after all, you were dead.

His fingers wrapped around a strand of your hair, and he voiced a thought aloud, “Did they lock you out of heaven or something?”

Your laugh came out like a snort. “If anything, I was booted from hell.”

“Wow, so you died and gained a sense of humor.”

You flicked his forehead, and Changmin grinned, rubbing the spot. “Ow. Rude.”

“Bet you wish I could phase through things now, huh?”

He turned his face into your neck again and his voice came out nasally, “That would have been cooler.”

You huffed indignantly. “Don’t think I didn’t miss your little shrine of me, Mr. Cool Guy.”

Changmin groaned and hid his burning face from you. It was suddenly far too hot in this room, and your laughter was a little too bright to be a good representation of the dead. He grunted. “You died, Yn. What was I supposed to do?”

“You kept Bruno for me though,” you said with a soft sort of smile as you ran your fingers through his hair, making eye contact with the angry, little red t-rex plush sitting on the table by the TV. “He seems to like it here.”

“Do you like it here?” He asked then. “I mean, why are you here, Yn-ie? If—if you’re real, then why are you in the land of the living and fully corporeal?” He braced himself on the sides of the couch then so he could push up. When his eyes clashed with yours, he realized just how close your faces were, and reddened, immediately spacing himself from you to the other end of the couch.

You frowned slightly at the action, but thought nothing of it as you shifted to match his seated position. “I’m not sure. I just remember the accident, the world fading to black, and now…” You gestured to yourself and all around you. “Now I’m here.”

“How do you know things though? Like, how do you know you’re a ghost? How do you know you’ve been dead?”

You could only shrug. “Injected into my brain? Can’t really answer that, Changmin.”

Changmin raked a hand through his hair, licking his lips. “Okay, well you had to have been brought back here for a reason right? Maybe to right a wrong? Something you have to finish or satisfy before you’re allowed into the afterlife or whatever comes after death,” he reasoned with his hands gesticulating madly like flapping wings.

“I know that I have seven days,” you offered.

The world crumbled and the blood drained from his face. “Seven days?” He whispered.

You nodded solemnly. “Just one of those things,” your tone went quiet like an apology, “I guess.”

Changmin’s eyes shuddered. Seven days. Seven days. Seven… okay, he could do this. Seven days to think of all the things he was supposed to say to you and to finally say them. And also, to figure out why you were sent here in the first place. Who knew what would happen to you if you weren’t able to accomplish whatever goal you were supposed to reach? He couldn’t bear the thought.

“Okay,” he managed to say.

“Well, I know where we should start,” you suggested with the slight lift of your shoulder.

He glanced at you in waiting.

“We need to clean this messy ass apartment up.”

DAY TWO

CHANGMIN couldn’t possibly sleep when he knew you were just waltzing about the apartment throughout the night. You had assured him that, as a ghost, you didn’t need to sleep, nor eat, nor breathe, nor shower, nor do anything else of the normal human sort. Yet he laid awake in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. Even Gana was fast asleep, curled up at the foot of his bed.

The two of you had spent the entirety of yesterday cleaning up his dump of an apartment. You’d said something about how “spring cleaning isn’t just a spring thing” and handed him a duster. He’d gone along with it, even moving to eventually start playing some music to fill the noise. It was just nice to be in your presence for once.

Even when you were alive, you’d encourage him to clean; maybe even pick up around the place for him when he was too tired from dance practice and his job and his life. But there was no doubt that cleaning around the apartment space made him feel just a little bit refreshed, a little more alive and awake.

But clearly, all that work hadn’t been enough to tire him out.

And he tried to fall asleep, but sleep would not grace him with its mercy.

It was when the sky outside oxidized into a rusted color that his eyelids finally fell. He blinked once, and the next moment, his alarm blared beside him.

An arm shook him awake. “Kyu, wake up.”

He whined, shaking you away. “Nooo,” he groaned and tugged the covers back over his head. The alarm kept going.

“I made coffee.”

He exhaled through his nose and reluctantly pulled the covers down to see you. You were still here, sitting on the edge of his bed in that same, old ratty T-shirt with your hair falling in your eyes, and a sweet, fond smile on your face… “It wasn’t all a dream?” He pondered aloud, voice gravely from exhaustion.

You shook your head. “Nope. Now, get up. Time to go to school.”

At that note, he let out a loud groan, sweeping the covers over his head in protest. You laughed as you exited the room, and Changmin could only smile to himself as he let that sound echo in his ears.

———

“Do I really have to go to class, Yn-ie? It’s Tuesday.”

You sent him a look as you strolled beside him on the sidewalk. “Yes, because it’s Tuesday.”

Changmin pursed his lips as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. While you were able to get him out of bed, you weren’t able to get him to at least look more Changmin. That was, he still walked out of the house in a hoodie and pajama pants and zero product in his hair. You did manage to convince him to slap on deodorant, so you could call that a win.

The sky was just bruising to a purple color as the sun took its sweet time trekking up into its perch in the sky. Changmin knew he shouldn’t have chosen such an early lecture, but he and Juyeon were supposed to weather it together. Guilt suddenly swirled in his stomach at the thought—he’d abandoned Juyeon.

His eyes flickered back at you and your bare arms, wondering if ghosts got cold. But based on the fact you hadn’t stolen a hoodie from his closet, he figured they didn’t then.

As you and Changmin neared the lecture hall, having well stepped onto the college campus for the first time in a month, you both stalled. There were a handful of people milling about, but most of them were too tired to care about other people just standing around anyway.

“Okay,” you began, “remember that when you get in there, you can’t talk to me or about me.”

His breath hitched. “Why can’t I talk about you?”

“Because they’ll think you’ve gone crazy.”

“But I haven’t.”

You chewed your upper lip. “You can see me, Changmin, but they can’t. People are going to look at you weird if you suddenly turn to your side and start talking to the air next to you.”

So that was how ghosts worked? He had to snap his brain into focus. “People already look at me weird,” he muttered, staring across at the path to the entrance of the lecture hall. He could still recall all of the pitying looks he’d received everywhere he went. He couldn’t stomach it anymore. Everyone knew that you and he had been the best of friends, practically attached at the hip. You would sit with him through hours of dance practice and be the loudest one in the audience; he would remind you to get sleep during your worst exam seasons and shuttle you home after late nights at the lab.

His eyes shuttered, and for a moment, that wave of guilt washed over him. He should have been there that night; he should’ve been there to take you home—

A hand on his arm. He sniffed, swiping at his eye. “I’m okay,” he insisted before you could say anything.

He began making his way towards the entrance with you in tow.

When he found the lecture room number, he stopped just short of it. Those feelings of insecurity and fear bubbled up inside of him like bile in his throat. He wanted to turn back and run to the safety and seclusion of his apartment.

But when he felt your hand take his and give it a gentle squeeze, his heart swelled. He glanced back at you, then his eyes widened when he saw someone coming down the corridor. Changmin ducked into the lecture hall, his hand gripping yours tightly.

There were… way too may seats and people, he realized, as he surveyed the room. A couple people recognized him and shot him surprised glances, but otherwise, no one paid him much attention. The lights were dimmed to half-brightness, and the professor had yet to arrive.

“Go sit next to Juyo,” you whispered to him, nudging him toward the left stairs. Up in one of the middle rows sat Juyeon with a hood pulled up over his head, practically nodding off to sleep. “He looks so sad all alone.”

Changmin sucked in a breath, then made the journey up the stairs.

He cleared his throat when he reached Juyeon’s seat, the one beside him always left empty in case Changmin ever did show up to class. Juyeon’s head shot up, and his eyes widened to the size of saucers, a grin slowly forming on his face. Changmin let a small, dimpled smile come to his face.

“I think I’m dreaming, dude,” Juyeon said. “Good to have you back, Changmin-ah.”

Changmin let out the breath he had been holding. “This seat’s not taken, is it?”

Juyeon gave a hard shake of his head. “I’d make a joke about it being some other guy’s, but I’m way too tired. Sit down, for God’s sake.”

Changmin lowered himself into the seat next to his friend, letting go of your hand so he could get settled. He almost turned his head to ask where you were going to sit, but reigned in the urge. He could talk to you afterward, no matter how much he wanted to talk to you now, maybe even ask Juyeon to move down a seat for you.

But then he felt your presence right next to him as you perched on the side of his chair’s armrest. No, you weren’t going anywhere just yet.

About an hour later though, Changmin and Juyeon trudged out of the lecture hall side by side, hands lifting to shield their eyes from the sunlight peeking through the clouds. They had managed to drag each other through the contents of that lecture—mainly Juyeon giving Changmin miniature summary lectures on the points that he didn’t know (everything). No new information from that lecture had been acquired.

“—you should’ve seen when we got our papers back,” Juyeon shook his head with a breathy laugh tumbling out of his mouth. He brushed a hand through his hair, squinting at the daylight. “Absolute madhouse. Professor had to extend his office hours because the line out of his office was so long.”

Changmin smiled widely. “I really should go to office hours, huh? That would be the smart thing to do.”

“You know, I tell myself that everyday, and yet…” Juyeon shrugged. “I never heed my own advice.”

When the two of them reached the intersection where you and Changmin had stood at just earlier this morning, Changmin’s head perked up, eyes searching for you. At some point, it had slipped his mind that you were in lecture with him, and you hadn’t done or said anything to make him remember. He looked across the street though and relief soared through him when he spotted you seated on a bench waiting for him.

Juyeon followed his gaze curiously, but thought better than to question the soft-cornered smile on his friend’s face. “Hey, uhm, did you feel up to having lunch with me and the others today? I’ve gotta go to my social justice lecture right now, but we’re hitting the new ramen place in the district at like, one, I think.”

Changmin snapped back to reality. “Oh, uh…” His eyes drifted back to you, but you were looking elsewhere at a couple who were passing by walking their pups. His foot tapped against the ground as he seesawed between options. Did he feel up to it?

“You don’t have to if you want to go home,” Juyeon assured him with a sympathetic smile. “You should go home and rest.”

Changmin licked his lips. A part of him realized that he was glad Juyeon had been the one to say it. “Sorry, I just…”

“Hey, today was a lot. Don’t sweat it, okay?” Juyeon then gently patted Changmin’s arm with his hand as he turned to head down the road toward his next class. “See you later?”

“Yeah, see you, Ju.”

Something poked at the back of Changmin’s mind as he ducked his head slightly and bounded across the street to where you were seated. He lifted his hand in a subtle wave to you, then nodded toward the road back to his apartment to make a more natural course of action for any onlookers. You fell into step beside him as easily as breathing air.

“How come you didn’t want to go have lunch with the guys?” You piped up.

“Huh? Oh.” Changmin kicked a pebble on the road with the side of his shoe and watched it bounce into the grass next to the sidewalk. “I wanted to spend time with you—Wait, you heard that conversation?”

You tapped the side of your head as if that was enough of an explanation to his question, then moved on. “But you get to spend time with me whenever you’re at the apartment. How long has it been since you last hung out with them?”

“Two days ago, actually. The night before you showed up, we had dinner.”

“Did you enjoy it?” You asked.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, stopping at the traffic intersection to wait for the walking sign to turn on. “I mean, yeah. Yes, I did. I just—afterwards—it was…” He could hear his own sobbing echo in his head, and as if he had projected those memories into your head or as if you could read his mind, your expression grew somber. Changmin’s voice quieted, for fear that adding volume would push out the emotions all over again. “It was really hard, Yn. All I did was cry when I got back.”

You moved closer to him and offered your hand to him. The crosswalk symbol lit up white, and Changmin took your hand as the two of you made your way across the street. “I’m sorry,” was all you could manage to say.

“‘s not your fault,” he replied. He couldn't possibly blame you for your own accidental death. You hadn’t forced that guy to get drunk and drive down that specific road. You had no choice in your death, and for some reason, that made Changmin’s chest hurt just a little more. “I liked having dinner with them and I think I genuinely laughed and smiled for the first time in a while, too, but I just…”

He grappled for the words, unable to admit the truth aloud.

“Kyu-ah,” you said to him, hand-holding shifting to you holding onto his upper arm so the two of you walked closer in a half-embrace. “You can be happy. You’re allowed to feel these things, and you’re allowed to smile and laugh.”

He shook his head, his head tilting back as his eyes closed. The prickling sensation had come back and goddamn it, he didn’t want to cry again. He had to make it back to the apartment at least. “Not without you.”

You frowned, but kept quiet until the two of you reached Changmin’s apartment. He dumped his shoes at the door, backpack thumping to the floor, body crashing onto the couch. You settled down onto the cushion next to him, and he nestled his head onto your shoulder.

“Kyu, can you do something for me?”

He hummed, arms encircling your arm like you had done to him on the walk back. “Anything.”

“Will you go to lunch with Juyeon, Kevin, and Chanhee? Will you at least try for me?”

Changmin stared at your portrait, the one across from his eyes on that little table by the TV. Yours and his smiles were a reflection of each other, framed in eternity behind that clear plastic. He gulped. “Okay. I will.”

DAY THREE

LUNCH yesterday went perfectly well, mainly because you stood behind Changmin’s chair the entire time with your hand on his shoulder to assure him that you were still present and “hanging out” with all of them, too. You appreciated the thought, but you appreciated seeing and hearing him happy. Even if it was at poor Chanhee’s expense (he really had dug himself into a hole when he confessed his crush on one of his peers at the university’s magazine association). It was nice to see everyone, too, of course, even if they weren’t aware that you were watching over them with a fond gaze. As a ghost, you could still feel emotions—that was why you were so human to Changmin, but there was still a sense of ease about you.

When Changmin had finished with his classes for today, you and he lingered in the kitchen while he heated up a pot of ramen on the stove. You hopped onto the counter, arm resting comfortably around his shoulders.

“I’ve connected the dots,” he said suddenly.

“You’ve connected shit.”

He scoffed with a feigned look of offense directed up at you as he pressed his hand to his chest. “Okay, rude! Death has given you so much audacity.”

Your lips curled up into a little smirk. “It’s just an instinct when it comes to you.”

Changmin rolled his eyes. “Whatever. As I was saying, I think I know why you were kicked from the underworld.”

“You say that like the underworld’s an online forum,” you huffed, chuckling. When the pot reached a low boiling point, you tapped him on the shoulder to spur him into action, and he reacted like second nature, even if he had seen that it was ready anyway.

“Hey, I mean, if I had an online forum, I’d kick you out, too.” He giggled as you gently kicked the side of his butt with your foot. “Remember when we were eleven and we thought Omegle was the greatest thing of our naive lives?”

You hummed in content remembrance. “Mhm. Man, we were stupid. But that was a lot of fun.”

He grinned at you over his shoulder. “Wasn’t it?” When he turned back to the pot, he realized how hard his smile pulled at his cheeks. This wouldn’t be forever. Today was day three, and he was already growing used to your presence again—for a split second, panic seized his heart and the smile slipped into the simmering ring of bubbles in the ramen pot.

Changmin cleared his throat. “So what I was saying earlier.”

You blinked at his sudden change of tone. “What about it?”

“Maybe you were sent back here on a mission or a task. You probably have to right some kind of wrong—or, or—or figure out your death?” He whipped out a bowl from a cabinet. “So what did you do wrong, Yn-ie?”

You smiled, amused. “How long do we have?”

He shook his head with a chuckle. “You’re so silly. You were the goodiest-two-shoes of all goodie-two-shoes.”

You scoffed. “Not true.”

“Oh, yes, true,” he quipped with a smug grin. He leaned back against the counter to face you with a full bowl of noodles in his palm. “The guilt after you snuck out with me ate you up alive—”

“Because I broke my parents’ trust!” You sputtered out in protest. You thrusted an accusing finger in his face that only sent him into further fits of laughter. “You’re so lucky I didn’t spill to your parents, Ji Changmin! You should be on your knees because I begged my mom and dad not to tell your parents!”

Changmin had to hold his chopsticks in front of his mouth to keep the food from flying from his mouth. You were fired up, yet all he could see was how the kitchen lights framed your face like a halo. Once the food had been swallowed, he replied, “I feel like I just have to ask: you weren’t a serial killer, were you? Since we’re on the topic of all your wrongdoings.”

Your eyes widened, and in that moment, he knew he was screwed. “Ji. Changmin.”

He giggled. “Don’t hurt me?”

You huffed, nose twitching and wrinkling. “You are so lucky I’m a good ghost.”

The reminder sobered him up a little. “Yeah…” He said quietly.

Silence descended between the two of you as you refrained from saying anything else, so Changmin could finish eating. You hopped off of the counter and went to go find Gana, who was sleeping in Changmin’s bed again. Changmin was left to his noodles and thoughts, his stare blank and spaced out with his mind far off. If you truly had been sent back in order to right a wrong, or even figure out something about your death, then where would he start? Where would you be expected to start if you didn’t have him to help you?

When you were still alive, he was aware of a few nasty people in your lives who weren’t exactly fond of the relationship you two shared, but as far as Changmin knew, their feelings weren’t malicious to the point of death.

Changmin swallowed a bite he was chewing on, mouth slowing as if his train of thought had just eased into the station. All mysteries began from the end, didn’t they? All detectives had to start their investigation from the scene of the crime, whatever that may be when put into context. His hands began to tremble as a thought occurred to him. Clutching the bottom of the bowl and his chopsticks harder to stop the shaking, Changmin forced himself to admit what he didn’t want to.

You emerged from his bedroom cradling Gana in your arms, and when your eyes fell upon Changmin’s grave expression, you couldn’t help but coax an answer from him.

He couldn’t meet your eyes. “I think… we have to go to the site of the accident.”

———

On the night of the Accident, you had been walking home with crisp night air nipping at your nose, your cheeks, your resolve. It hadn’t necessarily been the worst of nights at your shift, but it hadn’t been on the better side of them either. Earlier that day, Changmin had nearly collapsed from exhaustion on the way home, so you insisted on walking home alone. It wasn’t like he could refuse when he pretty much knocked out as soon as his head hit his pillow; plus, your pepper spray made for decent company. You hadn’t anticipated the driver, the screaming tire wheels, the blinding lights. After all, how could you have?

The corner of two streets on the opposite side of campus from where Changmin lived was pindrop quiet. There was one large, framed portrait of you seated against the fence, surrounded by a litter of flowers, tealights, plush toys, and other offerings to the dead. One of your friends from an art class you’d taken in freshman year had made you a sign and nailed it above your picture: In fond and loving memory of Yn Ln—beautiful, beloved, and a heart of gold. May she rest in peace.

Changmin couldn’t move.

He’d been staring at it all for about ten minutes now, shaky hands hidden in the pockets of his hoodie. The last time he’d been here was four weeks ago, in the ungodly hours of the morning, as he chased after your body in a bag, tears flying from his eyes like gushing streams. The red and blue sirens flashed in his eyes and pulsed like heartbeats; his own heartbeat deafened out everything else and thundered in his ears.

Just like now. He… he couldn’t think—couldn’t process anything. He couldn’t turn himself to the street where your broken, lifeless body had laid.

Your smiling portrait glowed in the dim, flickering lights of the tea candles, similar to the very set up he had at home.

For the longest time, he was never able to bring himself to come here. He couldn’t have, of course, he couldn’t have. He didn’t have the stomach to.

Oh my god, he was going to throw up—

“Changmin, hey—hey, buddy. You’re gonna be okay.”

You appeared at his side, hands grabbing out to hold onto his lurching body. He stumbled into you, grappling at your hands, arms, shoulders—anything to anchor him to something. He couldn’t breathe—

“Changmin, look at me! Look at me.”

Your hands forced his head up and his eyes gleamed silver in the gold tea light glow. You had never seen him so afraid. “Inhale, exhale for me. Inhale… exhale… come on; one more time, hon: inhale… exhale… good. Good. That’s really good, Kyu, that’s it.”

Changmin’s entire body trembled as he gripped your hands until, even as a ghost, you could feel his strength. His chest rose and fell at a slower pace now, and the blanched, blankness had melted away into a contorted expression of rage, sadness, panic, and every other emotion in between. Tears cascaded down the slopes of his cheeks in a free fall. “I should have been there, Yn,” were his first words to you, choked out between gritted teeth.

You realized that his anger was not directed toward anyone else but himself at this moment. You held him, mirrored his strength, so he knew he was holding something solid. You murmured firmly, but not unkindly, “Changmin, you couldn’t have changed what hap—”

“Yes, I could have.” He wailed now, his heart-wrenching loathing toward himself echoing against the surrounding buildings, “If I had just been there to walk you home…” You would still be alive, was what he didn’t have the strength to say aloud. To give the world such power over him… as if it didn’t already have him by his neck.

He crumpled to the concrete, his knees buckling from under him, and you could do nothing but fall to the ground with him. You cradled him to your chest as he bawled his entire body out, his conscience no doubt throwing rocks at himself. Your mouth parted, eyes squinting as if you were about to cry, too. And you felt the sensation at the corners of your eyes, and yet, no tears fell from your tear glands. They would not come, no matter how much you wished them to.

Changmin’s arms wrapped around your waist as he tucked himself into you. If he could just—if he could just hold on—if he could just make this right—

Your hand smoothed over the back of his head. “Changmin, it was not your fault. None of it was your fault, so please—please don’t spend your life blaming yourself for something you could not control.”

He pawed at his face, swiped at his eyes, his nose. He sucked in a desperate breath of air, gasping and choking out the words, “I can’t—can’t believe that—that I—I’ll never see you again. The—the world lost you—I lost you too soon.” He gasped for air again: “It’s not fair.”

None of it was fair. Changmin didn’t deserve to feel any of this and you didn’t deserve to die so young. But here the two of you were, a heap of emotions and injustice. Of longing and grief. What might have blossomed to something else in the future had been cut short by the cruel hand of fate. Why had the world set this in motion? What had either of you done to deserve such hurt?

You cleared your congested throat from unshed tears. “I know it’s not fair, but I’m never truly lost.”

Changmin pulled away from you then, still actively trying to tame the emotion rolling down his face. He glared at you then through blurry eyes. Such pain in his contorted features; you hated seeing him so hurt and being so useless to help him. “Cut the sentimental, cliche crap,” he practically snarled. “Please, you know me better than that. I never get why people say shit like that because that’s not how it goes, that’s not how it feels. It’s not the fucking same.”

Your mouth went dry. He was right, and how could you counter that? You weren’t the one who had to live without him now. “You’re right; I’m sorry.”

He was breathing loudly now, more labored. His rage dulled to something of a soft simmer as it dawned on him what he just said. “Wait—I’m sorry. You… you shouldn’t be the one apologizing, Yn. You didn’t deserve that from me.”

“I think I did deserve it,” you shrugged simply, sadly. Just because you were dead didn’t mean you couldn’t be sorry. “And I think you deserved to air that out.”

He sniffed and pulled his knees to his chest. He huffed out an exhale. “I’m sorry, it’s just been a lot.”

You nodded, expression solemn. “And I’m sorry that you’re hurting so badly. I wish I could make everything better.” What was the point of you being here if you were just hurting Changmin more?

Changmin let out another sharp exhale. Slowly, he extended his hand across the gap between you. His fingers still trembled, but he no longer tried to subdue it. “Can I just hold your hand again?” His volume was set almost inaudibly, “Just to assure myself I haven’t been dreaming?”

Everything, you wished you could give him everything. Without hesitation, you bridged the gap and grappled onto his fingers, felt the heat of his palm, and reminded him that you were here.

DAY FOUR

YOU almost couldn’t convince Changmin to go to classes the next day. Almost.

You’d sent him off even as he drooped with his two shots of espresso and puffy eyelids, but he seemed content enough to let you hold his hand all throughout the day. Maybe even tap his shoulder a couple of times to remind him that you were there and that he needed to pay attention. Well, you’d only accomplished such feats because you agreed to his compromise.

“Changmin, you can’t get in without a lab pass.”

Said compromise was chasing after something you were certain didn’t truly exist, but Changmin was set on the idea that you were sent back to the land of the living to “right a wrong”, and he was on a mission to help you accomplish just that.

Changmin stood outside the laboratory building you used to work at with a cinematically narrow-eyed, hands-on-hips pose. He stared up at the looming building, nestled between the massive, glass-faced population health building and the vine-riddled biology buildings as if he could climb up all their stairways without breaking a sweat. “I know, but I’m sure we’ll bump into someone who we can just leech off of to get inside.”

In other words, he would make you both wait until someone came by to open the door and you would then follow them inside. At first listen, it wasn’t an impossible task, especially since this area was relatively populated during business hours. Only, it seemed that the street seemed comically barren. Wherever all your former peers were, you had zero clue.

You pursed your lips and took a seat down on the curb. “Do you even have a plan?”

Changmin poked his tongue in the side of his cheek. “Ha, do I have a plan?”

“Sooo you don’t have a plan; got it—”

“Sh,” he said, turning around to peer inside the glass door of the laboratory building, “someone’s coming!”

You twisted around, silently questioning who?, but as soon as you saw who was making their way toward the entrance of the building, you immediately bobbed your head. This made sense.

Because making his way toward the door from the inside was Lee Sangyeon, your workaholic, grad student supervisor. As usual, he wore a dress shirt appropriate for an office space, hair swept back neatly. In his hands was his phone, while a dark leather satchel bag hung from his shoulder. He glanced up from his phone as he pushed the door open, then started when he realized Changmin was just… there.

“Oh. Sorry, didn’t see you there,” Sangyeon said with a polite smile.

“Uh—wait,” Changmin stammered, effectively halting Sangyeon’s movements. “You’re Lee Sangyeon, right?”

Your eyes widened. “You know Sangyeon?”

Changmin flicked his hand by his leg subtly to gesture at you to wait.

Sangyeon angled his body toward Changmin now, the tilt of his eyebrows curious. “Yeah, that’s me. Can I help you with something?”

Changmin fidgeted with his fingers and rocked on his heels. “Uhm, you were a friend of Yn Ln’s, right? I’m Ji Changmin, she was my best friend.”

At the sound of your name, recognition and something melancholy smoothed over Sangyeon’s features. “Ah, nice to finally meet you, Changmin. Yn-ie used to talk about you all the time.”

“She did?”

“No, I didn’t!” You buried your face into your hands as embarrassment curled in your stomach. “Sangyeon has become a chronic liar, I see!”

Another flicking of Changmin’s fingers. Hush, you! “I actually wanted to talk to you,” Changmin said slowly, “about her. I… I’m trying to uh, piece together some parts of her life, y’know. And I know I wasn’t really able to get to know this aspect of her life much when she was alive, and I thought, better late than never.”

You settled your chin onto your knees. Even if you knew Changmin had an ulterior motive in mind, you couldn’t help but hear the truth laced in his words. Even if he was chasing after this “wrong that needed righting”, there was that twinge of desperation locked in his voice that you couldn’t shake.

“Ah.” Sangyeon nodded. “Well, I’d be happy to talk to you about her. Do you wanna come with me down the road? There’s a pretty neat little coffee place we could sit in.”

You knew this coffee place, you thought to yourself as you followed Sangyeon and Changmin down the road to said coffee shop. It was the place you ran to during dinner breaks and last minute caffeine pick-me-ups. Their banana bread was fantastic, and your mouth watered as you could practically taste it while walking in.

Once the boys were settled at a table, a cup of coffee each, you leaned against the window behind Changmin’s chair, arms crossed and eyes pinned to the steam rising from Sangyeon’s cup.

“I’m sorry for your loss, by the way,” Sangyeon said quietly, sincerely. “I mean, she was important to me, but she must have been so much more to you.”

Changmin gestured vaguely, half-heartedly. His chuckle was the same way. “You don’t have to do that; she’s—was—she was important to both of us.” He nursed his coffee cup between his palms. “Sorry, it’s taken me a while to get the courage to talk about her to anyone but my dog.”

Sangyeon’s eyes shone with that characteristic warmth and patience that made you long for the life you didn’t have anymore. “I… I get that. It’s really tough dealing with the death of a loved one, especially when people expect you to move on with your life.”

Changmin’s head bobbed up and down earnestly. “It really is. It’s so, god, it’s so hard to move on.” He drummed his fingers along the sides of his coffee cup. “Uhm, but I guess I wanted to start with how you knew her—as in, like who did you know her as?”

“Who did I know her as?” Sangyeon sighed, eyebrows furrowing in thought as he grappled for the adequate way to string those thoughts into words. “Well, she was brilliant. She was more than brilliant; she was passionate about what she did. You could see the bags under her eyes and sometimes I knew she took naps in the break room, but…” He blew out a puff of air, his cheek pressed against his fist and coffee forgotten. He lifted his right shoulder in some semblance of a shrug. “I admired her a lot. I didn’t get to work a lot of shifts with her that… that week, but she left these little post-it notes on the break room door with smiley-faces and encouraging messages for everyone to find the next day.”

This time, when you settled your hand on Changmin’s shoulder, it wasn’t for Changmin. Changmin reached up to put his hand over yours, but to anyone else it would look like he was simply holding his shoulder and tucking his chin into his elbow. “Sounds like Yn-ie,” he chimed in softly.

Sangyeon smiled, a breathy laugh following suit. “She was—she shined so bright, Changmin-ah. But I’m guessing you already knew that, huh? She talked about you a lot. She would hear something or do something that reminded her of you, and then she would mention you with that little twinkle in her eyes. The one where she gets all—y’know.”

Changmin inclined his head and felt himself smile. “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.”

A nod. “Yeah. I was kind of surprised that you didn’t introduce yourself as her former partner. I mean, the way she looked when she talked about you…” He shook his head and reached for his coffee cup. “God, sorry. This is probably making you really uncomfortable.”

You lost your breath. Or whatever you had left of it.

Changmin’s thumb brushed over the back of your knuckles. You didn’t know what it meant, didn’t know what he was thinking. You knew you talked about Changmin a lot, but you figured that everyone would assume it was normal because he was your closest friend. Perhaps you had been a little more obvious than you had intended.

“It’s all right,” Changmin replied. You wished you could see his face. “I think a lot of people saw us that way.”

———

Sangyeon’s cup clattered hollowly as it tumbled into the recycling bin on his and Changmin’s way out of the coffee shop. The sky had broiled to a molten gold while the sun began its descent into the folds of the horizon.

Changmin stepped out into the cool afternoon feeling like a weight had been lifted from his chest. There was something refreshing about hearing about you from someone else, as fondly as he saw you. He and Sangyeon had even shared a couple favorite moments of yours; Changmin kept his favorite of all favorites to himself though, of course. Some memories, he wanted to be selfish with. Tears had been shed, too, but a minimal amount. Changmin wasn’t one to cry to strangers, but Sangyeon wasn’t exactly a stranger anymore, was he?

Sangyeon lingered on the sidewalk. “It was really nice talking to you, Changmin-ah. I really needed that, I think.”

Changmin nodded his head. “Me too. Thanks for not being weird about it.”

“Bare minimum, man,” Sangyeon chuckled. He took his phone out of his pocket and offered the new contact space to Changmin. “Hey, maybe we can trade numbers? Any friend of Yn-ie’s is a friend of mine. If you need anything, Changmin, and I truly mean it, don’t hesitate to call or text.”

Changmin accepted the phone from him with his eyes wide like a doe’s. He hoped Sangyeon could see all the gratitude in his silver-lined eyes. “Thank you,” he said in earnest. “I—same to you.” He swiftly put his contact information into Sangyeon’s phone before returning the device to its owner.

Sangyeon mustered up a kind smile, clasping a warm, reassuring hand on Changmin’s shoulder. “Stay strong. You’ll get through this; I know you can.”

Oh god, there was that prickling sensation again. Changmin could only manage a nod without breaking down right then and there in the middle of the walkway. Sangyeon seemed to understand, and took his leave.

Changmin stood there watching his back go farther and farther away.

For a moment, he let himself stand there in silence, soaking in everything that had just passed between him and Lee Sangyeon. He sniffled, knuckles pressing against his nose. “He’s a really cool guy,” he finally said with his words directed toward you.

You were leaning up against the outer facade of the coffee shop, uncertain as to what your role was supposed to be. You felt like you were intruding, like you really were just a ghost now. That you were just a spectator. There was definitely something beautiful about watching two important people in your past life starting a bond, but then… then there was something bittersweet about it, too. “He is,” you agreed.

Changmin hung his head, then raised it up with a tired, dimpled smile. “Let’s go home.”

DAY FIVE

TODAY, Chanhee was the one who got Changmin out of the apartment.

“—I even got Gana a play date—”

Changmin’s neck stuck out from his bathroom, toothbrush hanging from between his teeth. “Huh?!”

Even you spared a laugh from where you were sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter. It was a comical sight for Changmin, seeing that you were making weird, funny faces at the back of Chanhee’s head from where he sat on the couch with Ghana curled up in his lap.

Chanhee nodded enthusiastically. “Yup. Him and my friend Younghoon’s dog Bori. He’s taking them to a dog park nearby.”

Changmin’s eyes narrowed. “So you set up Gana on a blind date?”

“You’re so overprotective, Changmin-ah. Yes, it’s a blind date.” Chanhee waved his hand at Changmin. “Now hurry up! Juyeon and Kevin are already at the performing arts building trying to score a studio!”

Changmin huffed, but stalked back into the bathroom. “Fine.”

While Changmin was finishing up getting himself ready, Chanhee gently removed Ghana from his lap so he could trudge over to the little table beside the TV. You watched him quietly as he knelt in front of it, poked your T-rex plushie, then gave your portrait a small wave.

You craned your head, attempting to see what he was doing. He had picked up one of the tea lights that went dim, most likely from overuse and a dead battery. Chanhee set it back down on the table though.

“Hi, Yn-ie,” you heard him greet your photo. “I see Changmin has dedicated a corner to you, as he should.” Chanhee was silent for a moment, and you thought that maybe he was only voicing his thoughts in his head now. Then he continued, “I miss you. We all miss you. Sometimes I dream about memories of you and it feels like déjà vu. We’ve been trying to help Changmin through this, but it’s been a little difficult getting through to him.”

Your chest tugged as Chanhee slumped his chin onto the ledge of the table. “I just wanna help him. I can see he’s hurting, but I’ve never been good at this stuff. Maybe you can send me a sign that I’m doing okay.”

The light to the bathroom clicked, and Chanhee murmured something else to your picture, blew you a kiss, then turned his head to watch Changmin sweep past him and into the bedroom.

“Let me grab my jacket and we can go!”

“Okay, you slowpoke,” Chanhee quipped, collapsing back onto the couch.

You hopped off from the kitchen counter and walked over toward the couch next to Chanhee. You called out to Gana, immediately garnering a response from the pup. Swiftly, you moved out of the way, hand gesturing to Chanhee on the couch.

As if Gana could read your mind, he leapt into Chanhee’s lap and licked a wet stripe up the man’s cheek.

Chanhee squealed in surprise, a laugh falling from his grinning smile. “Yah! You’re so full of energy this morning, hm? Well, save some for Bori later, okay?”

You smiled, watching the interaction and hoping that that might suffice as a sign.

Changmin hustled out of his room, and you came to the startling realization that he looked so… Changmin today. There was a glow about his cheeks now, the divots of his smile enunciated at the thought of dancing again. He wore something fashionable, as he had always once done, with his black athletic duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He met your gaze as he walked out and you shared a smile for a moment.

“I know I’m pretty, Changmin, but we’re going to be late,” Chanhee teased.

Both you and Changmin laughed, and the two of you followed Chanhee and Gana out to the car.

Gana had propped himself onto the center console of Chanhee’s silver Corolla, while Chanhee and Changmin took up the front two rows, and you sat in the backseat. You leaned your head against the back of Changmin’s seat and gazed out the window at the world passing you by, your hand reaching forward to hold onto Changmin’s.

Chanhee stopped at a nearby park, and after Changmin insisted he was going to stay in the car, Chanhee took Gana out to meet with this Younghoon character and his dog.

The car filled with silence for a beat as the two of you watched Chanhee walk up to a tall, lanky man with a pretty face and pretty pup.

“You haven’t danced since I died, have you?” You released the question into the world and confronted him with it.

Changmin swallowed, his fingers pressing into yours. “No.” In retrospect, maybe if he had continued to dance, he wouldn’t have been holed up at home. A flame in him had died the night you had, but the remaining embers were slowly catching fire again. They hadn’t been wholly swept out or quieted.

Chanhee skipped back over to the car with a boyish smile on his face and he crashed into his front seat with a laugh. “Okay, let’s go!”

The car was turned on, the radio resumed play.

———

Like any other day, especially Fridays, the performing arts building was abuzz with life. People, both solo and squadrons, came to and fro about the large, branching corridors. A smile crawled onto Changmin’s lips as he recalled the familiar route to the practice dance studios in the back half of the building. There was a bounce in his step now, hands gripping the strap of his duffle bag.

Chanhee nudged Changmin with the back of his hand, coughing not-so-quietly under his breath. “Incoming.”

Changmin perked up at the familiar warning. He hadn’t heard it in a little over a month, but the feeling of cold shivers down his arms was no stranger. And the group of girls making their way down the corridor toward them, having just finished with dance practice, were unfortunately no strangers either. Changmin’s mouth pressed into a firm line as he reached out beside him for your hand—fumbled around in the air as if you weren’t there for a second, then latched onto you.

“Changmin-ah!” One of them lit up at the sight of him, and the rest were set off like succeeding lines of firecrackers.

“Well, this should be good,” you mused next to him.

He snuck a glance at you from his periphery, spotted the carefully crafted mask on your face. Even in death, you were trying to put up a brave front.

He turned back to the front, and the group of girls had come closer. “Oh, uh, hi.”

“We haven’t seen you in so long! How have you been?”

“We missed you at the dance rehearsal last week, but we can definitely reschedule.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind doing a private—”

Changmin blinked. Did they not see how absolutely done he looked? Chanhee looked just about the same way, but he knew the drill; there wasn’t really anything either of them could do until they’d said whatever they said.

“—so sorry about her. It must have been so difficult for you to get through, Changmin-ah! But see, you must be all better now!”

He nearly doubled over in laughter. “You’re shitting me,” he said without stopping himself.

The girl who had been rambling on about your death and how it must have affected him, halted in her tracks. “Huh? What do you mean?”

Tongue in cheek, he shook his head. “No, whatever. Keep going. I wanna hear what you have to say.” The muscle in his jaw feathered and his grip on your hand tightened.

To the others’ credit, they tried subtly getting their friend to not take the bait, but she just couldn’t help herself. “Well, it’s no disrespect or anything, of course. But she was completely holding you back, y'know? She didn’t even know what to look for when she watched your practices and she just sat there like a duck, so I don’t know why you even asked her to come with you so often. I mean, you guys were friends—I get that—but we’re friends, too. I would’ve definitely been able to help you so much better.”

Well. That spelled it all out for Changmin in capital letters.

Chanhee arched an eyebrow high. “Wow, you’re a worse human being than I gave you credit for.”

“It’s funny how whenever people say they mean ‘no disrespect’, whatever they say is extremely disrespectful,” Changmin huffed. His eyes narrowed into daggers now, hands fisted. “You not only spat on my best friend, but also on me and my ability to choose friends. By the way, we are not friends, especially not when you shit on mine right in front of me. Dead or not.”

When a rush of silence fell over the corridor, Changmin muttered, “Thought so,” then nudged Chanhee. “Come on, Chanhee. Let’s go.”

When the two boys brushed past the girls, Changmin finally breathed out.

When he no longer felt your hand, his head whipped around the corridor, searching for you—

“Changmin, the room’s this way.”

He coughed. “Oh, uh, right.” His eyes swiveled about the corridor once more, frowning when he caught you slipping into the practice room right behind Chanhee.

The practice room was dimly lit with the far wall lined with mirrors and a barre, floors made of a smooth hardwood. Kevin and Juyeon were by the large speaker in the corner trying to hook up one of their laptops to the sound system. They glanced up and saw both Changmin and Chanhee coming into the room, then lifted their hands in cheerful waves.

“Hey! Glad you guys are finally here,” Kevin exclaimed.

Chanhee snorted, dumping his bag in his usual corner. “We just had a showdown in the hallway.”

Kevin’s eyebrows flew up. “Oh?”

“They were disrespecting Yn,” Changmin shrugged stiffly. He walked over to his own corner, where you were already seated against the wall, and dropped his bag down next to you. He held your eye contact as he said, “They deserved it.”

Juyeon whistled lowly. “I’m sure they did. Wow, the fucking audacity. Do they just lack human decency?”

Kevin pursed his lips. “Apparently.”

“Fucking incredible.”

Chanhee shrugged his jacket off, eyeing the dark look still present in the shadows cast over Changmin’s face. Or maybe it was just the lighting. “Okay, let’s get started, shall we? Changmin, warm us up.”

———

Practice progressed smoothly.

You always liked Changmin’s corner of the room—definitely not because his duffle bag was here (because lord did that thing smell some days), but because it had the best view. (Of Changmin.) From here, even on the floor, you could observe his sharp, calculated movements, the graceful way in which he knew how to use his body and draw art in the air.

It seemed that the harder the choreography was, the more sweat he perspired, the harder he breathed, and the bigger he smiled. It was hard work like this that made his heart full, and thus, made you happy.

Occasionally, he would pass looks over to your corner, always looking for you and your reactions (maybe even your approval). He wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do when this was all over, but… he wasn’t going to think about that quite yet. He didn’t want to give that thought time to sink in.

The music blasted throughout the room louder than your own thoughts when Chanhee threw his head back and declared a break.

Everyone retreated to their separate corners, and Changmin, sweat dripping down his bangs and the side of his face like he’d just showered, came over to you. He leaned down and swept his water bottle out from his bag and guzzled the water down as fast as his throat could accept it.

“Tired?” You asked him quietly as he wiped his mouth with the collar of his shirt.

He broke into a smile. “Yeah.”

Changmin dropped his bottle onto his bag, exchanging it instead for his phone. “Are you okay? From earlier, I mean.”

“Oh. Those girls? Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

His mouth curled into a frown. “What they said—”

“—Can only hurt the living,” you said, brushing it off.

“Just because you’re dead doesn’t mean you can’t still hurt.” Changmin lowered himself beside you now, only stealing glances at you so he didn’t look weird to everyone else. “They didn’t say anything to you when you were alive, did they?”

Your blank face didn’t make him feel any better. “Maybe something here or there, but nothing as direct as what was said earlier. It’s okay though. The past is in the past.”

Changmin swallowed. “How could you say that?”

You held his eyes, and for a moment that was all you could do. Instead of pushing against him and trying to defend your insensitivity, you said, “I’m sorry, Kyu. And thank you for what you did back there. But I guess even when I’m dead I don’t like talking about it.”

His eyes gleamed. “I’m sorry they did that to you.”

“Just don’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t have stopped.”

His throat bobbed. “It’s not that easy, Yn-ie. You know that.”

“I do know, but just try, for my sake.”

DAY SIX

CHANGMIN didn’t sleep. Technically, he slept for half an hour, but those thirty minutes of sleep had been enough to keep him awake for the rest of the night.

The dream he had awoken from was still fresh in his mind. Thirty fast seconds of gauzy, luminescent adolescence. It was the rusty squeaking of the playground swings, the afternoon golden hour sun hanging like a medal in the sky at the end of the day. It was yours and his youthful gazes, cheeks full of love and smiles and that god forsaken discussion about death.

“What comes after this?” A line like this could only come from a child who had yet to experience the beauty of the world or a child exhausted by its horrors.

A shrug from him. “I dunno. Maybe we become ghosts!” He delivered this line with such vigor and delight that you couldn’t help but beam at his antics.

“Like the ones from Ghostbusters?” You asked him.

He bobbed his head, kicked his legs out to gain some momentum on his swing. He fell back whilst gripping the twin chains, tongue lolling out and making you laugh. He loved making you laugh, even as a kid. “Exactly like that. I want to spit out green ectoplasm just like that. Blehhh!”

The two of you mocked the ghosts from the universally known blockbuster. You didn’t exactly like scary movies, but the way Changmin stared up at the screen with awe and dimples big, you couldn’t help but like them, too.

After a minute, Changmin wrapped his elbows around the chains and let himself drift there, his eyes turned to you. “What about you? What do you think happens to us when we die?”

You looked up at the afternoon sky in thought. “Shei from art class told me this story that her mama tells her as a bedtime story. At the end, the girl and boy become butterflies so they can fly together in death because they couldn’t be together in life.”

Changmin blinked, the thoughts bouncing about in his head coming to a slow halt. His lips parted. “Oh.”

“It’s not as cool as ghosts, but I think about my grandpa whenever I see a butterfly now.”

Well, how could he possibly argue against it? He smiled then, reaching across the gap between you two to bump your shoulder. “I think butterflies are cool, too! We should say hi to every butterfly we see then.”

Changmin’s eyes fluttered open like the wings of a butterfly then, twelve years later from that moment in time. The room was dark, the sky outside his window burned to rust and void of stars. He let out a shuddering breath from his lips, shaky from exhaustion and shivers from the memory he had just revisited. How had it been so vivid?

He rolled around in bed to his other side and his eyes screwed shut in an attempt to return back to the land of dreams—maybe even to that very day twelve years ago. When death had only been a conversation, and not a reality.

Sleep would not come. Today was Saturday, day six.

You said you had seven days before leaving him forevermore.

Changmin rolled back over and grabbed his phone off the nightstand and squinted as the light from the screen blinded him. It was three in the morning; that definitely checked out. He opened his notes app, disregarded the title, and began to type out something. Anything to get his body moving as fast as his head.

Things to do with Yn before tomorrow.

His hand came up to rub his lips for a moment, then he yawned wide. His eyes had adjusted to the bright screen by now, and he swiped out of his notes to consult the internet.

Ghosts. What are ghosts? How do you summon ghosts? How can you make a ghost stay?

Changmin’s brows creased as his eyes zipped down article after article—he was pretty sure he must have downloaded about a hundred viruses and bugs onto his phone by this point. Not one article gave him a straight or doable answer. Not anything that he couldn’t do without practice or additional materials. Nothing he could accomplish before midnight tomorrow.

He dropped his phone onto his bed, flopping backward onto his pillow with his hand draped over his forehead. Was it too much for him to want you to stay? All of the things he had thought about doing with you or saying to you when you were alive, shoved under the rug for “another time”… He wished he had known. Goddamn it, he wished he had known.

———

“You’re up early.”

Changmin practically bolted into the bathroom to start up the faucet and brush his teeth. “I’ve been up since three,” he replied, toothbrush hanging from his mouth.

You were sitting on the couch again and rubbing Gana’s belly. “Three?”

“Mhm. Couldn’t sleep.” He spat out his lathered toothpaste and speed-ran his skincare routine, hands slapping the moisturizer and sunscreen into his skin.

You chuckled out from the living room. “What’re you doing in there? It sounds like you’re hitting yourself.”

“I’m just trying to be fast,” he said. When he was done, he took the slightest bit of hair product between his hands and ran it through his dark locks to give it life and volume. When he was decently satisfied with it, he breezed back into the living room and flicked his fingers upward at you. “Come on! Chop chop, Yn-ie! Things to do, places to see!”

You cocked your head to the side, a slightly weirded out smile pressed onto your face. “Huh? How are you so awake right now?”

He was in his bedroom when you asked this and thus, out of your direct sight. He shuddered, the energy slipping off the lines of his face for a split second as he threw things into a bag haphazardly. “I’m just—it’s just one of those days where I’m better off on a power nap, y’know?”

“Okay…?”

Changmin slung his bag over his shoulder and strode over to you to yank you up to your feet. He grinned wide at you. “Well? Ready for the day I have planned?” He stuffed his shaky hands into his pockets.

Your eyes narrowed at him, but you eventually sighed—accepted it. “Sure. What do you have in mind?”

———

Changmin pulled his phone’s notes app up and clicked the checkbox next to “go down to the boardwalk for rolled ice cream”. It was accompanied by about seven items prior to it, also crossed out in twin strike-throughs. It was about six o’clock in the evening now, the sun having well set into the horizon to yours and Changmin’s left. The ocean breeze wafted through his hair, and though the view of the boardwalk below was glittering and beautiful, all he could think about was the next thing on his list.

It wasn’t that you didn’t need to eat, but that you couldn’t… really eat. The food related items were there so Changmin could experience it with you one last time, but his cup of strawberry cheesecake rolled ice cream sat untouched and fast-melting in his lap.

Changmin felt the familiar twin taps on his shoulder and jolted. His head whipped up to meet your eyes. He gulped at the look on your face. “What?”

“Your ice cream is soup.”

He glanced down at his lap and saw the thick chunks of pale pink swimming in an ocean. “Oh.”

You rested the side of your head against your fist, then propped your elbow up on the back of the bench the two of you sat on. “What’s going on, Kyu? What’s your rush today? You have a whole list written out, and we’ve been practically everywhere around the city today. I think I saw you ignore the giraffe statue in the toy store earlier—which, frankly, is not very Kyu of you.”

The last thing you expected him to do was to stare at you until he started crying. You saw the way his face scrunched up, first, then the silver pooling in his eyes. His cheeks had puffed just slightly until he combusted, fat tears rolling down his face and dripping into his ice cream soup.

Your heart sank.

Changmin got up and stalked to the trash can just a little ways away from the bench and tossed the wasted ice cream away. When he came back, you wrapped him up in your embrace, gently cupping the back of his head. “I’m sorry I upset you,” you said quietly.

“I’m sorry for crying again,” he hiccuped. “I just—I’m just so frustrated. And I just don’t know anymore. There’s enough shit to do on that list to get us to tomorrow night—”

The realization dawned upon you. You had a sneaking suspicion throughout the day as he dragged you from place to place, barely taking the time to properly enjoy the attraction, but now that he had finally said it, the truth hit you square in the chest.

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, before they opened toward the shimmering boardwalk below. “Changmin-ah. Kyu. Let’s go home, hm? Do you wanna go home?”

You felt him nod against you, and that was settled.

When the two of you made it back to Changmin’s apartment, he walked in with shoulders hunched and head hanging. The lights stayed off, the quiet remained unbroken. You sat him down on his worn place on the couch, and you resumed that perch on the coffee table that you had taken on that very first day you had manifested in his apartment.

Changmin leaned forward onto his elbows. He was no longer crying, but his eyes were red and puffy, bottom lip wobbly. The worst thing was that he not only looked sad, but also ashamed. He kept his gaze firmly on the hardwood floor, and his voice was gravelly, “I just wasted an entire day, didn’t I?”

You shook your head. “N—”

“I’ve come to the realization that you’re probably not here to right any wrongs,” he pressed on, his head lifting for this moment to plead with his eyes for you to let him continue, to let this all out. “You haven’t done a single horrible thing in your life, Yn, not in my eyes. And… well, your death was an accident, and maybe for a second, I wanted to believe that there was foul play involved so I could distract myself but…” He picked at one of his fingers. “Now I just want to seize the last of these hours I have with you. And I thought I was doing it right today, but it was the exact opposite.”

He reached out for your hand and you gave it to him as he cradled it with both of his.

“I,” you began, “I understand what you were trying to do, Changmin, and I don’t blame you. I would have done the same thing.”

The breath he released was shaky as he stared you in the eyes with his red and silvery ones—stared you right in the eyes as he lifted your knuckles to his lips and held them there.

Something rocked through you then. You wanted to cry; god, you so badly wanted to cry.

“I wish it was me,” he croaked. “I wish it was me. I wish it was me—”

Your hand tightened around his fingers. “No,” you asserted. The strength and firmness of that single word made Changmin’s breath hitch. “No, Changmin. Don’t.” You shook your head vigorously, trying to wrap your head around the mere thought of Changmin taking your place, and everything in your chest seized. “Don’t say that.”

“God, fuck. Yn—” he stammered, pressing the back of your hand to his lips to stop the flood of emotions to break through yet again. Every time he thought he built himself back up, the dam just happened to be more fragile than he believed it to be.

You swallowed. “Changmin, I have to tell you something.”

He shook his head then. “No. God, no, don’t say it.”

“Changmin, I love you. You know that.”

He released your hand and flew back onto the couch, knees pulled to his chest and his face buried in his hands. “Yn, please.”

You clutched your hand to your chest. “I’m being selfish, and I’m sorry for that, but I… never got to say it to you before I left your house that day.” Not enough times. Never enough times.

“Yn, you don’t understand,” he rasped. One hand gripped onto his knee, the other swiping upwards into his hair so you could see the full brunt of his emotions, clear as day on his face. “I love—d you. I loved you so much that it makes my chest hurt. And—and—god, I think I would’ve wanted to spend the rest of my life with you if we had more time and I came to my fucking senses. Yn, it hurts so bad.”

You lowered yourself to your knees in front of him and coaxed him to unravel himself. He leaned forward, forehead pressed against you as he dry-sobbed until his lungs ached and burned from the inside out.

You couldn’t tell if all of what he just told you was true or in the moment. But what you did know was that the world was so very cruel. It would have been nice to figure this out with him, to see what might have transpired, or enjoyed the journey nonetheless. All of that… you had reached the final destination, and Changmin would go on without you now.

You had one day left.

With that one day… you were still unsure as to how you should seize it, but at this very blink in time, your priority was your best friend. You climbed onto the couch beside him and let him find comfort in your embrace.

You rubbed soothing circles into his back as you gathered your thoughts. “Do you know…” you started lowly and gently, “that I think the world of you? And I don’t say that to make you cry again; I’m saying that so you know, in your heart every day, that you could have never failed me. Like you said, in my eyes, you could do no wrong.”

Changmin sniffled against you. “But what if I do fail you? What if, when you leave for real, I can’t go on?”

“Well, then I’d like you to promise me that you will try your best to keep going. Your best is enough,” you said to him, finger brushing the hair from his forehead. “The Kyu I know is so very strong, and I know that even when the going gets tough, you get going, because you are tougher.”

He held onto your shirt, his chest’s rising and falling beginning to slow and calm down. “I promise.”

“Good. I’m proud of you.” You leaned down and pressed a butterfly kiss to the crown of his head then rubbed his shoulder. “I know this week must have been really difficult for you, but I watched you make steps toward healing. I won’t sugarcoat how hard it might be, but you have people who love you, Changmin. People who love you and care about you and want to be there for you.”

“Thank you,” he rasped. “Thank you for being here. For coming back. It probably wasn’t your choice, but thank you for choosing me in life and in death.”

For a moment, you closed your eyes and (maybe; just maybe) thought you finally felt a tear cascade down your cheek. “I wouldn’t have chosen anyone else, to be honest.”

DAY SEVEN

IT had been awhile since Changmin had invited anyone over to the apartment. Chanhee had pretty much invited himself over yesterday, but this morning, you had suggested to Changmin to host a movie night with the others so he wouldn’t have to be alone when you took off. (For wherever you were off to.) Changmin had recovered slightly from yours and his conversation last night, but there was still a soft spoken air around him.

At about six minutes past eight o’clock that Sunday evening, Changmin let Chanhee, Kevin, and Juyeon into the apartment, with Ghana leaping for joy onto the knees and thighs of these old friends he hadn’t seen in awhile. Before you died, it wasn’t uncommon that Changmin invited the group over to hang out. He thrived on the energy and connection of other people, and when he had shut himself in for an entire month, it was clear that he would not be himself for a while.

Kevin scanned the apartment with a pleasantly surprised nod. “Wow, I’m shocked that you kept it clean.”

“Yah! What kind of guest are you?” Changmin jokingly whacked Kevin with the excess material of his sleeve.

From your perch in the middle of the kitchen counter, you snickered. “If only he knew, Changmin.”

Changmin sent you a look, lips pressed in a smile.

“Man, I missed Gana so much,” Juyeon groaned, leaning down to pucker his lips at the poodle. Gana reacted accordingly, hopping up onto Juyeon’s knees and licking the tip of the man’s nose. “Mwah!”

Changmin rolled his eyes and hopped onto the ledge of the kitchen counter right in front of you. You leaned forward and rested your chin on his shoulder. “Oh please. Gana’s only got eyes for that pretty, white poodle—what’s her name?”

“Bori?” Chanhee’s pink head perked up from the couch. He peered over the ledge with a wide smile as he wielded the TV remote in his hand. “Younghoon says the two lovebirds ought to hang out again soon.”

Juyeon pouted. “Hmph, well I was in line first, so…”

Changmin shook his head with a melodramatic sigh. “Aish… by the way, you weirdos better say hi to Yn over there or I will kick you out right now.” He was only kidding, of course. (Maybe half kidding.) He was tempted to make the joke that you were really behind him and that he wasn’t referring to the shrine by the TV, but he knew they would only give him weird looks and he’d be the butt of the joke.

His three friends immediately jumped to it, raising their hands in cute, excited waves, smiles gleaming under the television light. Kevin scurried over to the table, cooing at the dinosaur plush seated next to your portrait. You couldn’t quite hear the words he murmured to you, but Juyeon was a little louder when he paid your shrine a visit himself.

When they had finished, Juyeon raised the dead tea light in the sky. “Aye! This light’s out, Changmin-ah.”

“That’s what I noticed yesterday, too!” Chanhee chimed in. He shook his head with a playful click of his tongue. “Tsk, tsk. If you’re gonna keep a shrine, you should tend to it.”

“Aish,” Changmin muttered again. (“They’re not wrong,” you added cheekily; “Heeey, shush you.”)

“Changmin, are you not coming to join us at your own movie night?” Kevin teased as he tore off his jacket and settled onto the couch next to Juyeon.

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” He felt the weight of your head lift off his shoulder, then could he slide off the counter and join his friends at the couch.

You smiled to yourself as you scooted up the counter to take Changmin’s old place. From here, you had a great view of the movie anyway. They were arguing between a couple different titles, but it seemed that Changmin was insistent on one in particular.

“—Ghostbusters. Have you seen the original? You haven’t? That’s so insulting; we’re watching it now!” Changmin screeched, grabbing hold of Chanhee’s shoulder to shake the poor man into doing his bidding with the remote.

Eventually, the movie started rolling, the ectoplasm spilled, and on your final night as a ghost, you watched yours and Changmin’s childhood staple movie for the very last time. From time to time, you caught Changmin twisting his head over his shoulder to throw smiles back at you, and you knew he was reminiscing the same as you were. Only, as the night grew longer and time flew by, there were less and less looks thrown back at you.

And just like that, a sense of contentment settled over you. Like a set of ellipses, your time was coming to a gradual halt.

At five minutes to midnight, Changmin jolted up in the middle of The Avengers to a twin set of taps on his left shoulder. Chanhee sent him a mildly concerned look, since his friend’s movements jostled his head off Changmin’s shoulder.

Changmin cleared his throat, quietly murmuring, “I’ll be right back”, then slipped out of the front door.

Changmin’s slippers hit the concrete outside the apartment complex with a dull smack. Crisp cool night bit at his cheeks, but when he saw you standing beneath the rusty-orange night sky, he ran up to you and crushed you to his body in a final embrace. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but his mouth curled into a smile against your shoulder.

“I wish we had more time,” he whispered in a last, desperate attempt to implore the universe.

You cradled the back of his head, eyes screwed shut. “Me, too. You have no idea, but… you’re gonna be okay, Kyu. It’ll all be okay.”

Changmin tucked his face into your neck to catch the lingering scent of your shampoo, to memorize the imprint of your body into his brain so he might always remember what holding you felt like. “I’ll make you proud, Yn-ie.”

Silver lined your eyes, your throat tightened—for fuck’s sake, you wished you could cry. “You’ve already made me proud, Changmin.”

———

When Changmin returned, three heads perked up from the couch to watch him settle down next to Chanhee again. They caught the glistening wetness of his eyes, but he smiled through it, as if he had just come back from seeing a friend off.

Changmin curled up into Chanhee’s side, the latter asking him gently, “You okay?”

Changmin nodded. “I’m okay.”

—fin.

BONUS SCENES. — day seven cont’d.

(“Hey, before you go, can I ask you a favor?”; “Anything.”)

A minute after Changmin had settled back in the apartment, he cleared his throat, inclining his head to the shrine. “Guys, I know you said I should really maintain the shrine better, but the shrine maintains itself.”

Everyone followed his line of sight to the shrine where your portrait glowed in the light of only one tea light. However, they all heard, loud and clear, a distinct tap-tap sound against the base of the dark candle. The light blinked to life, and everyone erupted into madness.

Through his friends’ screams, Changmin cackled in hyena-esque delight. “I told you my apartment was haunted!”

DAY TWELVE

“CHANGMIN, over here!”

The street was alive as university students flooded into all cram into the humble bbq restaurant in the district, this chilly Friday evening. Only a lucky few would be able to score a table without having a prior reservation, but lucky for Changmin and his friends, Kevin was always on top of his Yelp notifications.

Changmin beamed at his friends, his eyes widening as Chanhee practically hurled himself down the street and into Changmin’s embrace. “Holy shit—I could’ve become a pancake on the sidewalk just now.”

Chanhee rolled his eyes with a laugh. “Oh shut up, you drama king.”

“Hey, that’s all you, dude.” The two of them walked back over toward where Kevin and Juyeon stood by the door. A long line had formed down the opposite side of the block, but the four of them stood in the area simply waiting for their reservation notification to arrive.

Juyeon brought Changmin in for an affectionate side hug, and Kevin asked him how he was feeling. Changmin answered with a small, affirming nod and statement; though, the deja vu was awfully strong tonight.

Kevin pursed his lips in a smile. “Good, I’m glad, man.” Then his phone lit up, and so too did his face. “Ooh, fuck yeah! Our table’s ready—c’mon!”

Changmin was about to follow his friends in through the door when he stopped short. His head perked up and swiveled to survey the sidewalk. He thought he had just heard his name being called…

“Kyu!”

He whipped around now, and his eyes locked onto a form on the far side of the street. It was a mass crush of people over there, but he could pick you out of a sea of people—anytime, anywhere.

Something seized in his chest, and he broke into a teary-eyed smile. Before he could wave or further acknowledge your presence, someone passed in front of you, and you melted in with the crowd. Gone, as if never there before.

“—Changmin-ah, what’s up? We can’t be seated until we’re all inside.” Chanhee shook Changmin’s shoulder, then followed his gaze. “What’s over there?”

Changmin shook his head and turned on his heel to duck into the warmth of the restaurant with Chanhee. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I just saw an old friend.”

a/n: thank you so much for reading all the way thru and i hope u liked it ! :') pls do consider reblogging this or dropping a comment/ask &lt;3

[inventors-fair]

More than Playable: Typal Runners-Up ~

And our runners-up this week are @feyd-rautha-apologist, @misterstingyjack and @nine-effing-hells!

@feyd-rautha-apologist — Leeches' Kinship

Sometimes when reading these cards I'll go back and look at sets, and this one made me realize that there were indeed quite a few vampires around Strixhaven! If this wasn't intended to be on Strixhaven, well, that's my bad, but that's also what ya get for not including it in your submission. Having a cheap drain effect is pretty awesome, although clever limited players will know that you wouldn't want too many of them in your deck at the expense of creatures. But then, the creatures you get (if they're vampires) will be all the better, so win-win.

Morbid as a Witherbloom mechanic would be more than reasonable, IMO. If there's overlap with the Silverquill folks, that's fun as well, possibly. They do both overlap with vampires! And there's that little sweet spot for where overlap matters, and I think having overlapping subthemes with one small lean makes for a cool draft common that suggests to the players how flexible they can be. I may or may not have talked myself into liking this card a lot more than I did initially but that could also be the Vampire's curse. Hardly matters—I dig this thing and think that it gets one withered thumb pointed right up.

@misterstingyjack — Worldsoul's Boon

What I'm enjoying about the flavor is that most of the elves are assumed to be in white and green, but on Ravnica, there are plenty of Golgari elves, Simic elves, and even a few kickass Gruul elves to boot, and most of the mono/multi white cards wouldn't even come close. I feel that the flavor text itself is a little on the nose, and I'm not sure right now if it's implying that elves are closer to nature or if it's more along the lines of fantasy racism. Convoking is awesome, of course, but just plain attacking is pretty much right along green and white lines, yeah?

That said, if you have a one-mana Elf, turn two adds an additional three power to the board on top of potential lifegain. I feel that this could've definitely been pushed to three mana for that reason alone, and not just because there are a plethora of one-drop elves in any given format that you should keep an eye on. Small notes: 1) I also don't think you needed "then" in the first trigger; 2) Is it just me or is the text on this card really squashed? Anyway, let's back up to the good stuff, because as much as this might suggest typal at first glance, I think it speaks more to Ravnica's diversity in species and the eventual feeling of playing hybrid in a manner that's honestly pretty smooth. Having an Elf is a bonus, not a requirement, but having a creature? That's all that matters in the end. Just gotta have the RIGHT creature. Neat design and unexpectedly interesting!

@nine-effing-hells — Greater Glories

Whoof. It's a real conundrum if this card's undercosted or not. Obviously, Forced Adaptation is the baseline here, but we have to remember Luminarch Aspirant and the like which can give the counter on the combat step that the creature attacks. So you're gonna get the buff straight away, and then every turn thereafter. Now that said, it's pretty fragile, and auras fall off more than we'd like most of the time so I'll give you that. Still, for two mana, this is an aggressive all-star, and I'm not sure if I'm too down for how that plays out.

But we're also pushing boundaries here, and I think we both know that for three mana this card would be practically unplayable. Even if it gave trample for that cost, that's fairly steep, and I'm sitting here biting my metaphorical nails trying to make a decision. In the end? There's a non-zero chance that this card would be really annoying in a set without strong combat interaction and/or removal for either creature or aura. I don't hate it, and the Warrior aspect totally checks out for green on any world. Theros is the first one that comes to mind, but I'm equally drawn to Kaldheim, or really anywhere that's got warriors! It's a versatile and challenging card.

General commentary will be up soon as it's up. @abelzumi

[good-beans]

I saw someone else send in a sad Fuuta mother headcanon so I'll share mine!

Ok so, we know that Fuuta is 20, his mother left the family when he was really young/too young to properly remember her, him and his sister were left in their father's custody

Now the fact Fuuta and his sister were left to their father makes me feel like the mother must've had plans to date and remarry, since while there is a divorce stigma, if a person's young enough and doesn't have kids, its not actually That big a deal (kids are the biggest thing that often gets in the way of remarriage since not a lot of people are fond of the idea of raising children that aren't theirs biologically-)

Anyway, Another thing we know: Fuuta's victim was in middle school, which in Japan is ages 12-14 (probably 13-14 since 13's the minimum age to use twitter)

If we assume his mother left when Fuuta was 5 or younger, that gives his mother over a year to remarry and have a child with someone else (especially if she already had someone in mind when she left Fuuta's dad) And for that child to reach middle school age

Meaning there's a non-zero chance that the middle schooler Fuuta doxxed Could've been his half sister

NOOOO why would you do this to meeeeeee ;___;

That makes a ton of sense, though, that she would leave specifically for another man she had in mind. The thing is it wouldn’t even make a difference to Fuuta’s behavior -- and could actually have made him more motivated to harass her online 😭

Even if he spent his whole life avoiding/shunning his mother as mentioned on the other post, he’d put things together the minute he started looking into Killcheroy’s personal info in order to call her out. She probably did something small and harmful (nothing like the others’ unsanitary or sexual harassment cases), but his emotions flare up. He realizes his mother has started a new family and truly moved on from him. Although the thought is entirely subconscious, he’s incredibly jealous and angry at this girl for taking his mother away. So in his mind, she’s labeled a villain, as bad as all the others.

And he thinks, so what if it’s a little over the top? He has the right to call her out -- he’s her half-brother, after all! (He doesn’t tell anyone though, because that would bring up all the crap about his mother he doesn’t want to face.) He just goes after her and feels securely justified for it. Then, once he sees what happens…

Or, let’s just say he did go all that time without making the familial connection. He calls this random girl out for something small, and is haunted by her death. It makes that interrogation question a hundred times more painful, because the woman he’s looking to for comfort probably hates him for killing her daughter. Even if she didn’t know it was him, she wouldn’t be able to offer any sympathy if he did make it out of Milgram -- she’s grieving and he would realize the whole truth. If he is thrown back into his regular life post-Milgram, would his father want to reach out to the mourning woman? Would Fuuta have to look her in the eye? Would he go to the girl’s funeral?

Hm, and maybe that reveal happened when he was curled up, reading about the girl’s death online. Maybe he saw a picture of his mother on the news, or heard her voice in a clip, and got both nasty surprises at once.

[niobiumao3]

.

'TechPhee is rushed'

Nothing has been rushed because literally nothing has happened! The closest they've come is an awkward not-goodbye after an episode clearly showing them circling one another. What's there to have been rushed??? Phee attempting to express interest and Tech completely missing it? How do you rush the ground level, absolute first step of a romantic interaction?

'Phee needs more characterization'

Definitely! And yet somehow that's not a reason to not ship her with Fennec, whom she's never even met (that we know of), or Cid, who she's been on screen with for about 1/10 as much time as Tech. Those are the 'better' canon options for her despite little to no interaction with them. How does that make more sense than Tech??

'She was neurotypical at Tech in their last scene. '

As we all know, neurotypical people are immediately aware of how to interact with ND/autistic people, they're all taught from an early age about the differences, how to spot them, etc. <sage nod>

I'll come clean; what I saw in this scene was two people misunderstanding one another. That the reason is Phee is probably neurotypical was likely the root cause, but an autistic person in her position probably would have ALSO been frustrated, they'd simply have expressed it differently. Are you going to tell me any two autistic people are automatically better at communicating because, do I have news for you...

Phee is mildly concerned they're running off in the night, prods at Tech a little. Tech doesn't know what she wants/expects, so he offers her a briefing, which to him makes perfect sense. That's how you tell someone what your mission is about! But to Phee, it comes across as a distancing, a pushing away, which is why she reacts so negatively IMO. They've been there for, what, probably a month or more, helping rebuild after the tsunami, integrating into the community, and there's no goodbyes or anything, just a 'briefing'. So it upsets her, this cutting off that she perceives. Which is of course not at all what it is, just the entire Batch has literally no experience with telling friends/non-combatants 'going on a risky mission with little chance of returning, wish us luck!', and definitely Tech doesn't if his body language is any indication. (And yet he was standing outside the ship...)

And she tries to get through to him in the way she knows how, which obviously fails--you can practically SEE him thinking 'what does that MEAN' when she talks about not running off. What she means is, 'come back to us, to ME, in one piece'. But hey, she has her own reasons for being careful and not putting herself too out there, it's just Tech has zero context for her wording.

At which point she seems to realize there's still a long way to go in getting to know one another, in coming to an understanding about the differences in how they experience life and express themselves. So she stops, lets it go. They can discuss how friends--good ones, at least--do not go on do or die missions without at least an 'I hope I can come back' once they return. (*cough*)

I don't know how this scene could have gone differently without an implication of a lot of interactions happening which addressed some of their differences. Which would be the 'rushing' people are accusing the ship of--and it literally isn't implied! At all!! If anything this scene plays right into need to slow roll things. It's like the writing can't win; either it's rushed, in which case omg lazy writing, or Phee is being horrible to Tech for not knowing how to interact with him in more personal moments despite them still determining where they stand.

The expectation that Phee handle Tech 'more carefully' in this scene is both racist in its assumptions about her and infantalizing to Tech. Sure, she could have done better, but she didn't exactly do him some sort of irreparable harm, any more than Hunter did when saying Tech can talk for hours on a subject. But Phee is a black woman and suddenly the expectation she perform this interaction perfectly as acceptable by every fan (NT/allistic or not) is the only way for the ship to be even moderately acceptable.

No one says you have to like the ship or be remotely interested in it, but attributing characteristics to it that it clearly doesn't have reveals a need to negate it, to declare you're correct in not liking it.

You can just not like it. But claiming things with no actual basis in the writing or canon looks really suspicious.

[aceofwhump]

Dear Ace,

I need some advice. I’ve been a whump lover for as long as I can remember and I’ve been lurking around this community for some time now but I’m still having some trouble with feeling the need to hide my love of whump. I like to write but hardly ever do because all my ideas center heavily around physical whump scenarios. I have the hardest time putting pen to paper because once I do, it’s out there….and what if someone accidentally reads it and realizes how dark my mind is?!?

Intellectually I know that’s ridiculous. I live alone and the chances of someone accidentally stumbling over my writing are practically zero and even if they somehow do, it’s a creative outlet right?

But I still can’t seem to manage actually writing any of it down.

Any words of wisdom about how to get over this hold up and be able to write the stories in my head? Thanks in advanced.

Signed,

Anxious Writer.

Hi nonny <3 Sorry for my slow response.

What you feel is incredibly common amongst the whump community. Incredibly common. You are not alone in these feelings. And just like you're not alone in feeling weird or uncomfortable about your love of whump you're also not alone in loving whump. There's sooooo many of us here with you and you are welcome in this community. Your work would be welcomed in this space. It really helped me finding out that there are sooo many people out there who love the same kind of stuff I do. So know you're not alone.

It took me a while to become comfortable with sharing my writing and my rambles and general love of whump as well. One thing that helped me is knowing I sharing it in a loving space of fellow whump lovers. So I made sure to tag it so that other whump lovers found it and that non whump lovers who have the tag blocked won't see it. Tagging is a really great way to get your work into the right fandom spaces (both with AO3 and tumblr).

I also share the fear that someone I know will find my writing. My mom especially can NEVER find it because she will not understand it at all. So when I do write I make sure I'm doing in the safety and seclusion of my bedroom where no one can see my computer screen. I don't write when I'm in the same room as my family. Not unless I'm 100% sure they can't see my screen. So another piece of advice I can offer is to create a secluded space for yourself where you can write without worry that someone will see it. I don't know if that's the best advice but it's something that makes me feel more comfortable when I write whump. My sister knows I write whump fanfics just like I know she writes smut but we've made an agreement to never go seeking each others profiles or reading each others fics. Just for our own comfort levels. We don't judge each other but knowing the other wont see what our minds come up with makes us feel better.

And I know it's hard to get over the hump of thinking what you want to write is dark and bad but I promise it is not bad to want to write whump. Tons and tons of people write whump. And not just the hundreds aof fanfic writers either! Look at the stuff written by Stephen King or Mike Flanagan. They're praised for their whump writing.

Another piece of advice I can offer that helped me start to share my work is to create a blog/space made specifically for your whump. As soon as I made this blog I immediately felt more at ease sharing my love of whump because I knew I could keep it separate from my real life and keep it as anonymous as I'd like. If you'd like you could create a whump sideblog and post your work there. Try with something small like a drabble in answer to a prompt post. I did that. I wrote a short little thing that fit a prompt post I liked and i got such a nice response from the community it made me feel more confident with sharing more of my writing. Is there a prompt you've seen that gave some inspiration? Go ahead and try sharing your response! See how it feels!

I hope something here helps you nonny. I know it can be hard but we'd love to read your work! Everyone has something unique to offer and teh more whump the better! This community is really nice and we'd love to have you <3

[truly-glasixx]

✹ Kirishima with a Gym Girl Gf ✹

SLEEPER BUILDS sorry I just had to get that one off my chest

There is absolutely NOTHING you can do to convince me that he's not a simp for sleeper builds. Mans loves a good surprise and sleeper builds take the cake (see what I did there??)

He's happy to lend you a hoodie anytime. Especially if he gets to see you pull it off and flex your muscles.

Makes you a protein shake every morning when he works out

He's soaring the rest of the day if you join him in the morning before class and sleeping comfortably on cloud nine if you join him in the evening before dinner.

We all know gym dates are a MUST, it doesn't even need to be that often (he'd be in heaven if you make it a regular thing, but won't be mad if you'd rather work out alone or with friends.) Every once in a while is enough to keep this man SWOONING over you.

Most definitely puts an extra 2.5-5 on the machine when he thinks knows that you can hit a new pr. (You can literally see him in the mirror, so he realizes he's not slick)

Encouragement as he spots you.

"Your lifting that much on shoulder press? Damn, my babes is good."

"Keep it up and I'll give you a kiss, okay?" If you fail to finish a rep, he'll still give you a kiss and some water to use as motivation so that you'll keep pushing.

Loves doing pullups on the same bar with you, because then you can kiss each other at the top

Indecisive about whether Arm Days or Leg Days with you are better.

You might not enjoy Arm Days, but he's happy he gets to show off and flex his biceps. You bet your ass he'll push you during your sets.

He's not the biggest fan of Leg Days, but he's so proud of you when he sees the weights you use to deadlift, squat, etc.

Trust me, he would shout "That's my baby!" with zero hesitation if you'd let him.

Goes to Protective BF Mode whenever you squat. If he's not there and you're with the Bakusquad, Mina's got your back, and Bakugou's close by for backup.

Used to think yoga was light work, but found out the hard way that some moves were light years out of his flexibility league, (Anything not in the realm of butterfly and downward dog is impossible for this man)

If you're able to achieve those difficult yoga positions, he'll forever be mindblown by how you make it look so easy. You'll never hear the end of his praise, lol

Obviously a golden retriever bf

He's literally your biggest hypeman on anything.

Be it from trying to reach a PR to studying hard asf in order to ace a test. Whatever you do, Kirishima's got full faith that you'll accomplish your goals, even if you face setbacks along the way. That's what being a hero is about, right?

Enjoys shopping and getting boba with you (but only expect him to stay attentive the entire time if you're shopping for sports clothing lmao)

Chances are, you're better than him at most subjects, so if you're not busy, he'll come to you for study help. And the two of you resort to Bakugou when you're both suffering in a subject (Math, anyone?)

This man's spirit animal is a bear for sure Also a non-debatable topic.

Before you two started dating, his name in your phone was either #HypeBeast or ViagraWho?? There is no in-between. (I'm going somewhere with this, I promise-)

When you two started dating, it was either #HypeBeast He'd make you change the other one bc it gave him the ick or it'd change to EjiBear w/ the bear emoji (It's adorable to me, alright??)

Cuddles are EVERYTHING for this man. He'll wrap his arms around you and rest his chin on your head or in the crook of your neck.

If you struggle with body image issues, he'll take this time, with your consent ofc, to pepper kisses on your body. Mostly on your face, arms, and clavicle area, but he's more than willing to place kisses on any scars, tiger stripes, or areas you deem 'imperfect'.

He has also lived with the struggle of body dysmorphia since middle school, so he's always quick to erase any negative thoughts you have of your body.

He still has his days too, so he massively appreciates it when you do the same for him.

Somedays, training will drain the two of you so much, that naps turn into full nights of rest

And then you're left to come up with an excuse when Aizawa catches wind that you two slept in the same dorm room again.

He doesn't gaf that you two are third years who haven't done anything frisky, rules are rules.

[anachronistic-falsehood]

cellbit dsmp.... could be a saving grace or a living nightmare depending on when he joined

like early l'manberg? saving grace. He's got the paranoia that cWilbur had yet to earn, I genuinely think there's a good chance he would have been able to spot Eret going turncoat. And it wouldn't have hurt to have a guy who could actually fight in this faction (cccellbit's pvp abilities aren't that noteable but qcellbit is a renowned killer so we can pretend). Maybe things would have turned out differently. Maybe the Final Control Room would spare some lives, leaving Wilbur or Fundy or Tommy or Tubbo with one extra

But if he joined during elections era? More complicated. Just looking at how he was during the QSMP elections, I think he might have been a SWAG supporter? Non-zero chance that he would have been cQuackity's vice president, which is funny to me. Also, based on how he tried to handle the Federation I think that when/if Schlatt won he would stay in L'Manburg and try to spy, leading to a Manburgian cabinet like

Tubbo 🤝 Fundy 🤝 Cellbit: I Sure Hope They Don't Realize I'm The Only Spy Here

If he joined when Pogtopia v. Manburg was already in full swing, I think he would have gone for Pogtopia. cWilbur spends the whole time thinking he's an assassin hired to kill him and is just waiting for that knife to the neck. Never happens, though. He's on board with the Kill Schlatt cause, if not Wilbur being in charge- not personal, but he wouldn't want himself to be in charge either, and he has objections to Wilbur on similar grounds. Which probably makes things just that bit more stressful and worse, in the long run

For the life of me I can't figure out how he'd feel about the Butcher Army stuff

Would have supported cQ eating Schlatt's heart 100%. In general I think he and cQuackity would vibe, no matter where he appears on the timeline. If he joined before November 16th he'd understand the weight of Q eating Schlatt's heart and be tactful about it, but if he joined after he'd be like. A fellow enjoyer of cannibalism! What are the odds! And just assume that they had a shared hobby, not knowing that was a one-time thing

Could have quite the time getting possessed by The Egg

There's no way that he has a good reaction to the prison torture stuff, no matter what happens. Actually really interested about what he'd think of it, being on the one hand someone who suffered in the prison system, and on the other hand considering how he reacted to BBH capturing Ron. Non-zero chance he could get onboard and involved. Just depends on when he joins and how much he knows about the guy

I think Las Nevadas would unsettle him and if he joined as late as s3 I think he wouldn't go for any of the factions. Might put that paranormal research to use and go against The Egg

And also if he'd been there during ho16 he would have gotten a folding chair or something to put on that pressure plate. Bam. No Ranboos were harmed in this pyschocompetitive rivalry

OH this is an older ask but i am rotating it in my mind on loop rn. i am THINKING about this. ik i talked about cellbit being around for lmanberg but i like to imagine he would have joined around the time ranboo and puffy did, right after nov 16. he never knew wilbur as he was and met ghostbur a handful of times, which would make him meeting revivebur later on sooo much more interesting. he would be so standoffish with this guy. like oh you're the guy i keep getting compared to. nice to finally met you. so i heard you blew yourself the fuck up and destroyed your country and made your father kill you. what was that about huh. and wilbur would HATE him he would detest this man. you know how when two people are so similar but just different enough that they clash horribly??? that's them. they go about things the same way but have very different things that they want to do so they disagree on everything and are equally stubborn about it. they would drive everyone around them INSANE.

and if we're keeping cellbit's backstory the same as q!cellbit's then he's already got a history with bbh, so he might be tempted to join the badlands. he would LOVE the egg arc omggg he would go crazy for that shit. he would be obsessed. since cc!cellbit wanted to be a villain when he joined the qsmp (and got distracted by Gay Roleplay) i think he would love to act the part of an egg infected villain :3 i like to think the egg would be able to sense his bloodlust and try to manipulate him into helping it. and i think he would for a bit!! whether he's actually infected or just pretending so he can gather information and betray them later, idk, but he'd certainly play a part in the eggpire somehow, that's for sure. he'd fit right in with them :3

HOWEVER i do think that after the red banquet, or even during it, he would denounce or betray the eggpire (which would be insane, imagine hannah betraying the pro-omlette team and then cellbit immediately going HA YOU THOUGHT!! and betraying the eggpire, the plot twist would be crazy) and i think he would join the syndicate right after. he'd be sooo good in the syndicate i am so serious. cellbit himself is kinda friends with ranboo and they click so well so i think they would have a great time roleplaying together!!! imagine him escaping to the end with the rest of the syndicate +kristin AAAAAA syndicate cellbit...... save me syndicate cellbit

and i would LOVE to hear the insane homoerotic way wilbur would write him into hitting on 16. you KNOW cellbit would be involved in las nevadas/the burger van arc somehow. we'd have a three way homoerotic psychocompetetive rivalry going on. idk what he would even do to get involved but you just know he would involve himself somehow. i think quackity and wilbur would fight over him a little bit and cellbit would be a little shit and tell them he'd join the country/faction of whichever of them could give him the best offer in terms of riches or weapons or other benefits or whatever and then he'd leave them to fight. he loves stirring shit up <3 but i think he would get involved because he'd be friends with ranboo and wants to make sure they're doing okay. the syndicate sticks together!!!! i do think he'd ultimately get more involved with las nevadas as cquackity's vice bc i think cq would offer him a chance to torture cdream in prison and cellbit would be like. absolutely vibrating with excitement. he would accept immediately. when cq is tired he sends cellbit in his place and cdream DREADS those days, bc at least quackity is methodical and clean with his torture. cellbit just goes absolutely ham and gets very close to killing him multiple times. oh cellbit would have such a blast beating the shit out of dream <3