#being in my brain is genuinely so so tiring

[mortallydeepestobservation]

The Case of Us.

Summary: You and Namjoon are an unlikely pair, clashing from the start. He’s a seasoned detective, used to working alone and running on instinct. You, a rookie, fresh off acing your detective exam, ready to prove yourself. At first, you butt heads—your sharp, hardheaded approach grating against his calm, measured demeanor. But there's an undeniable pull between the two of you, an unspoken understanding that begins to form as you both tackle case after case. Through the chaos of the job, you rely on each other more and more. And though you're still figuring out the balance between the stubborn rookie and the seasoned detective, you both know one thing for certain—you're a hell of a team. A/N: Oh Hey everyone... So, I did it again—I got overwhelmed by life and felt the need to write... And you know the drill. (I ended up re-reading Chapter 4 of Holiday Pretense so many times that I couldn’t tell what was repeating and what was just my brain spiraling. And i guess I rage-quit for the day) So instead, I ended up writing something completely different. But this time, it's really random and far "into the story". Also, that pancake dialogue is loosely inspired by a conversation from "Castle"-oldish detective serries i love to this day. Call it a teaser if you will? (I wanna know if anyone would be interested in something like this.) (besides those 5 wips i have already lol. i need professional help 😓🥲) (thank you always @callmenoona25 for proofreading. love you) Pairing: Namjoon x f.reader Genre: detective/ thriller. neo noir(?) Rating: explicit. Minors do not interact. Warnings: Guns. Mentions of serial killers and bodies. Crimes. Corpses. police/detective lingo. Detective Yoongi and Jungkook being the best duo. (Also, if you know me. I tend to keep it light- not very gore. But i do have a genuine obsession with true crime/detective stories/criminology. So this might turn off some readers. proceed at your own discretion) tag list: @uniquetravelerone @sexytholland @codeinebelle @annyeongbitch7 @rpwprpwprpwprw @goldietigers294 @amarawayne @oneshallsmile

The dead of night. The scent of rain still clung stubbornly to the damp, heavy air, even hours after the downpour had stopped. Your tv was on, though it was on mute.

Then you heard it.

A sound—a shuffle by the doorway.

Instinct took over. The lights went dark in an instant, your hand moving with practiced ease to the gun at your hip. You gripped it tight, steady, breath held as you listened.

The sounds didn’t stop. The lock turned. The knob twisted.

Before the intruder could take a step inside, you struck—slamming your full weight against him, pinning him to the doorframe, gun pressed firm against his throat.

“Holy shit-!”

A familiar voice. Your grip tightened for just a second before recognition set in.

“Namjoon?”  you didn’t lower the gun.

“Who else would it be?” his tone was maddeningly casual, one hand gripping your wrist, pushing the barrel down to his chest, right above his heart. “Just— don’t shoot the face.”

Your pulse was still hammering in your ears, the rush of the adrenaline refusing to fade. You let out a slow breath, easing the gun off his chest but not fully lowering it.

Namjoon let out a short chuckle- half amused, half exasperation. “Nice to see you too,” he muttered, rolling his shoulder as if shaking off the impact.

“You could’ve called.” you shot back, eyes still sharp, scanning his face in the dim light. he looked tired, damp hair falling messily over his forehead, his clothes wrinkled like he’d been running all night.

“And argue with you over the phone?” he asked, rubbing at his throat where the gun had pressed, “I think it worked out better this way.”

Your gaze flicked to the door, still slightly ajar. “You picked the lock?!”

He shrugged. “Old habits.”

You exhaled through your nose, finally lowering the gun all the way. “What the hell are you doing here, Namjoon?”

His smirk faltered slightly. For the first time, you noticed the tension in his jaw, the way is fingers curled slightly over the damp paper bags he was carrying.

“I-” he took a breath, like the confession hurt, “I’m worried about you.”

You huff, incredulous, slamming the door shut behind him and locking it.

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can. Clearly.” he gestured vaguely towards the gun in your hand. “Doesn’t change the fact that as your supervisor and partner, I worry about you.” He moved with ease, setting the bags on your kitchen table, leaving a trail of wet footsteps all across your tile floor.

“Namjoon, I’m not a rookie anymore.”

Namjoon let out a quiet sigh, rubbing a hand over his face before leaning against the counter. “I never said you were.”

You crossed your arms, watching him. “Then stop treating me like one.”

His eyes flicked to yours—sharp, unreadable. “If you want me to stop, then quit making it so damn easy to worry.”

That shut you up for a second.

The weight of his words lingered in the space between you, thick as the humidity still clinging to the air. You glanced at the paper bags on the table, the edges crumpled from his grip. “What’s this?”

“Dinner.” He peeled one open, pulling out a takeout container. “Figured you haven’t eaten.”

You frowned, but your stomach betrayed you with a quiet growl. Namjoon heard it—of course he did—and the smirk that tugged at his lips made you want to shoot him just on principle.

“I was going to eat.”

“Yeah?” He arched a brow, flipping open the container. “What, exactly? Stale instant noodles? Maybe those grotesque granola bars you like to keep in your purse and only eat after they expire?”

You huffed but didn’t deny it.

Namjoon grabbed a pair of chopsticks and held them out. “Sit. Eat.”

“Is this standard procedure with all your trainees?” The sarcasm was thick in your voice, but you still took a seat across from him.

“Just the ones that get themselves targeted by serial killers.”

Your grip on the chopsticks faltered for just a second.

Then you scoffed. “That supposed to be a joke?”

Namjoon didn’t laugh. Didn’t even blink.

Your stomach twisted.

“I’m serious.” His voice had dropped, low and steady, the kind that sent a chill down your spine. “We need to talk.”

You eyed him warily, then set the container down. “About what?”

Namjoon exhaled, rubbing at his temple like he already regretted this conversation. “There was another one.”

Your fingers curled instinctively around the edge of the table. “Where?”

“Downtown. Two blocks from our last case.”

You didn’t need him to elaborate. Your mind was already connecting the dots, pulling up images you didn’t want to see.

Same M.O.? You almost asked, but you already knew the answer.

Namjoon watched you carefully, like he was waiting for the realization to hit.

It did.

“That’s why you’re here.” The words tasted bitter. “You think I’m next.”

His jaw tightened. “And you clearly agree. Why else would you sleep with your gun strapped to your hip?”

“I think you guys are overreacting.”

“Is that why you called the protection detail off? You were supposed to have uniforms watching you right now.”

“The captain is being absurd.” You take a bite of rice “Much like you are right now.” You argue between mouthfuls.

“You’re impossible.” He watched you with that usual superior look of his, that challenging glare that made your blood boil.

“So, what? You decided to break in and deliver takeout because you think I have a target on my back?”

Namjoon’s expression didn’t shift. If anything, his silence spoke louder than any answer he could’ve given.

Your stomach churned—not from the food, but from the implications hanging between you.

He wasn’t here just because he thought you were in danger.

He was here because he knew you were.

“I’m staying the night.”

You snapped. “Oh, like hell you are!”

Namjoon didn’t flinch. He just set down his chopsticks and looked you dead in the eye, his gaze unwavering.

“I’m staying the night,” he repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

You shot him a look that could cut glass, but his expression didn’t change. There was something in his eyes—something you couldn't quite place.

“Not a chance, Namjoon,” you snapped, pushing yourself away from the table. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“No, you need to not get killed.”

The words snapped like a gunshot between you, sharp and final.

Neither of you spoke.

Outside, the rain threatened to start again, fat droplets tapping against the glass.

You held his stare, your jaw clenched and shoulders squared, the air between you so tense it felt like either of you might snap.

“Fine.” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “But you sleep on the couch.”

Namjoon’s lips twitched into a small, almost imperceptible smile. “Deal,” he said, nodding in silent agreement as he slowly backed away from the table. He didn’t argue further—there was nothing left to say once the terms were set. “I also got us a bottle of wine to celebrate you finally taking an order from me.”

“You’re impossible,” you counter, using his earlier line.

You resumed eating, though the rice had lost its appeal. Each bite felt heavy, burdened by the tension between you. Every clink of chopsticks and scrape of ceramic against the table punctuated the silence like a metronome counting down the moments until something else would shatter the uneasy calm.

Namjoon didn’t respond immediately, his gaze drifting toward the kitchen counter, where the bottle of wine sat like a silent witness to the strange turn of events. He seemed content to let the silence stretch between you, his presence still an unspoken weight in the room.

The tension was thick, almost suffocating, but you didn’t care to break it. Not yet. The thoughts swirling in your head—the things you hadn’t said out loud—kept you rooted in place. The noise of the rain outside, once soothing, now only added to the discomfort that crawled under your skin.

Namjoon poured two glasses of wine, his movements slow and deliberate. When he placed one in front of you, you took it without a word. He watched you for a beat, his eyes searching, trying to gauge what was really going on beneath the surface.

You took a sip, the warmth of the wine doing little to ease the cold unease that wrapped around you. The day, the case, everything was starting to feel too close, too personal. And Namjoon’s silent presence wasn’t helping, no matter how much it was meant to comfort.

After a few minutes, Namjoon cleared his throat softly, watching you look down into your glass. “I don’t suppose you’d mind if I set up my gear in the living room?” he asked, voice low. “Just in case we need to move fast.”

You frowned, glancing toward the door where the muted TV light played over the wall. “It’s your turn to be my backup tonight,” you muttered, half teasing, half warning.

He raised an eyebrow. “You know I never leave your side—even if I’m on the couch,” he replied, a trace of amusement in his tone that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You shot him a sidelong look, then set your glass down. “Get your things, Namjoon. And for the record, I’d prefer not to have a detective rummaging through my living room,” you added, attempting to lighten your tone despite the unease creeping in.

He smirked. “I’ll try to behave,” he said with a wink that belied the seriousness behind his words.

Moments later, the quiet hum of preparation filled the apartment. Namjoon unpacked his duffel bag with the methodical precision of someone who’d been in high-stakes situations far too many times. You found yourself glancing repeatedly at the window, where the rain began to fall again in earnest, drumming against the glass like a ragged heartbeat.

“I’ll fetch you some blankets.”

“A few pillows too.”

You chuckle, “Do you want a facemask too?”

Namjoon looked up from his bag, a playful glint in his eyes despite the tension hanging in the air. “Only if it comes with a side of earplugs,” he teased, the corner of his lips twitching upward.

You rolled your eyes, standing up from the table and moving toward the closet “Yeah, baby boy needs his beauty sleep.”

You tossed the blanket and pillows onto the couch, but as you straightened up, the sound of the rain outside seemed to deepen, becoming almost repetitive in its heaviness. For a moment, neither of you spoke—just the low hum of the apartment and the soft drum of water against glass.

Namjoon broke the silence with a more serious note. “Try and get some rest. You’ve had a long week.”

You paused, turning to face him, your gaze met his, and for a moment, the usual banter was gone, replaced by something more sincere—something that tugged at the edges of your own quiet worry. You opened your mouth, but the words didn’t come right away, and you debated if you even wanted to let them out.

“Thank you.”

Namjoon’s gaze softened, the seriousness in his face fading into something just slightly softer.

He nodded slowly, as if accepting your gratitude, though his lips didn’t curve into a smile. There was something grounding about the way he held your gaze, like he understood more than you were saying.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he murmured, his voice low, but the words carried weight. “It’s what we do.”

You exhaled quietly, finally giving in to the tension in your shoulders. “Yeah, well... it’s still nice to hear.” You couldn’t stop yourself from adding, the soft edge to your tone. “Thank you for being here. And for dinner.”

“It’s no problem,” he said quietly, his voice steady but gentle. “You know I’ve got your back.”

“Yeah.” You still sigh despite yourself, pushing towards the bedroom “Goodnight Joon.”

Namjoon watched you as you moved toward the bedroom, his eyes soft, but there was a hint of something unreadable in them. He remained silent for a moment, just watching you before speaking in that calm, reassuring tone of his.

“Goodnight,” he said quietly, though his voice lingered in the space between you, grounding you in the moment.

You didn’t turn back, but his presence, quiet and constant, felt like a weight lifted, even just for tonight. The quiet murmur of the rain outside seemed softer, less oppressive as you closed the door behind you.

~~~

The smell of pancakes felt foreign in your apartment. The rich, buttery scent filled the air, its warmth cutting through the cool, damp atmosphere of the morning. You blinked a few times, trying to shake off the grogginess, your mind still hazy from sleep. It took a few seconds for you to process what was happening.

Namjoon.

You could hear the faint sound of him humming, the clink of utensils, the quiet sizzle of batter on the griddle. The peacefulness of it felt almost surreal after the tension of the night before.

Rubbing your eyes, you stepped out of the bedroom, the coolness of the floor beneath your feet grounding you back in reality. You walked toward the kitchen, where Namjoon was flipping pancakes like he’d done this a hundred times in your kitchen—like he belonged there.

He glanced up when you appeared, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, but it was the kind of smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. The weight of last night still hung in the air between you.

“Morning,” he greeted softly, the scent of coffee following the pancakes.

You blinked at the scene, still a little dazed. “Did you... make this?” You gestured toward the stack of golden pancakes, the syrup bottle, and the neatly placed plates.

“I wanted to make eggs. But they expired last year, and your bacon had something growing on it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. We need to go to the precinct.”

“Will you relax? Just sit down and eat.”

You shot him a look, but he was already plating another pancake, as if he were completely unfazed by the chaos that had defined your life for the last few days.

“I’m serious, Namjoon. We don’t have time for breakfast. The precinct is waiting, and you’ve got a duty.” You gestured vaguely to the mess of plates and syrup bottles, your voice tightening slightly despite the absurdity of the moment.

He turned to you with an almost exasperated expression, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. “You need food. We both do. The precinct will be there when we're ready. In the meantime, we sit. We eat. You get a few minutes to breathe.”

You huffed in frustration but couldn't deny the logic behind his words. He was right, you were barely functioning on caffeine and adrenaline, and you needed a break—even if just for a few minutes.

“Fine,” you muttered, sitting down at the table. “But as soon as we're done, we're out the door. No more distractions.”

Namjoon gave you a nod, his tone still light. “Oh, I forgot the newspaper.” He turned off the stove and did his little half-jog to the door.

But as soon as he twisted the doorknob, the door slammed open against the weight of the body propped against it. A sickening thud reverberating through the apartment. Your heart skipped a beat as the sight of the corpse registered in an instant—its pale, lifeless face staring up at you, eyes vacant and unseeing. The air in the room felt like it had thickened, the weight of the situation crashing down on you.

Namjoon froze for a moment, his hand still on the doorknob. Then, without a word, he stepped back, his body moving with precision as he grabbed his cell and tossed it to you.

“Call the precinct.” He instructed, fetching his gun in an instant “And stay back.”

Your fingers trembled as you caught the phone, the shock still running through your veins. You barely registered the coldness of the device against your palm, too focused on the scene in front of you. The body. The blood that had pooled around it, seeping into the carpet like it was part of the apartment itself.

You fumbled with the phone, dialling the precinct, your breath hitching in your throat. The line rang once, twice, before someone picked up, their voice professional, unaware of the horror unfolding in your living room.

“112, what’s your emergency?”

“This is Detective Hwang, badge number 1209. There’s a body on my front door.”

The voice on the other end of the line shifted instantly, now alert. “Detective Hwang, stay on the line. Is the scene secure? Do you need assistance?”

“Yes,” you said, your voice tight as you tried to steady your breathing. “We have a body. It's… propped against the door. Get someone here immediately.”

“Understood, Detective. Stay where you are. Officers are on their way. Do not engage with the scene further.”

You glanced over at Namjoon, who was crouched by the body now, his gun trained at the door as he assessed the situation. He didn't flinch or pause, moving with the practiced calm that had always been his trademark.

It took less than 8 minutes for your apartment to be crawling with uniforms, CSU, and of course, Detective Yoongi and Jungkook.

“So,” Jungkook was talking to Namjoon, merely a few steps away from where you sat at the kitchen table across from Yoongi. “Wine glasses.”

“Yeah, Namjoon brought dinner and wine.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, glancing between you and Namjoon with a smirk. “Dinner and wine, huh? Cozy night in?”

Namjoon shot him a deadpan look. “It was supposed to be breakfast, too, until we were rudely interrupted by a corpse.”

Jungkook let out a low whistle, shaking his head “Pancakes?”

You glanced over at him, confused.

“So, nothing else happened?” Jungkook continued undeterred.

“Jungkook what are you on about?”

“Well, you know what they say about pancakes.” Yoongi replied, though his eyes were still glued to his notepad.

You narrowed your eyes, glancing between Yoongi and Jungkook. “Okay, I’ll bite. What do they say about pancakes?”

Jungkook grinned like he’d been waiting for you to ask. “Pancakes are the best way to say ‘Hey, thanks for that amazing sex last night.’”

You choked on absolutely nothing, spluttering as Namjoon let out the world’s longest sigh beside you.

“Oh my God,” Namjoon muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can we not do this right now?”

Yoongi finally glanced up from his notepad, entirely unbothered. “It’s a well-documented theory.”

Jungkook nodded, very seriously. “Classic post-hookup breakfast. Means it was so good that one of you felt compelled to whip up something warm and sweet the next morning.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. “It was just breakfast, Jungkook.”

“Was it?” Jungkook teased, crossing his arms. “Because the way I see it, there are two wine glasses on the counter, Namjoon sleeping over, and pancakes on the table.”

Namjoon made a noise somewhere between a groan and a death rattle. “I hate all of you.”

You threw up your hands. “For the last time, nothing happened!”

Yoongi huffed, and Jungkook shook his head as he jotted down on his notepad “witness refuses to cooperate.”

You gawked at him. “Are you seriously writing that down?”

Jungkook nodded, scribbling dramatically. “Refuses to acknowledge the overwhelming evidence of post-coital carbohydrates-”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, dragging a hand down your face.

Namjoon, looking moments away from actual homicide, turned to Yoongi. “Please arrest him for obstruction.”

Yoongi barely held back a smirk. “Tempting.”

[straycalamities]

old aromantic man yells at cloud under cut AUGH

maybe its the aro, but i also genuinely think its not only aros that yearn to have a significant relationship with a "best friend" that goes into the "gray area of romance"

i quote that because it literally doesnt all have to be seen as romantic is the thing and i think people deep down understand this on some level and yearn for it

i think the only thing i truly dislike overall from romo-shipping culture (other than omegaverse existing. rage. hatred.) is that it kinda devours people just being besties or just being so signifcant to each other in a non-romantic way. but then everyone's turning to hyping up "familial" relationships made it even worse. cuz now it's like oh they're non-romantic? oohhh they must be siblings...or parent/child...

like no what if people were just friends and that was also seen as significant. or enemies. or foils. or even coworkers. and all of that be seen as significant for what it is

i feel like this is especially true in fandoms into real life ppl/celebrities/influencers/etc. i feel like that's where it actually starts to become a big frustrating problem

fiction is something else because you can simply change the rules if you want, in your head, with headcanons, but you cant (or at least you really shouldnt and im judging you if you do) headcanon real people. if they say otherwise about this, or shipping, or whatever then ok thats their prerogative, BUT then ppl take one guy (gnc) saying this to mean they have permission for every guy (gnc) and it's like ok idc if people have been doing this with real living persons for centuries, we've been doing all kindsa other jacked up shit to each other for millennia am i supposed to suddenly be okay with that too because it's always been done? 😭 idk i dont mean for this to be all about how i dont support RPF and how parasocializing and celebrity worship has fucked over everyone's brains and warped them into dehumanizing people as normal even more than all of us being so online in general has and finding every buzzword that sounds like justification they can to okay it

but it is kinda linked to my point. i dont mean this in the whole "men are scared to be best friends for fear of being seen as Gay" i mean it as "a whole shitload of people are redirecting deep non-romantic relationships into just feeding the alloromantic normativity machine and my little aro ass is getting kinda tired of it"

i mean it in "everyone keeps trying to put relationships into neat little labeled boxes that have these hard and rigid rules to them and my loves-to-appreciate-the-depth-and-variety-of-human-emotions-and-relationships" ass is even more tired of this than the other thing

even in MY shipping. yes i say "shipping" yes i draw charas kissing, hugging, dating, intimacy. but i dont always mean romantically. because i remember the era when shipping could be whatever. it just meant you liked that those characters were significant to each other. and now it's become only one kinda thing (maybe two if youre differentiating between sexual and romantic shipping or a mix of the two)

and now i wish there was a word just for what i mean 😓 (and other ppl like me) that was just...yes i like these two (or more) charas together and idc what flavor of what it is theyre doing i enjoy it. and i wish that it could also not be seen as meaning less or just being lesser than romantic shipping

IM SO TIRED OF ROMANCE OUTWEIGHING AND EVEN OVERSHADOWING EVERY OTHER RELATIONSHIP PLEASE AND IM TIRED OF THE ONLY OTHER OPTION BEING NUCLEAR FAMILY DYNAMICS

i remember when "found family" didnt mean literal Mom Dad Son Daughter shit sighs

i also just think that if we saw friendships and best-friendships as more significant it'd also help with how so many people feel so damn lonely all the time just because they're "single" or whatever. it'd also mean less ppl jump into harmful romantic relationships, ignoring all red flags, just because it means they have a relationship

if they're getting social, inter-personal fulfillment outside a romantic relationship and it's treated as significant as that is. because it IS. think about your best friend, and the relationship yall have. or past best friends. its amazing! its deep! its meaningful!

think about even just your friends even if yall arent super close and how you still smile if you meet up or see them come online or get a text from them. or that coworker at your job that you probably wouldnt hang out with outside of work but they still make your shift less torture. IDK

look at the beauty and variety of your connections with other humans and how a lot of them you dont even have a term or name for. it's just. significant.

the stranger that smiled genuinely at you when you held the door open for them while you were having the worst day of your life and, for a moment, the world wasnt so bad

you'll never see that person again, but you'll probably never forget it. and even if you forget their eyes or the color of their hair, you'll never forget how it made you feel.

that's what i'm talking about. and i feel like you shouldn't have to be an aromantic person to appreciate that kinda stuff and the world would be sooo much better for it. what if we just fuckin appreciated our fellow man yknow????? especially when all the evil powers that be in the world are trying to make us turn on each other and eat each other alive so they dont have to do as much work

[sweetnessfollowsmp3]

at this point i think only a lobotomy would fix me

[xxplastic-cubexx]

just read the new mutants issue where Charles chose to stay behind in space and my god the juxtaposition between Charles trusting Erik and Erik joining the hellfire club and wondering at his own trust worthiness. I wonder how much of Charles decision was him ultimately trying to avoid the fact that his first class had seemingly betrayed mutant kind and not be willing to face them and how much of it was Dani and Illyana's reaction to him having Karma mind control Illyana. the fact that Illyana was depending on him to ease her mind through limbo and in choosing to stay he forced karma to do it instead, probably fucking up their relationship in the process.

I love him, this is crazy, how much of this is him trying to runaway and how much is this him not trusting himself to fix things and how much is it just him trusting Erik?

i keep trying to put into words my exact thoughts about the sitch but there really is a lot for one issue aintit... oh charles you and your brain...

[lit-in-thy-heart]

been trying out a new writing technique recently and it's called chilling tf out and reminding myself that fic is written for fun.

[starfilledsky2810]

damn I yap a lot

tldr; im alive, sadly im still on hiatus, other stuff is fine now I just have new [physical] problems, you'll know when I'm fully back (give it another couple months) and comfortable, I'm in a [technically well-over] 3-month long ongoing depressive episode [not tryna do trauma olympics or make anyone feel bad btw it's all chill]

so sorry if I've left you hanging [with art or smth], I'll get to it in time, I promise [I may have unwillingly forgotten, likely not but there's a chance]

Hey, I'm alive, I have been for the.. almost 6 months I've been gone. Holy shit, I didn't even realise that it's been that long. I figured I should at least say something in case anyone is worried or wondering even though everything isn't solved yet, so, here. [under the read more so it's not flooding or anything]

Also, I figure I should apologise for venting on main and just leaving it up - this is all going to stay up because I need to keep it somewhere to aid with my memory issues - but, still, must've been a little weird

Absolutely not a good time to say all this [for me bc I haven't thought this message through] but I'm kinda half-back, just on hiatus from socials due to declining physical health. Really badly declining, I need help honestly

Originally, as you know, I was gone because I had a really bad fall out with my mother, but things pertaining to that have been solved now [except me not feeling 100% safe and trusting to my mother, that will never change. She's tried hard, I just wish I could find her reliable emotionally as well]. It's just that, since then, basically, all these physical problems that I don't understand have been royally fucking me up and messing with my mental too. It's messed with everything I love. I don't know what to do anymore.

Oh wait, where I was actually going with this, so

OK nvm I forgot but you'll see me around bc I've been talking to certain people trying to pretend like nothing's happened and I've made the kinda-silly decision to not fully come off hiatus or talk to other certain people before I'm okay again.

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

i think about the whole "love that" exchange a lot.

[randomwriteronline]

Pohatu liked the cold.

Pohatu liked the heat too, to some degree.

But he liked the cold better.

Pohatu didn't know if he liked him because he liked the cold, or if he liked the cold because he liked him.

It could have been both; he didn't know.

What Pohatu did know was that he very much did not like the dark.

It hadn't always been like that.

It hadn't always been that bad.

Pohatu could hardly remember much from before he had crashed on Okoto from the sky, but he was certain he hadn't always been so afraid of the dark. He was certain, at some point, to have liked it to some degree: to have gladly traversed it without fear or with greater purpose, and to have associated it at least in part with something friendly, someone nice.

But he could not remember that.

What he could remember was the pitch dark, and a trusted hand clamped around his own tight. Just Pohatu and him, in an endless abyss.

They had both been scared, of course. But they were together.

They would have made it through.

Then suddenly, after ages of wandering in the complete black, the hand had slipped away from Pohatu's grip, never to be found again; and he had cried out for him, over and over, telling him it wasn't the time for jokes like these, and that he thought he didn't like this kind of humor anyways. He had cried out a name he couldn't remember anymore until his voice had turned hoarse, and he had reached out everywhere in the darkness in the hopes of finding that cold palm again: nobody had ever answered.

When Pohatu had stopped calling for him, everything had been quiet.

Quiet, and not cold.

It had always been cold, while he was here.

Always a little bit cold, and it had comforted him.

But now it was only quiet.

Quiet, and not cold.

Pohatu had started being afraid that something, in the dark, had taken him.

Pohatu had started being afraid that something, in the dark, would have taken him too.

"What are you waiting for?" Tahu asked. Pohatu was standing at the entrance of the tunnel, turned towards the hole they'd fallen through instead of following Onua as he lumbered down their only way out. "Do you hear something? Someone following us?"

"Not yet. But I'm staying here," the Toa of Stone replied softly. "I'll cover your back. Keep threats from catching up to you."

"Alone?" his Earth brother's concerned question came from deeper into the darkness.

"You'd never make it like that," Gali argued: "We've managed to handle the obstacles in this city only by working together. Leaving you alone might turn into a death sentence."

"As it almost did for Lewa," Kopaka added. His piqued tone gained an indifferent shrug from the object of his disapproval.

Pohatu stood still: "I can handle it."

"You aren't scared of the dark, are you, now?" Lewa's voice creeped up on his shoulder like a Skull Spider; within it, he could hear a mischievous grin.

He turned around, growling: "Be quiet."

Had he had any less self control, the Toa of Jungle's laugh would have ended abruptly with a fist harder than stone against his teeth.

"He is!" the nimble fighter cackled, a palm over his mask's sockets as though he could not look at his brother without being overwhelmed by the hilarity of the situation: "He truly is scared! Gloomy, fearless Pohatu is scared! This is too much!"

Nowhere near as amused as him, Gali hit him over the head with the blunt end of her trident and almost sent him sprawling on the ground. When she turned towards the Toa of Stone, her eyes told him very clearly that she was not going to entertain any more arguments on whether or not he would be left to hold the defense on his own: "Come along now."

"I said-" Pohatu tried, calling upon every ounce of his stubborness.

"And I said," she stopped him immediately - eroding his futile attempt at imposing himself over her will like a raging river smooths the rocks of its bed into inoffensive pebbles - "That, just to avoid the unsavory possibility of a large swarm of who-knows-what catching you alone here and your heroic sacrifice to keep them at bay leaving us one Toa short, you'll come along now."

Her tone left no room for rebuttals.

With a sigh that sounded more like a growl, her brother turned and followed Onua into the bowels of his element.

"Don't worry," he heard the kind giant reassure him quietly: "We'll keep you safe."

Pohatu would have snarled something much more incredibly nasty at him despite being somewhat aware of his good intentions if he hadn't been so focused on how quickly the light behind them was disappearing the more they walked, and by the time he properly processed the mortifyingly gentle words they were too far along for him to think of any sort of retort amidst his building panic.

It was dark.

Very, very dark.

Almost as dark as back then.

Almost as dark as where he'd lost the hold on that hand.

Pohatu hoped he wasn't heaving loud enough for the others to hear.

If he had turned to look around he would have seen the weak lights of their eyes only barely, not even bright enough to make out anything past the sockets of their masks; but if he had, his own eyes would have given away that he'd moved his head to look somewhere that wasn't simply ahead, and the others would have had no doubts in regards to just how nervous and uneasy he felt at that moment, and he had already decided he had been humiliated enough today to last him the rest of his lifetime, however long that would have been.

So he stared forward, into the dark emptiness that could have stolen him away without a trace at any moment, trying not to breathe too hard, so tense he could have snapped in half.

He needed to think of something else.

Something, anything else.

He thought of him.

Maybe he was here.

Somewhere in the dark.

Maybe, if Pohatu remembered his name and called for him now, loud enough, he would have finally answered.

Maybe he would have rushed over and grabbed his hand, chastising him - where in the name of Jxqx Krf were you? Did you want to scare me like that time in Hl-Txef, while we were looking for your Exr? If you were trying to make me grieve you in front of Qroxdx Lkbtx again, I'm going to freeze you into a cube - taking him away from all of this, away, somewhere cold and comforting and familiar, and Pohatu would have laughed bitterly despite himself and would have screamed that he hadn't let go, you left me there, alone and scared and in the dark, and maybe he would have yelled that everything had been changing so fast and he'd been all he'd had left that was still at least a little solid to hang onto and when he'd left him there he'd been terrified, and if he had changed it had been to be more like him, because nothing used to seem to hurt him and if he'd been anything closer to how cold and steady and rigid he had been then he would have had to survive somehow, no matter what, and then they would have argued more because they had both been so scared and worried, and then they would have made up and they would have gone out in the sun and Pohatu would have seen his face again and remembered him properly.

Maybe something could have pretended to be him.

Maybek, like that, it could have lured him away into the dark.

A horrible choked sound echoed weakly through the tunnel.

By the time the Toa had grouped tighter together against the unseen threat, Pohatu realized it had come from his own mouth.

He did not mention that.

They waited a moment, each with their backs to those of the others; then somebody (he could not tell who, he was too mortified) said: "Let's go," and they all moved again, walking closer to each other. Just in case.

Maybe it was for the better, in the end, because Pohatu inexplicably felt a little more at ease.

It could not be because he was sorrounded by people who cared for his well-being: at least as far as he told himself, he would have rather they'd left him alone back there, because the thought of being coddled like this when he was meant to be a mighty warrior was shaming him all the way down to his bones.

No, he realized with genuine surprise as he wracked his brain to figure this mystery out. It was not the numbers, or the unity; it was the temperature.

It was... Cold.

A gentle cold.

Emitted like one might emit warmth.

From somewhere at his side, near his arm.

Unconsciously, he leaned further into the chill until he softly bumped into a shoulder.

He waited.

Nothing happened.

No cold palm grabbing his hand.

No cold voice chastising him for running off.

Pohatu kept walking, limb brushing against the cold arm at every step, eyes never turning towards it, breathing a little more normally, feeling a little less panicked.

Kopaka had no idea why the Toa of Stone was suddenly so close to him, and he wasn't sure if asking would have gotten himself snarled at or simply knocked out; but through their contact he felt the other's shoulders mellow slightly, heard his footsteps turn a little less stiff as he exhaled softly in what seemed to be relief; so, as he leaned slightly against him without being shoved off, he decided that if his brother needed this at the moment he would not have dreamed of taking it away from him.

His power was a shield, after all, was it not?

And a shield needs not to be asked: it simply protects.

[softandwildx]

.

[morningmask27]

Tonight, right now, not even ten minutes ago, might have been the closest I got to an outright hatecrime

[semiotomatics]

hahaha holy fuck im so fucking stupid

i was panicking bc my internet bill was gonna be late and i didnt wanna get cut off, hence why i shared my paypal link the other day, and i did get help so i was able to pay it off, which, thank god

BUT I COMPLETELY FUCKING FORGOT I HADNT PAID MY PHONE BILL AND HAD GOTTEN A DISCONNECTION NOTICE AND NOW THEY JUST DISCONNECTED ME

im so fucking stupid im so fucking stupid oh my god how am i so fucking stupid

[mars-ipan]

i am hoping to never have to get another colonoscopy again (until i’m old enough to need to get them etc etc) but tbh i would very much like to experience the relief and comfort i felt when i woke up, was able to eat a warm meal (meatloaf + mashed potatoes, perfect comfort food (and it being soft was great bc i had had a endoscopy and broncoscopy done too so my throat was SORE)) for the first time in over 24 hours, got to wear super comfy anti-blood-clot compression boots, was on regular doses of IV tylenol and therefore the most pain free i had been in ages, and then got to sleep for the rest of the day. AND there was the joy of being told i didn’t have crohn’s. it was solid

[simcardiac-arrested]

once again sorry to everyone for bringing this to your dashboards. but some of you are like, genuinely delirious. not even in a funny way. & i hope you die. i hope we both die. hand in unlovable hand etc etc

[the-pea-and-the-sun]

jsut cleaned my apartment bathroom

[lesenbyan]

Me: listening to So You Want To Talk About Race

Me: oh I am learning a lot about my relationship to blackness in this book written by another black woman raised by a white parent (identities to that differing widely)

[monksexualizer]

i need to be alone for an enormous amount of time or i think i will go insane.