#i dont know what a light source is and i refuse to learn.

[fouenix]

"Quickly... Make a wish!"

HAPPY BRITHDAY BASIL I WAS TOO LATE BECAUSE I TOOK TOO LONG... I HOPE THIS'LL MAKE U FOR IT.

[faulty-writes]

Hey uh I dont know if you can but I'd love it if you made bakugou or some of the mha boys with a wednesday addams reader? like the one in the netflix show, use female pronounces thank you love<3

[ Hello dear Anon. So I decided to make this into a headcanon request and used three of our boys. I hope you like it. To be quite honest, I'm a fan of the original Addams Family television series from 1964, but I do love how Wednesday is portrayed in the Addams Family movies. I haven't actually seen the Netflix show, but I will do my best to combine all the knowledge I have regarding the Addams Family into this. ]

The dark and mysterious nature of you caught his attention at first, but your honesty and confidence drew him to you as well. As a girl, it was uncommon to be interested in the macabre but that was why he saw you in a different light than the damn extras he knew.

Unlike most who might see him as an angry broken boy and feel sorry for him, you loved the scent of misery and anger on him. He was a source of chaos, a source of chaos that sought to help others at all costs. But more so, he was a God who held fear in place. You had never been afraid before meeting him, and it was that fear that you loved most about him.

"Yeah, you think that'll work babe?" He enjoyed the provoking and in-depth conversations he could have with you. Although, they mostly revolved around his quirk and how he could improve his tactical skills on the field. Of course, he appreciated your violent descriptions of what you wished he could do to others, including how he should keep any blood he spilled on his person until you could see it.

"Tell anyone about this and I'll blast your damn face off!" While you seemed to enjoy threats like this, you knew that despite his explosive nature, he appreciated your emotional support. The fact that he could cry around you and show his vulnerable side was new to him and something he would need to get used to. Still, being cradled in your shadow of darkness away from the rest of the world brought him comfort.

Being a hero was once the most important thing to him and victory was the only thing on his mind during training. But over time, you consumed his thoughts. He found that you were the most significant thing to him and he wanted to be a better hero for you. Everything he did was to prove he could continue to be the one you could always look up to.

Your sense of adventure led you to do unusual or unorthodox things with Katsuki when you were free. "Yeah, you can hold my hand if you're scared babe," he'd repeatedly tell you when the two of you explored abandoned places around Japan or embarked on a haunted house tour. Although you always refused the offer, at the end of the night your fingers were interlaced. It was an odd feeling, but you never wanted to let his hand go.

He noticed your compassionate nature when you sat down next to him one day, he assumed it was because you had seen he was sitting by himself. Despite your uncanny appearance that drove most away, the fact that you held such concern for others that were misunderstood or discriminated against is something that he cherished.

"I can't b-believe how much information we just learned! T-This is amazing!" Izuku was the only person you thought was tolerable when he talked and scribbled in that small notebook of his. In addition, you enjoyed the conversations you had with him which usually involved heroism and morbidity. Unlike most, he accepted your interest in darker things and often asked you questions regarding your villain analysis.

"Yeah, I g-guess I've always felt different even when…when I got my quirk I s-still felt like I d-didn't deserve it." While the two of you could have conversations about your life experiences, sometimes the conversations got dark and frankly you loved it. Being able to dig into Izuku's mind and bring out his inner darkness only made you feel more connected to him.

While you didn't care what others thought of you, if anyone spoke badly about Izuku you'd often threaten them with the most morbid, most gruesome descriptions of what you'd do to them if they didn't stop. While Izuku appreciated how protective you were of him, and how you were always ready to defend him whenever necessary, he apologized on your behalf to the people you threatened.

On the other hand, you always encouraged Izuku to embrace his own strength and stand up for himself. You'd even explain the dangers of conforming to a society that should bend to your will. But deep down you knew he could show everyone what he was truly made of. In return, Izuku encouraged you to explore your own potential even if it was a touch too dark for most.

Izuku enjoyed keeping detailed notes about your quirk which was similar to Sir Nighteye's but with one small difference, you could see the past and the future when touching someone or something. Unfortunately, your quirk was one of the reasons you refused to be physically affectionate with Izuku, that is until he requested specially designed gloves to be made for you.

From the beginning, he immediately noticed the intriguing qualities that made your presence immaculate, as well as your guarded nature and limited attention to others. He grew fascinated by you, a beautifully morbid girl.

Your fashion sense was perplexing yet charming to him. "To clothe yourself in such a style from an era vastly different from our own is quite extraordinary!" he'd praise. Your Victorian-inspired wardrobes usually included chokers, fishnet stockings, and combat boots. Tenya could not help but remain in awe and stare at you whenever you entered the room, despite knowing staring was quite rude.

Tenya enjoyed that you shared his values regarding intellectual pursuits, although your conversations varied across different subjects. His favorite thing to discuss with you was literature. While he fell more on the academic side of it, he admired your knowledge of the darker aspects of literature like Grimm's Fairy Tales or Edgar Allan Poe's work.

While the two of you had different hobbies, you shared a love of acting. Whenever an opportunity came to put your acting skills to work during training exercises or a play Yuuei High put on, you went off script and implemented the use of fake blood during any death scene. This usually terrified the audience and your fellow classmates and angered Tenya who always screamed, "Clean up this mess at once!" At the end of the day, he accepted your eccentric taste.

Tenya respected your unique and unconventional date ideas, although he was still slightly uncomfortable whenever you insisted on having a picnic or taking a walk through the graveyard given you usually wanted to do this during the evening. He would grow protective and continuously urge that the two of you needed to be back on Yuuei property before curfew.

You and Tenya had an unusual sense of humor. Tenya didn't understand most jokes, and when he tried to tell one it fell flat. In addition, he hated when others laughed at him and often scolded them unlike you who held a dark sense of humor and whose jokes regularly made others feel uncomfortable. Still, he always tried to find some sense of comedy when you told your jokes even if they were inappropriate at times.

[murdocking]

„ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ”

- a chishiya series. ch2 ch4

masterlist

warnings + notes: mentions of sex… n*ragi…😒 just getting to the beach and getting used to chishiya. this one is short be grateful

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ:

- THE BEACH

you learned quickly that chishiya was very different from anyone you’ve met. he cooly serves truthful jabs of venom at people as though hes speaking of the weather. but you tried to cling onto the bare of companionship by offering him food and water you had packed- but he refused everytime.

“do you already have somewhere to stay?”

“yes. and it is not here.”

he continues to walk away from you, as he’s been doing for the past 2 miles since you’ve left the game arena.

“well… where is it then?” he sighs out, and you feel that you’re beginning to really annoy him at this point. “far from here.”

“how far?”

“whats with all the questions? don’t you ever stay quiet” he furrows his brows, stopping to look at you while he speaks.

chishiya seems to be like a sensitive brat, any sentence over 3 words makes him decay inside- and he’s kind of right. you have been asking him random questions this whole time.

“well i just want to… get to know you better maybe. you’re the first person i’ve been able to speak for more than 10 minutes to since i got here.” he chuckles a bit before lightly saying “they probably died to get away from you.”

ouch

but chishiya lets his own voice sink in and he realizes the cruelty of his words and cringes a bit inside, turning quickly and resuming his walk, “are you planning on following me like some creep?”

you take this as an invitation

“maybe…” though you can’t see him clearly, his hood blocking his face and the moonlight sky being the only source of light- chishiya seems slightly pleased by this response.

its dark, and cold. but only for a little while. when chishiya leads you past a certain corner, thats when you see it.

a hotel resort, brightly shining across the way. you can hear faint music playing and girls jumping and giggling.

“come on” he continues to guide you to the mysterious place’s entrance- not before running into a stranger. his face makes your arms tingle with nerves and fear.

“oh chishiya? you planning on having fun tonight huh?” he leans and rolls his shoulders under the rifle he carries, chuckling just inches away from your face. you feel queasy, his eyes stare and check you out with evil- and you wonder just what did chishiya get you into.

“no niragi. we’re going to see hatter, she’d like to join the beach.”

the beach?

niragi tsks, and leans back before looking at you dead in the eye despite speaking to his beach counterpart. “can’t wait to see her here then. dont be greedy either chishiya”

the creepy pierced man looks at you longer, enjoying the unpleasant face you’re making before walking off into a crowd of bikini wearing women who loudly giggle at his presence.

“ignore him, hes an idiot anyways.” chishiya doesn’t even look at you before making his way into the resort, locating the staircase and wasting no time to go up them. you wouldn’t exactly say you’re feeling that safe at the moment. the run-in with the creepo outside has made you quite unsettled.

“chishiya, if you dont mind me asking” he turns to look at you and you can definitely tell he does mind you asking. “what exactly is this place… what am i joining specifically?” chishiya inhales a quick breath before continuing to walk up the stairs.

“the beach is like a refugee camp, but partying if you will.”

“you dont seem like the party type”

he smiles “glad you realize.”

“so why are you here?”

he pauses for a second, not too long- but long enough for you to notice something is missing from your understanding of your newfound companion.

“hatter will explain it all to you, hes the leader. im simply an executive.” he lifts his arm up, his sleeve falling slightly to expose the beach bracelet he wears, the number 11 printed onto it.

hatter originally gave you the impression of some passive leader, but once he leads you into his personal quarters- without chishiya present, you’re feeling as though the whole place is filled with creeps.

theres a topless woman grinding herself onto his leg while he stares at your frame behind his dimmed sunglasses, swirling his gross liquor in his hand.

once again, you’re feeling small- and slightly scared.

you lower your gaze, his stare is getting too much.

“not sure how much chishiya has told you… but first things first you need a bikini.”

“e-excuse me..?”

you lift your head up quickly and hes menacingly smiling “thats a rule here at the beach. cant hide weapons when youre wearing swimwear. i’ll have someone get something for you don’t worry.” you just nod

“here at the beach, you can enjoy it all. the food, drinks, partying… sex! there’s no limit here. but, a few things.”

he shuffles and slightly pushes the woman on his lap off onto the couch instead, she huffs a bit but resorts to nibbling onto his ear as he leans forward to rest his elbows onto the table in front of you both

“here, all beach members go to games for me. we collect the cards, searching for the answer to these games. and searching for a way out. you’ll be sent to some games, and if you live i expect you to give me the card at the end.”

the card..? you gasp lightly and tell him “wait!” and reach inside your pocket.

his face transforms into a dear smile as he leans closer and snatches the two of diamonds card from your hand

“wow… good job. none of my members have been able to locate this card, shame cus its such a low difficulty.” he examines the card and you nervously laugh, playing with the strings of your pants

“another rule, all doors are unlocked. not a single lock is on these doors- except for the higher positions like myself.” he takes a swig of his drink before continuing. “finally, we bring death to all traitors. you’re a part of the beach now. and you’ll stay a part of it until you die.” his playful demeanor has cut out like a bad signal, and he stares at you blankly- observing how you’ll react.

it takes a minute, but you clear your throat and begin to speak

“can i choose my own swimsuit?”

it takes a while, but you concoct a mix-and-match set that gave more coverage than your other options within your size.

you just decided on a swimsuit skirt set- though you’ll admit the v-plunge of the top was a bit more than what you’d like. the beach bracelet reminds you of the diamond’s bracelet- and you resist the urge to scratch at it.

you search for an empty hotel room, preferably one where theres no discarded clothes littering the bed- or worse… the people doing it on the bed.

eventually you get settled and let your body melt into the plump mattress and thats when you start to feel the exhaustion on your body.

you decide that nows a good time to sleep.

until your hunger wakes you up when dusk sets in. though you truthfully don’t want to go downstairs and feel exposed in the swimsuit, you accept that this is how you’ll have to live your life until you either die or leave the games.

[ashesandhackles]

The Hogwarts Express scene in Prince's Tale: A Sirius and Snape analysis

I really, really enjoy Sirius and Snape as characters and their respective narrative functions in story. But what gets me most about them is how much Rowling hints about their backgrounds and so much of it makes sense with regard to who they are as adults. So I am going to be breaking down a very small scene from Prince Tale and getting into long winded hypothesis about their respective childhoods.

So, let's start with Snape. The scene begins with Snape rushing to find Lily, already in his Hogwarts clothes. Harry notes he must have been eager to get out of his clothes - ones that look like he borrowed from his mother, as Petunia spitefully pointed out. This has always been a very interesting detail to me - first off, it indicates how poor Snape's family is. Second, this indicates his tiny rebellion from his father - he refuses to wear clothes of the abusive man, and prefers his mother's. I admit, I am partial to the reading that Snape refuses to associate with his father in tiny ways, rather than Tobias refusing to hand his son clothes.

(I have seen readings which say that it is also a sign of neglect - perhaps his parents bought clothes that simply don't fit him, but I am more inclined to think it's a hand me down, simply because Harry identifies so strongly with it. Because Harry knows what it is like to wear a hand me down that don't quite fit, that are too big for you, or the ones that make you look ridiculous.)

Lily and Petunia's relationship is fraught with Petunia's jealousy. And young Lily is upset over it when Snape meets her. "I am not talking to you. Tuney hates me" she tells him. "Because we saw the letter from Dumbledore". Young Lily shows signs of being extremely emotionally reactive and this scene is one of them. It's easier for her to deal with Petunia's rejection of her by telling Snape she doesn't want to talk to him. It's a childish displacement of her hurt over her sister's rejection. (I am genuinely baffled by interpretations that Lily and Hermione are similar. Hermione is very cognitive person, Lily, as we have been shown repeatedly in memories, is not).

Snape, however, with his bad history with Petunia and his inability/ poor social skills to understand why this matters to her, goes: "So what?"

Lily, who throws him a look of deep dislike, says "So she's my sister". This seed is important because this is what develops into "he doesn't get me" feeling she later displays in her teenage scenes with him. Interestingly, most of Lily's personal relationships have deeply interwined love and dislike - Petunia (whose rejection bothers her but she cheerfully informs Sirius that Harry nearly broke a vase her sister sent - which means there is resentment on her end too), James - who she was attracted to even before 7th year but also disliked at one point, and Snape - again, a contentious friendship filled with love and distance.

"She's only a -" we dont get to hear what Snape intended to say. And given his own acrimony with Petunia, it could be anything. However, I read it as "She's only a Muggle" because it ties into his feelings about his father. Snape, who is proud of being half a Prince, emphasizing his magical lineage from his mother's side, his refuge in a violent, neglectful home. (Barty Crouch Jr and Snape with their disappointing fathers - I imagine Voldemort is supremely attractive leader to people with broken homes like this)

Snape, by all accounts, shows a disorganised attachment style. His caregiver, his mother - and perhaps the only parent he seems to have regard for, is too preoccupied by her own abuse to be there for her son - we see this in glimpses Harry sees in OOTP: " woman cowering" where a man shouts at her, and a young, neglected Snape cries in the corner. Children born in homes like this have trouble regulating their emotions, simultaneously displaying tendencies to aggressively lash out or show disassociative symptoms. Both of which Snape displays. Statistically, this is also seen more in low income households where economic instability and resulting domestic instability creates an unsafe environment for the kids to safely form ideas of their identity, or express emotions in healthy ways, modelling instead out of behaviour seen at home.

Then, Snape reminds her that they are going to Hogwarts. He is already in his Hogwarts clothes - now, Snape gets to be the impressive figure. The one who told her about magic, who theorised about how Muggles get letters from magical people, the one who told her about Dementors and Azkaban. He has already left behind the Spinner's End version of him, he wants to bigger than that, and is keen to be in place of magical learning and to join Slytherin. Essentially, he shows signs of unstable identity, insecurity - all prime for grooming into a cult.

And here comes along James Potter, who looks around at the mention of Slytherin. James's comment uses Snape's line and directs it to Sirius instead and it becomes a conversation between them, as a way to bond more with a fellow "rowdy boy" Sirius. Effectively ignoring the other two.

Sirius as we see here, "does not smile" when James talks about Slytherin. He essentially says something that can be construed as a way to nip that conversation in bud: "My whole family has been in. Slytherin". This suggests to me that there is some loyalty to his family there and his disillusionment with them isn't entirely fixed yet. After all, Sirius's intense loyalty to his friends, more specifically James, did not come out of thin air. It is reasonable to suggest that he felt some loyalty to his family at some point and the intensity with which he regards his friends is a reaction to burned off and being a "displaced person without a family" as Rowling put it.

Interestingly, while his reaction to his mother and Bellatrix are obviously sore spots, his response to Regulus is comparatively quite soft. ("Stupid, idiot" - something he calls James later on in the same book, OOTP). I imagine Sirius has quite complicated feelings about his brother and he is capable of nuance (when the person isn't Snape, where his dislike seems to be borne of an intense projection): "The world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters". As someone who is grown up among them, Sirius would understand that.

His framing of Regulus's need to please his parents also further highlights what exactly is the source of disillusionment. He calls Regulus "soft enough to believe them" - which means he is crediting his own intelligence to see through his parents bigoted world view. Clearly, bigotry is not something the Blacks explained in a way that Sirius, eldest of their male line and their heir, bought it. It also probably didn't help the Blacks case that Grimmauld Place is in a Muggle neighborhood and that their eldest son is a bit of a wild boy with interest in pushing boundaries. His intellectual disconnect leads to the righteous rage he later feels but it began there. (Boy, it must suck to discover that everything you have been taught to value in the world and in yourself as the heir is essentially rubbish). Since his differences with his family began with seeds of intellectual disconnect rather than on intense empathy with downtrodden, it makes him, as a pureblooded privileged boy, unable to truly understand Lupin's fears regarding his lycanthropy. Hence, the Werewolf prank (I am not getting to the Snape bit, just the Lupin bit). To James' credit, he does understand what that means for Lupin and saves all three of them from different set of consequences.

Anyway, back to the scene. James, who has made an ass of himself in front of his new friend, who he was getting along with fine until now, then goes "Blimey, I thought you seemed alright". (Btw, I find James wildly large ego kind of hilarious here, especially in light of Snape's comment about him to Sirius in OOTP: "You will know he is so arrogant that criticism simply bounces off him"). Sirius, who I believe has been raised like "royalty" as Blacks would, has good enough social skills to defuse a situation. He grins and says: "Maybe I will break the tradition".

This line is an indication of Sirius's desire for independence, an identity seperate from his family. The use of the word "tradition" is interesting. It sounds like Sirius is expected to behave in a certain way, the heir of Black family whose parents thought being a Black "made you practically royal". Adult Sirius is contemptuous of this, or their "valuable contribution to Ministry" which means they just gave gold - it tells me that any and all conditions put on him by his family were to fulfill tradition that is either worthless or holds no meaning in his eyes. The root of the emotional abuse Sirius suffers from his family is this - realising his parents love for him is conditional on him being a certain way. (In fact, you can read Regulus desire to emphasise his connection to the family as a reaction to what he sees with Sirius - Sirius does not behave, Mum and Dad don't love him). As a child with unconscious knowledge of lack of love, Sirius then acts out, they react, rinse and repeat "until he has had enough". Sirius chafes against boundaries well into adulthood and doesn't react well to people enforcing it on him, even if it is out of love for him. Cue the fire scene with Harry where he behaves as if Harry is rejecting him instead of protecting him.

Sirius asks James about where he wants to go, and Snape, who is incensed about James being insulting about a House he put stock in, which he made part of new identity (so that he is no longer that Snape boy from Spinner's End) and was in general trying to be impressive about in front of Lily, "makes a disparaging noise" once James talks of Gryffindor. Snape's response to James' : "Got a problem with that?" is interesting. He says: "If you'd rather be brawny, rather than brainy-"

This is an important value for Snape. He knows he is clever and values it. He spends his spare time inventing hexes, making great shortcuts to Potions. He has genuine thirst for learning and he hones it. In SWM, we see that he has written far more longer answers than anyone else, he is poring over his paper after exams. He even mocks Hermione's lack of inventive answers: "Answer copied word to word from the textbook, but correct in essentials". He values originality. It may be me stretching this, but I am partial to the reading: this is his way of rejecting his father once again, who is implied to be a violent man. (in other words, someone who is hypermasculine - "brawny". In fact, Snape's rejection of hypermasculinity is a huge post on it's own - Potions (brewing, cauldrons - coded as feminine arts), the doe Patronus, his proficiency in Occlumency and Legliemency (intuitive mind arts, again seen archetypically feminine) etc).

"Where are you hoping to go, seeing as you are neither?" - Sirius is quick with emotionally cutting insults. Snape hasn't even finished his sentence, but Sirius is already on his case. Which suggests growing up in a household with sharp tongues. It's a fair assumption, given Mrs Black's half mad portrait. It also tallies with Sirius's talking about his mother: "My mother didn't have a heart Kreacher, she kept herself alive out of pure spite" . The wounds are fresh enough on this. (Another interesting way Snape and Sirius act as inverse mirrors - Snape rejects his father, Sirius rejects his mother. Sirius acts as proxy for James for Harry while Snape takes on Lily's role of protecting him). However, you know who else is spiteful? Sirius.

While James is the physical bully (the tripping Snape, doing most of the bullying in SWM), Sirius attacks emotionally. ( Sample the one about Snape's appearance - "I was watching him, his nose was touching the parchment, there will be great grease marks all over it, they won't be able to read a word" or even the carelessly vicious- "Put that away, before Wormtail wets himself in excitement"). Curiously, with all that talk of how his mother being spiteful, it's her room he spends time in when he is depressed. (Again, in inverse mirror way, we can talk of how Snape looks for a father figure in Dumbledore - craves his validation and is proud of Dumbledore's trust in him). We could argue it's also because Buckbeak is there, and perhaps it's the largest room in the house, but it's very telling that's where Sirius spends time when he is "in a fit of sullens". Sirius's sense of abandonment from his family, makes him look for family connections with friends - a trait he shares with Harry. Interestingly, the first time he glimpses Harry in Privet Drive, Harry is also running away from home - just like he did. Anyway, I could go on.

[unabashegirl]

Pax Romana; Part I

Author’s note: Hey everyone, here is the first part of this mini-series. I hope you like it! Let me know if you want to be on the tag list. Also, REQUESTS ARE OPEN only for H. 

DISCLAIMER; I DONT KNOW ITALIAN! (only English, French and Spanish) I clearly used a translator. I am aware their translations are SHIT sometimes. Therefore I am sorry if I butcher it! I didn’t mean to!

masterlist 

----

Harry Styles, can still recall the first day he was enthralled by her conspicuous beauty. At first, he reckoned he had done the unavoidable. He had moved to Italy for the summer, and he had managed to fall in love with an Italian girl; that he had never spoken to. He had only observed her from afar — too shy to ever think of approaching her. Nonetheless, the young woman was a sight to behold.  He promised himself that he would only watch from afar. It felt forbidden and somewhat illegal. The feeling that bubbled within him was enough reason to continue his study of her.

After his first visit to Italy, he had fallen in love with the country. Hence, why he had rented out a house in a coastal town. The country’s natural and effortless beauty inspired him to write new music for his upcoming album. The beautiful sunsets, the sunny mornings, the art, and the food brought peace and tranquility to him. It was the perfect place for him to hide — for a while.  It was on one of his morning runs; he first noticed her. 

She wore a bright yellow bikini that exposed most of her olive skin to the sun rays. She sat on a striped towel that she had laid out on the hot sand.  Her hair was slicked back and wet after she had dipped in the ocean to refresh her body. 

Of course, she never caught sight of his dilated pupils or the way he had leaned forward — lured by her beauty.  Her attention was preoccupied with a hardcover of Pride and Prejudice; that she had brought along as a source of entertainment for the day.  The young woman appeared too indulged in the printed words to notice his existence. 

He watched her for a few hours. Now and then he would remind himself of the hundred reasons why he shouldn’t approach. He had even managed to take a few steps towards her. Harry eventually removed himself as soon as it became too much. He had beaten the temptation. 

The first time he spoke to her was at a local restaurant. Harry had taken himself out on a late lunch date. He had dressed up nicely and had walked to the bistro. He noticed her presence after taking his first sip out of his freshly served Chardonnay. She sat on the table across from him. This time she wasn't submerged in a book. He could finally admire her natural beauty up close. The fullness of the apples of her cheeks, her long dark eyelashes, her red-tinted lips, and of course light sunburn on her upper cheeks and across the bridge of her nose. 

A few minutes later, her order had arrived. It was ricotta and mushroom stuffed ravioli in a black truffle sauce. She was stuffing her face when they made eye contact. Harry’s lips curved upwards creating a lopsided smile as she scrambled to clean the creamy sauce off her face. He hadn't said anything to her, but she already felt embarrassed. 

”Sono deliziosa?” He had done it. He couldn’t just watch her and pray she’d take the first step. It was time to put his Italian to the test. He had been practicing his Italian and even though he already had a few weeks on the Amalfi coast; he still struggled to comprehend. Harry only hoped she would be able to understand him.

”E molto deliziosa” She smiled at him for the first time. She beamed, radiating an intoxicating wave of warmth and happiness towards him. Her lips parted open for a split second but before she could utter a word the waiter approached. 

“Hai bisogno di qualcos’ altro?”  He was asking her if she needed anything else. She understood what he was asking, but she couldn’t remember how to say cheese.

“Fuck” she said under her breath. “Queso. Fromage. Cheese” She had forgotten how to speak. All her languages had mixed in one and the wires had crossed. “How do you say it?” She whispered under her breath, her cheeks warmed in embarrassment as the waiter tried to comprehend. 

“Formaggio. Ha bisogno di formaggio parmigiano, per favore” Harry interrupted, noticing her uneasiness and her inevitable embarrassment. He knew that it wasn’t his business and he shouldn’t have been listening to the conversation, but he had to help her. 

The waiter turned his attention to the young celebrity. He was also a bit surprised that Harry had spoken for her. He had seen that Harry kept to himself. He usually attended dinner on his own and hardly even bothered to use his phone. “Inmediatamente”. 

“Thank you” She thanked Harry as soon as the waiter had left in search of the parmesan cheese that she so craved. Harry’s excessive focus on watching the server carrying out her request had prevented him from realizing that she spoke perfect English. He had to stop himself from gasping when processed her delicate voice. She had an accent. Slight. Gentle. Barely-there and it wasn’t Italian. He would later learn that her R’s made it more prominent. 

“It’s alright. It happens” She instantly recognized who he was. Her heart raced for a minute or two, but she restrained herself from making a huge scene. After all, it was Harry Styles. Whom she considered, the most stylish man of her generation. The man could wear a curtain and still pull it off. “I am Harry” He rises a bit from his seat, extending his right hand. 

“Catalina” She shakes his hand with a smile. “So, what brings you here?” Even her name was attractive — he wondered. 

“Is’not obvious?” 

“Not really. Enlighten me” The stranger gives him a small smirk while placing her napkin over her lap after crossing her legs under the table. Harry purges his lips as he uses his index finger and thumb to slightly tug on his bottom lip. 

His whole plan to stay away from her had failed. Did he regret it?. Hell no! He just hoped he had chosen wisely. 

“The art” He reveals as he watches her cut one of her ravioli before putting it in her mouth. She responds by only nodding; too indulged in the explosion of flavors within her mouth. 

“Music?” She hums as she brings the glass of wine up to her mouth. “ I thought you were more of a  dolce far niente type of man” her mouth curved into a smile. Dolce far niente means pleasant relaxation in carefree idleness. Harry instantly identified the phrase from Julia Roberts's famous movie — Eat, Pray, Love. She remembered reading somewhere that he was a rom-com fan. 

“Are you?” He shot back. There was no doubt that he was intrigued by her. 

“Si” She shrugged as she pushed around some ravioli. 

“Then we have more in common than I thought, Catalina” Her name rolled off his tongue without any strain. It was as if he had been practicing for months. She had never heard her name sound so attractively. Sure, he had an accent, but it was still beautifully pronounced. 

Harry’s order arrived moments later. He had ordered the classic spaghetti bolognese. He grabbed his fork and knife and right before digging into the plate, he looked up at her. Catalina had been watching him since silence had fallen upon them. His smirk grew into a soft chuckle as their eyes met. She giggled at him and first noticed his dimples. She now understood everyone's obsession with his smile. 

“Would you join me?” Catalina spluttered after a few minutes of mentally debating with herself. She felt her heart beating in her throat and her hands dripping with sweat as other parts of her body. It was all very hot. 

Catalina wasn’t the type of woman to initiate conversation. She rarely even texts first!. Her excuse is usually that she doesn’t want to bother or interrupt. In reality, she is scared shitless to make a fool out of herself. Therefore, she was quite surprised by herself to have asked him to have dinner together. 

Harry cocked his head with his lips pursed. To her, he looked very pensive as if he was making a big decision. She didn’t blame him. He was on vacation and the last thing he wanted was to be photographed with a random girl and for questions to be asked. Although, he had already agreed in his mind. He just couldn’t come across as desperate. Even though he was. Harry wanted to know more. 

His fingers tucked his clothed napkin into the collar of his shirt. A chuckle left his lips as he pushed his seat back and raised on his feet. He held his plate and utensils with one hand while his glass of wine with the other. 

“So, where are you from?” Harry was first to ask, as he twisted his spaghetti around his folk. Catalina leaned back on her seat, her fingers clenching around her wine glass as she finished swallowing. “I am English” he laughs as if his accent didn’t give it away. 

“Really? Bet my life you were Italian” Catalina bantered 

“What gave it away?” 

“The facial hair and the good head of locks” Harry grinned covering his face with his hands, feeling his cheeks heating up. He felt ridiculous for blushing at such a minuscule compliment. “But anyway, I was born in South America, but raised in Spain by my aunt”. She revealed playing with the small droplets around the cup of ice water that had been forgotten. 

“And what are you doing here?” 

“I study here” She had just finished her first semester. “Well not here, but in Rome. I am majoring in art history”.

The not so strangers sat for hours and indulged in one more bottle of wine. Harry encouraged her to pick but she politely refused. She said that she hadn’t spent enough time in Italy to know what was best. 

She told him about her parents. Her father had walked out on her mother after she had told him that she was expecting. Catalina also shared with him how she felt after losing her mother to cancer when she was only ten. She was quite surprised at herself. She had never shared so much with anyone. Let alone, someone she had met that same night. Harry brought her some kind of comfort that she had no idea she needed. 

Harry listened to her. She hadn’t finished speaking and answering his previous question and he already had another one formulated. He liked hearing her speak. She allowed him to pick at her brain and he liked what he saw. She was driven, independent, somewhat lonely, but incredibly smart. Catalina was also unbelievably wise for her age. 

“What about you? Is fame all you thought it would be?” Catalina asked moments after they had been kicked out of the restaurant. They eventually had to close. Harry held what was left of the bottle as they walked down the isolated streets. 

“That’s a heavily loaded question” He chuckled, “It’s way more complicated and difficult. I think I expected to never feel lonely by the continuous abundance of people around me. But in reality, sometimes it feels lonelier than when I was just Harry” Harry shrugged, masking the pain that the vulnerability that he suddenly felt.

“I get it. The screams and faces don’t match the number of people close to you” Catalina was not famous but she could understand where he was coming from. Sure, her aunt had raised her, but she had felt lonely for most of her life. Her mother's death had felt a gaping hole in her life that no one has ever been able to fulfill. 

“M’not ungrateful for my friends but I do feel lonely. I guess I haven't found what I am looking for” Harry flashed her a reassuring smile as they walked down to the main road. “Let me help yeh” He had seen her struggling to walk over the cobblestone streets. She wore low heel sandals that complemented the white satin dress that she has opted for. Unfortunately, the heels were thin enough to slip through the stones making her overly cautious where she stepped. 

Harry switched the bottle to his other hand and offered his hand for her to take. She stopped momentarily and stared at his massive hands. They were bare. His famous rings were missing as if they had gone on a vacation too. She took his hand and was slightly surprised at their softness. She had expected them to be rough but they were quite the opposite. 

“Thank you” 

“No problem” He wanted to spend more time with her. He wished that the night wasn’t ending. “I would invite you for some gelato, but it’s quite late. I doubt there is any place opened” 

“How long are you staying?” Catalina asked as she noticed them approaching the entrance of her hotel. 

“A few more weeks” the splendor of the lights of the entrance of the hotel illuminated her features. Harry couldn’t help thinking how lovely she looked. 

“I’ve had a lovely time. Will I see you tomorrow?” 

“M’not planning on goin anywhere” Catalina reached up, resting a delicate hand on his shoulder, she kissed his cheek. 

“I’ll see you around then” She gave him a little wave as she walked her way through the doors. She would later realize that she hadn’t only kissed him because it was part of her culture and tradition but because he managed to ignite a flame within her — that one had ever done before. 

[the-phantom-ender]

okay serious entity assignments time now because i said i might yesterday and i am better rested now.

first off, ill say that like... i dont know everything about every empire, i might be a little off base with some of the members i know less about.

second, the thing about aligning characters with entities is that it doesnt tend to be as easy as just something they fear. they also have to thrive in it. if all it took was fear, there would be lots of people marked directly by the web, if all it took was the ability to thrive, most introverts would be marked by the lonely. it takes a careful balance of both (unless the characters hand is forced, which we do technically see in t.ma canon at least once) for someone to be effectively marked by a fear, much less be an avatar (which is... a loose term at best but i digress because the explanatory bit is getting long dfjkhdf)

stuffs under the cut because it got. long. and feel free to share your own thoughts about them!!

shelby: an interesting case where my gut said corruption but upon reflection i think aligning her with the eye makes more sense? she definitely is shaped by corruption, but her arc thus far has mostly revolved around her desire to learn and her fear of what that knowledge might reveal. after her encounters with xornoth, she also seems very nervous about the idea of being watched.

lizzie: the vast is obvious for her, but it does make sense. its the fear of heights and deep waters and human insignificance, infinity. lizzie absolutely thrives in the depths and holds no fear for the waters but she does show hesitance when it comes to leaving. the danger comes from the outside, the other. which seems more like the lonely, sure, but the vast and lonely link greatly.

joel: im a little biased with the desolation alignment for joel because of 3l. i still think it could work for empires, but... the stranger might work better. i dont think theres anything quite as 'stranger' as filling your home with statues of yourself, giving workers your face, but everything is just slightly... wrong. be it that they dont fit quite right or that their limbs are leather and wood. Unfamiliarity, the uncanny.

gem: so id originally said eye for gem but @loganprobably (i hope the tags cool sjgkhdfh) mentioned the lonely and... both work i think. gem has an appreciation for knowledge, for awareness and learning. but shes also in a position where she both isolates herself and gets overly involved. being one of the people to try to ally with everyone but having a clear side picked. the welcome and the shunning. whats a girl gotta do for some peace and quiet?

scott: scott is... hard. itd be so easy to just throw lonely or eye at him because he stays to himself and knows a lot. id wager the web might work better, though. he keeps his distance, keeps an eye on all that goes on, and... makes no moves. he waits, plans ahead. if war brews he needs to be able to side with the winners. he shows a distain for the idea of being controlled and avoids situations where he could be. hes careful with his choices when theyre made.

jimmy: jimmy. lonely, but for a different reason than gem would be. he is friendly and kind and cares deeply for others, yet hes so clearly... the outcast, even within his own circles. hes the picked on, the betrayed. a friend to all but loved, respected, by none. in his times of need he is forgotten, silenced. yet he doesnt seem to hate the loneliness, just the fact that no one came.

joey: oh god here we go. joeys hard to pin down. the hunt might work? he could fall into the lonely but being lost doesnt inherently mean lonely (it actually ties more in with the vast). i say the hunt, though, because he refuses to back down from his stances, even if theyre objectively wrong, and will do so by whatever means necessary. hell instigate the death of others for the sake of getting what he wants.

fwhip: the slaughter. sacrifice and destruction follow him in everything and he thrives in it. his violence isnt entirely mindless but he has a penchant for war and the things that go into it. heres where my stuff starts getting less cohesive as i watch these members much less ;^^

sausage: the corruption and the desolation lay equal claim on sausage. in everything he plays tricks and feigns niceties and makes himself out to be the one in the right. all the way he makes it seem as if hes kind and just in his actions even if his motives are chaos and destruction. he still holds a fear for things going wrong and holds tight to his alliances.

pixl: the end. his vigil is very very 'end' to me. death, to him, is inevitable, a fact of life, and he choses to honor it and give it respect. in all things he does he knows death to be a cause and an end to the means. even if his trickery may just be a signal of the spiral... whos to say?

katherine: okay. bear with me for this one, yeah? the flesh. no im not only saying this because of the bone garden. the fear that we are just meat and bones, the realization that animals go to the slaughter. i believe its a fact that many involved with the flesh become vegetarian after encounters and her whole thing is plants. she shows a distaste for killing animals but a desire to use them in projects.

pearl: the dark. yes, this is the obvious choice, but i do have reason beyond it. pearls character in empires is directly contrary to her name. she revels in the light and lives around sunflowers and growth. despite this she will let herself work into the night, she will let herself turn a blind eye to damage being done. what she cant see cant hurt her.

bonus:

xornoth: the extinction. i know there are no actual avatars of the extinction in the source, however: it makes sense, right? more than this creature is corruption or the end it wants mortals gone. it wants mortals gone and to be released and freed to do this deed.

[kiriluvbot]

NO ONE ASKED BUT IM HERE TO SUPPLY ANYWAY!

sero hanta headcanons for the soul

- asexual, pan-romantic!

- uses they/he pronouns (didn’t know they could have different pronouns until he met tokoyami, and they spent their entire first year having a crisis over it)

- i know it’s old and overused but this kid is a hufflepuff, through and through

- CHILD OF APHRODITE. i take no criticism.

- a heartthrob among his entire grade, not just class A, but B as well, and the general course, and the business course,, AND the support course. everyone loves sero hanta.

- a natural charmer but is literally not aware that they make everyone within a 400 meter radius of them swoon

- until kaminari tells him in their second year. homie. youre fucking hot. and mina says, use it to your advantage. SO HE DOES.

- third year sero hanta is a force to be reckoned with, let me tell you. using their charm along with their natural ability to just. Befriend anyone (including a brick WALL tbh) to get his way. they get their way, they Know Everything. everyone knows his name by the time he graduates.

- The Older Sibling friend. not quite the mom friend or even the dad friend, but the older sibling. he’s a constant source of comfort and dependability among his class, but theyre also an agent of chaos that likes to cause problems On Purpose just to see what’ll happen. they never get caught being the instigator tho. no one can ever catch him.

- likes to watch aforementioned chaos from the sidelines. a mediator and an excellent negotiator. keeps his friends (cough, bakugo) from murdering each other or other people (cough, monoma)

- i like to think he’s the eldest child with two or three younger sisters and maybe a baby brother. their parents divorced right before sero started high school, and he and his siblings live with their mom. she’s a real lovely lady.

- since he’s the eldest, he kinda knows how to take care of people. sick people, sad people, hungry people. they can read and understand people really well if they really matter to him.

- most of the time there’s just wii music in their head tho

- they weren’t super great at prioritizing themselves/taking care of themselves when he first moved in to the dorms, but with time and help from his friends, they keep getting better at it

- sero gets his looks from his dad and his attitude from his mother. again, i imagine she’s a real lovely lady.

- their love language is physical touch! with so many younger siblings and his natural Eldest Sibling Vibe, it’s only natural for him to be super cuddly and affectionate!

- while it may not be their love language, sero also probably really likes spending quality time with his friends. they like going out, they like being loud and having a blast, but the kid also wouldn’t mind sitting in his room with his friends in silence while everyone did their own individual thing.

- the kind of person that sleeps with one pillow only and one blanket only

- probably runs warm, kicks off the blanket in the summer time. either sleeps on his back stretched out like a starfish or curled into themselves like a baby. no in between.

- has a pair of underwear they call their “lucky underwear” and it’s just a pair with spider-man’s face as the pattern.

- the kid does not have regular chairs in his dorm. it’s bean bags or the floor, man.

- they also have a hammock . i’ve seen this repeating trope in every single fic i’ve ever read

- keeps a stash of snacks in his room! but it’s a trade system. kaminari gets m&ms for cheek kisses, kirishima gets beef jerky for his most rib crushing hug, and todoroki gets gummy worms if he shares his manga.

- has led lights that are connected to his speaker and changes color every time a song changes

- has only three playlists. only three.

- they’re titled, respectively: “u yearning bastard,,” “monch monch”, “for pissing bkg off”

- he still listens to the jonas brothers, lots of big time rush, but also fleetwood mac and abba. frank ocean, lorde,,,, but also. they know every word to both mama mia soundtracks.

- absolutely adores horror + romance movies and not much else

- he tries getting into star wars for kirishima’s sake but he literally cannot keep up with the plot for shit.

- can quote the entirety of the notebook with mina (it infuriates bakugo to no end when those two ask to watch it for the fifth time in a week)

- has never tried an energy drink in their life, absolutely refuses to because caffeine makes him Shake and he hates the feeling

- drinks a lot of tea tho! with momo and todoroki!

- favorite snack is oranges. this kid always has oranges.

- aside from satou and bakugo, sero is probably one of the best cooks in their class

- resident pretty boy. did i mention everyone loves them? seriously. he even has the ever so stoic shouto todoroki pining after him.

- had a huge growth spurt the summer after second year began. it pissed off all their friends because he finally passed 6’ while the others were still stuck at 5’9 or below.

- by graduation, sero reached 6’3, and bakugo was still mad, because bakugo never passed 5’10.

- really grew into himself by the end of high school, finally learning how they wanted to express themselves with his clothing style, hair and *clenches fist* piercings

- started painting his nails the summer before their third year and hasnt stopped

- glorious, curly mullet. bejeweled hair pins. jean jackets and platform docs. piercings all the way up his ears. a nose ring and a smiley. (if you don’t know what a smiley is, i beg you to search it up. it’s the cutest fucking thing i’ve ever seen in my life and i want one so bad)

- ochaco is the one who cuts sero’s hair in third year.

- he got most of his piercings alongside bakugo or kaminari, but when they went to get the nose ring, they’d gone with iida and midoriya. and when he got the smiley, he went with todoroki, who squeezed his hand when the needle went through, even if todoroki wasn’t the one getting pierced.

- one time he and denki shaved their legs and arms and Everything to see if it would make them “more aerodynamic” ( “haha dont u mean /sero/dynamic?” “shut up”)

- strangely flexible. everywhere. it makes shouji shiver and jirou gag. it makes todoroki stare with wide, disbelieving eyes.

- really bad handwriting. like. what the fuck.

- that doesn’t stop them from writing cards for each of his friends for their birthdays, for christmas. it doesn’t stop them from writing letters to todoroki (even if he ended up shredding them and throwing them away after they were finished so no one would ever find them. he wanted to ask bakugo to incinerate them, just to be safe, but they didn’t want bakugo, or anyone else, that he had written love letters to shouto todoroki.)

(....not until after they confessed and finally started dating in their third year.)

- finger guns. unironically.

- is a surprisingly good dancer and a passable singer!!!!!!!!

- sings in the shower. also dances in the shower, but one time they fell and hit the wall connecting his and todoroki’s room, and todoroki thought he might’ve died. came to his door and didn’t bother knocking to check and see if they were alright. sero didn’t dance in the shower for a long time after that.

- his favorite color is yellow, but they also really, really like red.

- doesn’t have a fucking phone case on their phone.

- earbuds falling apart but he just keeps putting more tape over them because they really don’t wanna buy new ones (kirishima bought him a pair for christmas because he didn’t want sero to get electrocuted from broken earbuds. sero ensured him he would likely not get electrocuted just from some earbuds, but took the gift anyway)

- smell checks their clothes like a HEATHEN

- is in love with shouto todoroki.

that’s all :) sero hanta is my number one best boy and i love them dearly.

[lexi-evans]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚢 | 𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝙿𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚇 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

“come on!! This way” He motioned.Ron and Ginny marched in obediently; Hermione, Neville, and Luna squashed themselves in after them; Harry took one glance back at the thestrals, now foraging for scraps of rotten food inside the dumpster, then forced himself into the box after Luna.

“Ready, y/n? ” He held out his hand, you happily grabbed it. Meeting the others.

“Whoever’s nearest the receiver, dial six two four four two!” he said. Ron did it, his arm bent bizarrely to reach the dial. As it whirred back into place the cool female voice sounded inside the box, “Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.”

“Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger,” Harry said very quickly, “Ginny Weasley, Y/N Y/L/N, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood . . . We’re here to save someone, unless your Ministry can do it first!” You looked around boringly.

“Thank you,” said the cool female voice. “Visitors, please take the badges and attach them to the front of your robes.” Half a dozen badges slid out of the metal chute where returned coins usually appeared. Hermione scooped them up and handed them mutely to Harry over Ginny’s head; he glanced at the topmost one.

After the verification, All of you entered the Atrium. You carefully scanned the Arena. “where's the security? ” You asked, finding no one at the place.“I don't know, Hey! Hey!Y/N!Sweetheart, stay close to me! Don't wander if like that, you're gonna be me a heart attack” Harry grabbed you're hand, his firm grip tightened making sure you're close to him. “eh? Sorry for trying to have a little fun, Harr” You said, playfully.

As you all walked towards the lifts. Man, they were noisy. You saw Harry clicking the button '9' . With that the lift started moving very fast. Causing you to hug Harry.

Ginny giggled when you looked over Harry's shoulder you saw Luna hugging her lover tightly. Ugh, I ship it. They're such a cute couple.

“Department of Mysteries,” and the grilles slid open again, all of you stepped out into the corridor where nothing was moving but the nearest torches, flickering in the rush of air from the lift.

Harry turned toward the plain black door. After months and months of dreaming about it, he was here at last. . . .

“Let’s go,” he whispered, and he led the way down the corridor, Luna right behind him, gazing around with her mouth slightly open.

“Okay, listen,” said Harry, stopping again within six feet of the door. “Maybe . . . maybe a couple of people should stay here as a lookout, and —” “And how’re we going to let you know something’s coming?” asked Ginny, her eyebrows raised. “You could be miles away.”

“We’re coming with you, Harry,” said Neville. “Let’s get on with it,” said Ron firmly. You didn't even hesitate, walking towards the door as they were talking.

“Y/N? Y/N!! Hey-dont!!” Too late. The door already swung open. He caught you and now he started scolding you. “Harry—We have to go! Now! ” You dragged him a long with others by your side.

You guys were standing in a large, circular room. Everything in here was black including the floor and ceiling — identical, unmarked, handle-less black doors were set at intervals all around the black walls,interspersed with branches of candles whose flames burned blue, their cool, shimmering light reflected in the shining marble floor so that it looked as though there was dark water underfoot. “Wow, so cool” You were about to run, again. But Harry caught you. “you're not running away, Missy”

Suddenly, all the lights lit up and sound was heard and the walls seemed moving. You cling on to Harry's side, this time listening to him. “stay by my side” He whispered. You nodded, feeling a little bit scared of what might happen next.

For Harry you kept on repeating the words in your head. Suddenly, everything just... Stopped. “what the hell was that all about? ” you asked, throwing daggers at the doors.

“I think it was to stop us knowing which door we came in from,” said Ginny in a hushed voice. “uh-huh” you said, gripping Harry's hand tighter. “I'm right here,Darling, don't worry! ”

“How’re we going to get back out?” said Neville uncomfortably. “well, that doesn’t matter now,” said Harry. Harry walked straight towards another door. “Luna stay by my side” Ginny said, protectively. Holding her girlfriend next to her.

Opening it, it wasn't shiny like the before once. In the room middle was there a huge tank in green water number of pearly white objects that were drifting around lazily in the liquid.

“Even if I feel like swimming, I'm not swimming with those in there” you said, bluntly as other laughed. You tend to smile in serious situations so that's no surprise for them.

“Aquavirius maggots!” said Luna excitedly. “Aqua—what? ” you asked, confused. “Aquavirius Maggots” she repeated. “Right, Aquavius Faggots” you beamed. Luna sighed.

“Dad said the Ministry were breeding —” Hermione cut her off.

“No,” said Hermione. She sounded odd. She moved forward to look through the side of the tank. “They’re brains.” “Brains?” you asked bewildered.

“Yes . . . I wonder what they’re doing with them?” Harry joined her at the tank. “I'm really starting to hate this place, now. ” Harry caught a glimpse at the horrified face of his girlfriend which is enough for him to decide.

“let's find another door” He stated. “In my dream I went through that dark room into the second one,” he said. “I think we should go back and try from there.”

“Eh, I wonder if you were dream about me Harr” You said, teasingly. He rolled his eyes. While walking.

You allhurried back into the dark, circular room; the ghostly shapes of the brains were now swimming before Harry’s eyes instead of the blue candle flames. “Wait!” said Hermione sharply, as Luna made to close the door of the brain room behind them. “Flagrate!”

The sound from earlier came again and now another door has appeared. This time there's a veil in the room, no bright blue lights like before. The place felt really odd. Hermione kept saying we should get out but Harry wouldn't budge.

“What are you saying?” he said very loudly, so that the words echoed all around the surrounding stone benches.

“Nobody’s talking, Harry!” said Hermione, now moving over to him.

“Someone’s whispering behind there,” he said, moving out of her reach and continuing to frown at the veil. “Is that you, Ron?”

“I’m here, mate,” said Ron, appearing around the side of the archway. “can’t anyone else hear it?” Harry demanded. “I can hear them too” said Luna. “They're whispering” you said, Pointing the veil.

“they're people in there” Luna stated simply. “what?” Ginny pulled Luna away from the veil. “Luna Baby you can't go around trying to touch stuff like.. That! Something might happen to you, okay? ”

“Let's go” Harry grabbed you're hand pulling you towards the door. He tried to open it but it wouldn't. “it's.... Locked? Hermione! ” you moved away, letting the smartest try it.

“Alohamora! ” she casted but nothing happened. “great, we're stuck” You huffed. “Aww, baby don't give up now” Harry cooed but the frustration is clearly visible in his face. Neville rolled his eyes. "Why Neville? Sad Zabini isn't here?” you teased. “shut it, Y/N” He said, playfully.

“Is—is that who's I think it is? ” you pointed the knife laying on the floor. Harry picked it up “It's sirius it's his” as the walls are spinning, you found yourself staring at the new door. “This is it!” As Harry’s eyes became more accustomed to the brilliant glare you saw clocks gleaming from every surface, large and small, grandfather and carriage,

hanging in spaces between the bookcases or standing on desks ranging the length of the room, so that a busy, relentless ticking filled the place like thousands of minuscule, marching footsteps. The source of the dancing, diamond-bright light was a towering crystal bell jar that stood at the far end of the room.

“This way!” Harry led all of you. You simply followed him, anywhere he led you. You trust him, and you'd do anything to make sure he's okay. “D'you think I could find mine? How cool would that be? ” You said, to Luna who agreed knowing how cool that would be. “Yes, it would be nice. Y/N, but we shouldn't” she said, softly patting your back. “I know I'm just saying”

For him, even if it mean you have to sacrifice yourself. You zoned off thinking of you're prophecy is here or not? Or you're parents? “I don't think sirius is here” you're head snapped towards him.

“Harry. . . ” You squeezed his hand, placing your hand on his shoulder. “After coming all the way... ” He looked down, disappointed. “Harry — this thing got you're name on it” said, Ron.

He took the prophecy. Examining it. Suddenly black shapes came out of nowhere and now surrounded all of you. You held you're wand steadily. Glaring at Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange.

“give it to me, potter” Lucius held out his hand. Harry refused “where is sirius? ” He's trying to contain his anger. You can feel it. He's triggered. “Give it to me, potter” He said, yet again a little more Harshly.

His fellow death eaters laughed. “I want to know where sirius is?!!! ” Harry demanded. “I want to know where sirius is!! ” Bellatrix mimicked. You're grip tighten around the wand.

“Shut up, Bellatrix” You said, angrily. She glared at you “Oh, look the little one can talk” She mocked.. “I can do more than talk” You said. “enough” Said, Lucius.

“I know you’ve got him!” more of the Death Eaters laughed, though the woman still laughed Loudest of all. “Why don't you shut up, it's so annoying” you said, making a Disgusted face towards the lunatic woman.

She snarled. “it’s time you learned the difference between life and dreams, Potter,” said Malfoy. “Now give me the prophecy, or we start using wands.”

“Give me the prophecy and no one would get hurt” He gestured towards You, Neville, Ginny, Luna, Hermione and Ron.

Harry Rose his wand steadily ready for battle. “what kind of prophecy, does Voldemort want? ” Harry asked. Threatening to drop the ball.

“You dare to speak out his name? ” hissed Bellatrix. “Voldy” You said, causing others to giggle. She shot a death glare towards you. “I've go no problem saying Vold-”

“Shut your mouth!” Bellatrix shrieked. “You dare speak his name with your unworthy lips, you dare besmirch it with your half-blood’s tongue, you dare —” “Shut Up you filthy pureblood! Just because you're pureblood doesn't make you any better than Voldemort” She hissed at your words.

“Did you know he’s a half-blood too?” said Harry recklessly. “Voldemort? Yeah, his mother Was a witch but his dad was a Muggle — or has he been telling you lot he’s pureblood?”

“STUPEF —” “NO!” Harry kept stalling them until you guys were ready to make a run for the door. “NOW!!! ” He yelled as all of you started sprinting. “REDUCTO”

Curses and spells Echoed through the walls. You and Harry got separated in the middle and now you can't find him. “Y/N, this way” Ron grabbed you're hand and started running.

“STUPEFY!! ” you yelled when you saw a death eater Approaching you and Ron. “EXPELLIARMUS” The red light shot from right behind you, Ron's wand flew out of his grip.

“Levicorpus” You yelled sending away the death eater. “Let's go let's go, come on, Ron” Both of you lunged towards where Ginny and Luna were.

“Luna watch out” You shot "stupefy" Just in time before it can hit Luna. “thanks Y/N” she smiled. “Expelliarmus” you're wand flew out the grip. “Expelliarmus” Ron Shot the spell at the man.

“Let's do this Muggle way, then” You cracked you're knuckles. Harry came in just time but stopped when he saw you lunging towards the death eater punching him in the face.

He rose his arm you caught it twisting and threw him the other side as some of the prophecy's hit his head. “Do Not Underestimate a girl” You dusted you're hands grabbing your wand.

“Harry!! ” You gasped when you saw him smiling proudly. He walked over and hugged you tightly. “That was amazing, Love” He gave you a kiss as a award, dragging you with him towards the door.

“HERMIONE!! ” you heard Ron screaming, you found him and three of you started searching others fighting any death eaters come on your way.

you got separated from everyone. Suddenly a death eater came and got you. Then everything went black.

“Crucio” You heard, Neville screamed, his legs drawn up to his chest so that the Death Eater holding him was momentarily holding him off the ground. The Death Eater dropped him and he fell to the floor, twitching and screaming in agony.

“No.. ” You're eyes bloodshot as the scene in front of you was terrifying. “Oh, Look the little baby woke up!! Had a nice dream? ” Bellatrix Laughed. “Yeah, I did! I dreamt about kicking Your Ass” You spoke gritting you're teeth.

“Now, Potter, either give us the prophecy, or watch your little friend die the hard way! And you're little girlfriend here is going to suffer” Harry looked at you, “No...Harry.. NO!!” He's going to give away the prophecy!!!

“Sorry, baby” Harry gave you an apologetic look. Bellatrix snorted. He held it out, Mr. malfoy Grasped within his hand immediately. Suddenly, two more doors burst open and five more people sprinted into the room: Sirius, Lupin, Moody, Tonks, and Kingsley.

“Let go off, her!! Now!! ” Remus held out his wand pointing towards the death eater who held you. You clearly forgot you were being held??? “That! Won't be necessary professor” You bought up you're leg high enough kicking him right in the shines, as the death eater fell on the floor holding his pants.

“Take that sucker” You ran towards Remus, who's smiling. “good job, N/N” He gave a pat on the head before heading off to fight the other death eaters.

Kingsley was fighting two at once;Tonks, still halfway up the tiered seats, was firing spells down at Bellatrix. You see Harry was being held by death eater. You ran upto him. “Hey! Arsehole” He turned his attention towards you, his grip loosen on Harry. “Harr—Duck” everything seemed to happen in slow motion.

Harry pulled away. As you kicked the death eater right in the face. He fell on the floor his hood falling off. Showing his face, Mcnair? “You? You were the guy supposed to kill buckbeak? ” You attack him again but Harry pulled you off.

“petrificus tortalus” Harry hugged you tightly, “I was scared... I thought I lost you” He whimpered. “You'll never loose me, You can have me all for yourself when we get back, okay? Now let's Fight” he nodded.

You somehow managed to find your wand, and started taking on death eaters. “Impendimenta” You shot towards another death eater who's trying to attack tonks. “Thanks, Kid” she smiled.

You took on one after another. You were too busy to even see Dumbledore has arrived. “Come on, you can do better than that!” You heard Sirius laughing. Bellatrix shot another spell, Oh No the veil. He missed it and you know Bellatrix would not let him live any longer. You ran as fast as you can using all the energy left in your body. No! No! Sirius!!!

“AVADA KAD-” You pushed him before he can fall into the veil. This is it?? Is this how you're gonna die? You thought but unfortunately you stumbled on to your left resulting on kissing the floor.

You winced in pain. You heard sirius yelling “Expelliarmus” you slowly sat on wincing even more. It hurt like hell. You're lower lip burst as you can taste you're own blood. "Y/N!!! ” Sirius ran to you, kneeing reaching down for you. Remus heard Sirius he catched a glimpse at you're small figure. Horrified, He sprinted towards you.

“Why'd you do that for??!! You could've died!! Now you're hurt” Sirius exclaimed, you're lips played a small smile. “Y/N? Y/N are you okay? ” Remus kneeled next Sirius. You nodded. “If it means I could save you, I'll take my chances siri” You're voice pained but you didn't care. Remus was shocked hearing the younger. Yes, Remus know how much Sirius means to both Harry and Y/N but he didn't think like this?

Sirius is important too, like everyone of you're friends to you. “Don't ever do that to me, again!!” said, Sirius As tears escaped his eyes. He hugged you placing a soft kiss on top of your head. Remus smiled. “If I'm ever going to be in you're family then you're my family too, sirius” you pointed towards the promise ring on you're hand Harry gave you.

“Does it hurt, Y/N? Can you move? ” Remus examined the wound on your knee. You shook you're head. “No... I don't think so professa I can't feel it” You stated simply as it doesn't matter. Even after he left Hogwarts, you never missed a chance calling him professor. Honestly, he always felt proud to have you as his student.

“we're getting you out of here, you already got hurt enough” Sirius and Remus slowly helped you stand up. “But—” “No means No, Y/N. No buts” Sirius said seriously. Remus chuckled. “Molly will take good care of you, okay? Go with him” Remus kissed your forehead.

You glanced at Harry one last time before Both you apparated to Grimmauld place.

“Remus? Remus? Have you seen Y/N?? And Sirius?? I can't find them? ” Harry asked, worriedly. “She's hurt, Harry. Sirius took her back and they're fine” Remus explained, calmly shooting spells and hexes at the death eaters.

“Y/N, Oh my god what happened to you?? ” Molly exclaimed giving a hand helping you as they leapt you towards the room.Both of them,carefully lied you on bed. “Sirius” it came out more like a whisper. “I'm here, Y/N. I'm right here” He took your hand into his. “Harry.. ” You said before darkness took over.

“How did this happen” You heard Harry's angry/worry voice. Your head pounded as the images from earlier came back. “She tried to save Sirius, Harry. And she did save him then she fell down, right after she saved him” Remus spoke softly. There uneasy Tension in the room? You didn't like it. “Again” Added Tonks. Everyone fell silent.

“I hope she'll alright” Luna said, worried about her fellow partner. Ginny hugged her. “she's going to be fine, Luna. She's just injured and needs... Rest”

“Harry... ” You open your eyes, then closing them again trying to adjust the light. “Y/N!!” He helped you sit up. “You made it back” you said in hoarse voice.“Y/N...” He looked at you with tears in his eyes. As he was neatly seated next to you.

“Hey—I'm fine, really. ” more tears escaped his eyes he buried his head into your lap crying. “Aww, baby I'm so sorry for scaring you but see I saved Sirius now you don't have to worry about anything. Look I'm a hero now” You spoke ruffling his hair.

“or is it more like. Heroine? Either way I'm great” you joked, a few chuckle left from others. “I love you” He murmured. You smiled softly. “And I Love you.... ”

“Bloody Hell, Y/N! You scared us!!” Ron said, dramatically. “Oh, shush Ron! We're glad you're fine, Y/N” Hermione smiled at you. You nodded. “You never fail to surprise me, L/N. Never” Neville shook his head smiling a little.

“You can't get rid of me that easily, Neville! Besides who's going to tease you about zabini everyday eh? ” You joked. Causing the rest to laugh.

Sirius walked over sitting next to you, and hugged both you and Harry. “Now Now!! Enough with the emotions here I think I might be sick.!! ” You said, jokingly. “Molly~~” You whined, Mrs. Weasley smiled. “Yes, dear? ”

“I'm starving” you pouted. “Alrighty then, Everyone hurry downstairs,Time for dinner!!!” said, Molly as she hurried downstairs. “Y/N? ” Harry called out.

“yes, Harr? ” you replied. “Marry Me” He breathed. “That my dear Harry Potter, I shall gladly” you giggled. Remus and Tonks chuckled. “Welcome to the family, Y/N” Sirius said, happily. Him and Remus exited the room. Going downstairs.

Ginny sighed “when should I propose you, Love?” she asked Luna who giggled. “How about Right now? ” “Hey, Luna! You both are not 21 yet!? No marriage! ” Ron said, being the overprotective one.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “God, I love these kids” Tonks said, laughing at the younger one's. “Trust me, Tonks! You'll love us even more when you see Sirius and Remus with Rainbow colors hair tomorrow morning” you said, giving her a playful wink.

“How did you—” “I have my ways, People” You laughed. “the little devil, you are” She ruffled you're hair before leaving the room.

“I'm serious, Y/N” said, Harry. But Y/N laughed “I thought he's sirius”. “Y/N...” you stopped laughing, for real this time. “I actually want to marry you.. Not now but maybe in the future, y'know when there's no dark wizard trying to kill me? ” He said, playing with your hand.

“Right, of course I'll marry you... After you defeat noseless!! ” Everyone burst into fit of laughter knowing it's actually true.... Noseless Voldemort. Hilarious!

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ The end　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

✾a/n: now that fic has finished.. Which one do you guys reckon I should post next? Hermione Granger fic or else Drarry X reader Fic? *sigh.... * there's a lot going on with me right now, and idk why I'm so moody lately. Everyday seems like hell and I just don't have any luck? It's like no. Matter how much I try.. Everyone still seems to think very less of me. Anyways, I hope you guys have a great day and also don't forget to like and follow for more♡ I love you all so much💚

[tinydemondragon]

thinking about dreamsmp instead of my homework and what annoys me about the fandom specifically and how it compares to what annoys me in book fandoms, particularly when it comes to character and character treatment.

so, bare with me here as this may not necessarily be coherent as I'm just mainly organizing my thoughts here. for comparison I'm going to be relating this to all for the game, henceforth aftg, as it's the book series I've been most obsessed with recently.

first, let's talk about story, particularly point of view and how it impacts a viewers thoughts/feelings on certain characters. for a book, you tend to only get one characters pov (in this case neil). you get to know this character and their thought processes really well, because that's all you know. but generally these characters aren't always right (if the story is good, anyway) and they often work with either a) not enough information or b) information that they believe to be true but isn't.

this means that these characters thoughts and feelings on a different character may not be fully fleshed out. more than that, as these characters don't know what they dont know, they often don't do care to dive into why someone is the way they is. and that's awesome! because it gives your mc nuance! it gives conflict! and sometimes they do actually learn more about that character and their view changes, which is a great way to show growth!

for example, Neil, at the beginning of the series, fucjing hates Andrew, and the audience totally gets why. I mean, their first interaction is neil being thwacked in the chest with a racket. not a great first interaction. not to mention, the violent rumors that are really only being reinforced by this interaction.

so neil, and by extension most of the audience, fucking hate Andrew. this is further reinforced by seemingly monstrous and over the top actions (drugging, breaking and entering, pulling a knife) that really don't put Andrew in a good light.

but over the course of the series, Neil sees the horrors Andrew had to face to be the way he is. Neil begins to understand Andrew, begins to like him (and love him, but thats a whoooole other convo within the fandom itself given the way love and healing from trauma is in the series it self). by the end of the series they're dating(? again, kind of hard to explain given the source material.)

point is, how the person you're reading the pov of impacts how you see the other characters. you start to develop ideas on these characters on the information presented to you in the emotional light given to you. I adore Andrew for example! but I also know if I had met him irl I'd probably hate him. because I wouldn't know him.

but the thing is, the opposite is true, too. you see this in Aaron, Andrew's twin, who neil really does not like. I wouldn't say he hates him but they get into more than one verbal fight, and they get into a physical at one point. and most of the fandom doesn't like him either! and this gets to the point I'm trying to make here.

the fandom doesn't like Aaron because neil doesn't. if you actually care enough to dive into his backstory, past the emotional veil that neil gives the reader, he's actually a sympathetic character who's just as deserving of redemption than Andrew if not more so imo

apply this to the dream smp.

for dsmp the best part about it is the wealth of character information you get due to the wealth of streams/content you get. for the most part people tend to pick one or two ccs/characters and stick to them for the sake of time and simplicity, but that doesn't mean that other information doesn't exist. unlike with book series, you can actually go and see their pov or read recaps or watch clips and get an actual sense for their motivations, without the cloudiness of you preferred characters emotions and the false or missing information they're working on.

this is where my grievance comes in. because I hate the fact that people can absolve Andrew of his actions but refuse to understand that you can do the same for Aaron. but at least I can understand that. most people don't want to analyze a story and analyze why they feel the way they do about a book character and you know what? more power to them! you're not required to do that to enjoy a book and you're allowed to find joy however you please.

and sometimes that means people do analysis of these characters and they don't separate the truth from what neil percieves to be true and its frustrating but damn if it isn't understandable. they're only working with one pov after all.

but dsmp? where (most) of the other povs are right there? where recaps and clips are right there? and you're still not bothering to see past what your preferred characters pov is? when even the ccs themselves admit they've got flawed views on what's happening and that their characters aren't always right (again, as it should be in any good story). no. im sorry but no.

again, I want to reiterate that you do NOT have to like these characters. I'm not a huge fan of Tommy's character tbh, but you know what? you also won't see me doing in depth character analysis of his whole character arc. maybe an interaction (see my post on trauma and his reaction to dream being in the house at technos) but I won't go in depth on his character motivations because I don't watch his pov! i don't watch clips or read recaps or any of that! so I know that my information is flawed and often incorrect!

you can still do these character analysis I suppose, but at least say from x characters pov this is how this character seems. because to not at least mention that is to do that character and that story a disservice and frankly I don't want to see it.

[baegarrick]

hi hello so i’m coming to you because you’re the only person in the zukka fandom that i’ve seen blogging about the old guard and i love that movie SO MUCH and i can’t stop thinking about immortal zukka..... aang as either nile or andy bc i can’t choose, andy wouldn’t lose her immortality, and no one would betray anyone bc i say so 😌 how do you think an atla/the old guard au would work?? (zukkababey)

ok i rly love the idea of immortal everyone but tbh!!! i really dont know enough about asian history to like... go into detail about this honestly and I really didn’t want to come off as racist by fudging some stuff, but here r some bulletpoints about Things

(also u can slide into my dms 2 talk about this if u want, or if u have a discord, sorry it too so long I literally cant stop writing when I get on Topics. I'm so sorry if this gets off topic)

Sokka & Katara

In this au they’re not biologically related, but are both Inuit

Sokka dies first in a skirmish with another group of indigenous people in northern Canada (Inuit Nunangat) sometime prior to 1800

He knows he died, his people saw him die, and he doesn’t understand what’s happening (I really don’t know enough about the Inuit people to say whether they would have rejected him or tried to help him understand what happened to him)

however, I’d like to think they’d at least tell him to talk to the angakkuq, the shaman, and would probably see this as a positive thing

Eventually his band of people would whittle down to just a dozen or so, after long winters and harsh climates, and they were forced to assimilate with other bands who didn’t have ancestors who were there when Sokka died in the first place, so he has to move on.

He travels around for a while, trading and learning and staying in bands for a few years before moving on to another group, until it’s the 1800s

Around this time, Katara is born (and dies)

She refuses to stand down against a white French hunter who wanted to take one of the young women in her village as a wife, and she’s killed, and the woman is taken anyway.

When she wakes up, she’s furious, and before she can understand what happened to her, she finds the man and kills him. She’s arrested and set to be killed when Sokka finds her.

They aren’t biological siblings, but they come from the same people, and the world is changing rapidly and they’re the only people they know who are like this. The idea of marrying Katara is the worst thing that Sokka can think of-- look at her, she’s just a baby!!-- so they call each other siblings and travel together.

Zuko

ok again i know literally 0 things about chinese history like i googled “female chinese warriors” for suki and got like 100 things for mulan

Zuko is old, probably one of the oldest of the (living) group, but younger than Aang

he was the first son of the second son of the emperor in a time of political conflict in China. His father, the prince, was at war with his own brother who Zuko considered a father figure.

zuko speaks out against his father and is killed for being a traitor, but, guess what, he doesn’t die!!! his father does it again for posterity and uhhhhhh still doesn’t die. (or rather, dies, and comes back)

here’s where my uhhhhhh lack of knowledge is Bad

would his father banish him for being cursed? for somehow being against the gods?

or would he force him to fight in his armies, against his uncle, because he can’t die?

I was going to go with “banished” but fighting for decades in a fight he doesn’t want to be in is so! much! worse!

his father wants to know the secrets of his immortality and when he can’t share it he’s tortured and tested for years, and eventually sent out to fight as an immortal soldier who can’t die.

eventually he escapes, and leaves china for a long time (he doesn’t return for centuries)

he is highly distrustful of anyone for years bc of his father!! he wanders around for years like he does in Zuko Alone (or like Quynh before Andy finds her) and while he sees small bits of humanity, he has little faith in it and their wars, because he is Not One Of Them

For money he joins bandit groups or warlords or mercenaries, because why does any of that matter to him? Everyone dies.

Eventually he meets Aang, who is Humanity Personified, and Aang asks him if he thinks they can be friends-- but they’re on opposite sides of this conflict and Zuko is too disillusioned to want that. (they part ways)

He meets a man, Iroh, who reminds him of his uncle. They travel together for far longer than Zuko normally would, because he likes having a father figure, and because Iroh lost a son about Zuko’s age. They travel for years and Zuko never ages, so eventually he has to leave. Iroh finds him a few years later, greyer and slower, but tells Zuko that he knows about Zuko.

Zuko reacts poorly to this, lashing out, but Iroh is calm. Zuko breaks down and tells him he can’t give Iroh what he wants. (what Zuko assumes he wants-- what they all want, immortality)

But Iroh’s like, why would I want that? it sounds like a curse, son. Why would I want to never see my son again?

He tells Zuko: we’re not meant to be alone

After Iroh passes a few years later, he tries to track down Aang but can’t find him. He, however, has dreams about the others.

alternatively///////// japanese zuko?????? RONIN ZUKO???? love it but im too tired to think of More Than That after typing all the chinese zuko stuff up, although im Sure a ton of it would cross over bc im vague as Hell

Aang

he’s the oldest of the group but you wouldn’t know it!!!!

Roku was his mentor, the first immortal that any of them know of. He’s thousands of years old when Aang meets him. (He’s also the first to die. He shows Aang that All Things Must Die)

Aang is Tibetan, a Buddhist monk, one of the earliest, maybe the 7th century?

He dies in a temple fire

here again my complete and utter lack of knowledge is Bad

according to Dzogchen, individuals can transform their body into an immortal rainbow light, so there’s some mention of immortality in certain parts of Tibetan Buddhist culture, but idk how widespread that is since wikipedia didnt even have a source for it

he becomes a missionary and travels around asia for decades before Roku finds him

Roku!!! he’s an Old Immortal, and probably wants to die a little bit at this point, and he eventually does!! but for awhile he and Aang travel around together, and butt heads a bit bc Aang’s pacifist nature, and Roku thinks Aang Will Change as he gets older

aang is absolutely devastated by the Mongol invasion of Tibet in the 13th century

roku dies about a hundred years after he meets aang, and aang travels around a little aimlessly for awhile, learning all kinds of things and befriending people he’ll outlive. it dampens his spirits a bit.

eventually he meets Zuko, who’s far more jaded than Roku was, even, and wants to be friends, but respects Zuko’s decision otherwise.

Eventually, aang travels with the Norse to Canada in the 15th century, but when they leave they don’t take him with them. Instead, he ends up frozen ala steve rogers. Katara and Sokka find him a few hundred years later.

alternatively////// Aang IS the newest kid. he’s the Nile of the group. He’s still a Tibetan monk, and views this as a teaching/learning opportunity. He would also probably like everyone to stop killing each other. Sokka rolls his eyes at him constantly.

Toph

toph is a struggle bc how do you deal with an IMMORTAL BLIND GIRL

I’m gonna stick w her show backstory: rich, blind daughter of a wealthy Chinese family

Is kidnapped and her throat is slit when she’s young (maybe an older teenager) and the kidnappers panic, leaving her body. She’s found, namely unharmed, and resumes life despite the fact she knows she died.

However, being a privileged young girl, she’s kept under watch and it quickly becomes known that she’s immortal.

She’s regarded as a living deity for centuries until she meets Suki, who rescues her from the place and teaches her to fight. (she becomes a myth, later, rather than a historical fact)

alternatively//////// she could have been first generation chinese-american, and therefore the youngest

Suki

Suki was a third generation female warrior of her family who guarded the boarder during the Northern Song Dynasty (960-1127), and trained from a young age in martial arts. (insp by the story of Mu Guiying)

She’s a war orphan, and leads an army of war widows and orphan women, but meets her untimely end with some of her sisters in a reign of arrows. She’s buried by some of her sisters before she wakes up again, and has to claw her way to the surface.

Her sisters don’t know how to react to her (a lot like Nile’s soldiers) so she eventually leaves them.

After her death, she hears rumors of a living goddess (Toph) and goes to see if there really is another person like her, and finds one of the people from her dreams (Toph)

She trains Toph to fight despite her being blind, and the pair become an unusual duo for a couple hundred years.

eventually, they start dreaming about a pair of siblings in the New World (not that new!! people live there!!) and book passage there in the 1800s with the first major wave of Chinese immigration

They dream about each other. it happens a lot at first, but it tapers out over the years. it grows stronger whenever a new one (katara) is born, but Katara and Sokka have NO desire to leave their homeland to go look for these strange people until they find Aang. (what languages might they have in common? russian??? the russians came to settle alaska, I know bc my stepmom is native alaskan and russian--- the Mongols invaded TIbet and Mongolia is right next to Russia, so Aang might know it??)

When they find Aang, Suki and Toph start dreaming of them again, and so does Zuko and they all start making their way to San Francisco. The Chinese wouldn’t arrive in Canada until around the 1850s (according to google) so Sokka probably wouldn’t speak any Chinese (mandarin???? i dont know things), but Zuko might speak some English or Russian. [really just gonna be a bunch of chinese, inuit, and tibetan people speaking russian to each other, isn’t it??]

Aang greets Zuko like an old friend, and Zuko Does Not know what to do with that. he’s skirtish and shy and hasn’t really been around a lot of friendly people. Sokka does NOT trust him. At all!! (he wants Katara to stay FAR AWAY from him. stick with the harmless monk we found at the bottom of a lake, katara.)

They find Suki and Toph in a bar. Toph hustling people for money, and Suki drinking at the bar. It’s very strange to have all of them around, and it’s like, 1830. they all decide they like each other, after they get some good old fashioned stabbing in-- Katara is the only woman Sokka has been around whos like him, and she’s like his little sister, and all he wants to do is Protect Her, so he doesn’t know what to do with women who known knives. (get his ass handed to him, thats what)

I want Zuko to be a broody mess but honestly he’d probably revert back to yelling at people/things in ancient Chinese (mandarin? I’m not really sure what period he’s from exactly). He’s still got that Good streak in him, esp since he’s like, a hundred years off his adopted uncle Iroh.

and you know what? 1830 america is NOT a cool place for anyone!! least of all asian immigrants, native americans, or women of either group

So the Gaang take to helping those people out any way they can. (Aang wants Peace, but you know white people, we don’t listen). They actively get involved in the underground railroad, eventually the civil war, and also helping out native americans, as well as chinese immigrants working on the railroads.

also so sorry I know the ask was about Zukka but I had to write a million words about their backstories first

Zuko + Sokka eventually come to a truce as the only dudes in this entire group who are willing to fight. Sokka is interested in both men and women, but he’s never really shared his life with anyone, and it’s the same for Zuko. Sokka, because he was regarded as an elder with his people, and after that he could only stay a few years. He had lovers, like Yue, but they all eventually died and Sokka couldn’t do anything about it!! Zuko, because while he also had lovers, he couldn’t really bear to be around humanity for a long time after what happened to him. (he’s vehemently opposed to slavery)

I think they get together at first just kind of because there isn’t really anyone else. Suki + Toph are kinda their own thing (are they lovers? sisters in arms? who knows), Katara is like Sokka’s sister (and if Zuko touches her Sokka will end his destiny permanently), and Aang is... aang.

It’s sorta a friends-with-benefits thing, except its an immortal warrior reluctant companions-with-benefits thing because can you really call this a friendship?? (its a family, eventually). Eventually it’s just kind of always been a thing. Sokka checking Zuko first when he comes back to life, counting down the second to make sure Zuko comes back at all. Zuko tells people he’s the only one allowed to kill Sokka, because lets be honest, the first couple of months with rowdy immortals meant killing each other a lot. When Sokka is killed violently in the Civil War, he wakes up half an hour later (slow, slow), to find a field of bodies and Zuko sitting next to him with his dao blades in the dirt, waiting for him. Sokka tries to make a joke, but it just makes Zuko mad, because what if that was the last time. (sokka jokes that he’s young, yet, not like Zuko)

They don’t really talk about it, partially because they don’t live in a world where it’s acceptable. What kind of title fits when you can only use it with 5 other people? But this time, when Zuko was afraid Sokka might not wake up, thirty years after they met, after lifetimes of being alone for both of them?? Sokka has to let Zuko know he loves him. Loves him!!! He’s not just here for the meantime.

thats all I have rn bc its 9pm and I’ve been writing this for like 3 hours. again if u wanna slide into my dms or if u have a discord and wanna talk about this/other stuff hmu. so sorry this got off topic.

also, the order I had them born in is:

roku --> aang --> Zuko --> suki --> toph --> sokka --> Katara

which may or may not be accurate to my timeline lol

Sokka probably speaks all of the Inuit languages, as well as French, English, and Russian, being alive for long enough to learn it all.

Katara refuses to learn French. Hates it. Never wants to learn.

She and Sokka personally keep Inuit traditions and languages alive as elders of their community, though it’s so much harder in modern times to stay connected to their culture bc they don’t age!!

disclaimer: bc the show was written as a complete mashup of several cultures I had to like..... pick where ppl were from. I picked china for Zuko/Suki/Toph bc they have a beautiful culture and a lot of dynasties I have heard a lot about recently while half watching the history channel. I really, really don’t know a lot about non-white culture as a white american from FLORIDA (so like, literally the farthest place you can get from the Inuit people and still be on the same continent). if you know more about these cultures than I do and I said something blatantly wrong pls let me know and I will change it.

[ddaenggtan]

forever rain | knj | m

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

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

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

word count | 18.8k | cross posted to ao3

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

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

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

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

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

And then the couple moved in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, yeah, because it is."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just want to feel the rain again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Face book, Park Jihyo, best friend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. Am nice. I think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The second.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's the little things.

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

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

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

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

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

That's where you leave to?

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

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

Fun is what you spell on your sheet.

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

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

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

A while. Years. I think .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It rattles a little and you look away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not this time.

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

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

It's invigorating.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Clearly I can feel it, Casper."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You aren't sure you want to know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don't know if you want him to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Warm me up?” 

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

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

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

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

“Casper, are you ever scared?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever seen a light?” 

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

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

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

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

Once, you tell him. Just once.

“Why didn’t you go to it?” 

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

Because I love you.

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

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

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

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

The tickle at the back of his throat quickly becomes a cough, wet and wheezing and enough to make him throw the blankets from his lap and stumble to the bathroom. 

You’re there before he is, helping him slide the door closed and locking it behind him as he bends over the toilet again. The six of them are quiet in the main room, speaking in hushed whispers that neither you nor Namjoon wants to hear. You turn the knob on the sink, wetting a towel while you drown out the sound of voices, and letting a hand run over Namjoon’s back. 

“I’m okay,” he mutters. You ignore the way his voice shakes, the way his lips are redder than before, the way this happens more often than before. Instead, you just press the damp rag to his neck and watch his eyes close in relief. When he stands and flushes the evidence away, you already have his toothbrush ready and waiting, and you stay as close to him as you can until he takes a deep breath. 

“I’m okay,” He repeats. “I’m okay. It’s my birthday, and I’m okay.” 

He goes back out with a smile on his face and a laugh in his voice, teasing Hoseok about the way he fell and reenacting it, even. When he settles on the couch, he urges the others to continue the game. There’s a brief moment of hesitation before Jimin declares that he’s next and pulls something from the bowl on the table. 

You know you aren’t the only one that notices the way Namjoon’s eyes linger on the six men around him, but you are the only one that notices the way they also linger on his steamer trunk, the shelf with his books, the TV, the record player, the scrapbook of his life that they all worked on and Taehyung pieced together over the months, the plants on the wall that he had cared for. He looks around his apartment as if he’s looking at it for the last time. 

As if he’s already planning who’s going to get what. 

He finally asks the question you both have been thinking about, nearly two months later. His breathing comes in ragged pants, his lips stay chapped, and he keeps several blankets around him at all times to try to hide the shaking of his body. Your soft sobs echo through the apartment constantly; while you reheat the tea he doesn’t drink for the millionth time, while you quietly water and prune the plants he’s saved from death the way you wish you could save him, while you sit curled around him as he sleeps, soothing his coughs with quiet whispers. 

Night has just begun to fall, the rain of the day turning into a soft drizzle, and you stare at him blankly, unsure how to process what you’ve just heard. 

“Do you think I’ll come back?” He asks again, slightly louder. As if you hadn’t heard his shaky voice the first time. It’s not the question that floors you. You’ve been expecting this for weeks, months even. You’ve wondered it yourself as you prepare tea and ignore the sounds of him vomiting blood in the bathroom, as he disappears to the hospital and returns with a worse prognosis than before, as you’ve adjusted to the idea that you are dead and he is dying and you cannot do anything to help him. 

You never would have expected the hope that his words carry though. 

“Why does it sound like you want to?” You ask. Your voice is clear in the air and you’re glad for it, because this isn’t something you want to talk about through your board. 

“Because I do?” His response is delayed and sounds more like a question than a real answer. 

“Why?!” You demand. 

“Are you serious, Casper?” His brow is furrowed as he sits up and lets the blankets fall away to sit haphazardly off the couch. 

“Are you? Joon, why would you want to come back?”

“You’re seriously asking me that question? Why would I not? I’ve got so much I still want to do, I never thought I’d get the chance to after I got the diagnosis and now I might be able to. Why wouldn’t I want that?”

“Because it doesn’t work like that! You don’t get to just wander the world and fuck around, Joon, you’re dead.”

“Yeah, but you can still read and write and everything. I’d have all the time in the world to read the books I want to read, watch the shows I want to watch, write the music and stories and lyrics that I want to write.”

“Yeah, so long as it all stays in this apartment!” The light in the room flickers slightly with the force of your irritation. “You can’t do anything that isn’t in this room, Namjoon, you can’t use any of the electronics, you can’t read a book unless it’s here, you can’t write music unless it’s on actual paper, you can’t do anything.” 

“Yeah, and I could make that work. Why are you so upset about this? I thought you’d be happy.”

“Happy? You think I’d be happy that you’d be stuck in these four walls forever, too? Why would that make me happy?” Namjoon stands, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. 

“Because I’d be with you! We’d be together, forever! Do you not want to be with me?”

“Of course I want to be with you, Joon, but not at the cost of you being stuck here. I don’t want that for anyone, certainly not the man I love.”

“And what if that’s what I want? What if I want to spend the rest of time with you? I’m already spending the rest of my life with you, I’m in love with you, I don’t want to leave you.”

“And I don’t want you to go, but Joon, why would I want you stuck here, too? This isn’t something fun. This isn’t anything that I enjoy.”

“Oh, so you regret it all then?”

“I didn’t say that, I just don’t want you to be stuck in a shitty studio apartment for who knows how long when you can’t fucking do half of the things you love! You wouldn’t go on walks, Namjoon, you wouldn’t go with Guk and Jimin to the movies, you wouldn’t get visits from Hobi, you wouldn’t get to shop with Taehyung or Jin, you wouldn’t get to drag Yoongi away from his thesis or celebrate with them when he finishes it! It’s not like being alive, Namjoon, you’d be dead and alone and in hell!”

“Whatever,” He mutters, shoving his arms into his coat. “Why can’t you understand for one fucking second that it wouldn’t be like that with you? I’d rather be stuck here forever than have to die in some shitty apartment and not even be able to touch the person I love.”

“Why can’t you understand that it’s still death? You’d be dead, Joon, your friends would go to your funeral and disappear from your life, and you’d be stuck staring out that window at that shitty alley for the rest of time. You don’t get it, you don’t how terrible it is to be stuck here and watch life pass you by.”

“Then why the fuck are you still here?” He asks. The door slams behind him before you can answer him, and your scream shakes everything in the room. You just barely catch one of the plants in the kitchen, a brown-potted one with ‘Shooky’ scrawled in Yoongi’s familiar handwriting, before it crashes to the ground. You return it to its place gently and huff another frustrated groan. 

You wish you could explain it better, but you know he wouldn’t get it even if you could. He doesn’t understand what it’s like to be trapped between four walls and unable to do anything without massive amounts of effort. And he won’t, not unless he experiences it himself. 

You’ve already watched him wither away. You’ve watched him become thin and sallow and a shadow of the Namjoon who first moved in, and you don’t know what you would do if he came back. You wouldn’t be alone anymore, of course, and you’d have him here with you, but at what cost? Namjoon was built for cherry blossoms and sunshine and the riverside. He would hate being trapped here even more than you do.

Still, you could have been more understanding of his view. You can admit that even being stuck in a shitty apartment wasn’t so terrible when you had Namjoon there to make you laugh or watch TV or read to you. It may even get better if he turned into a ghost; maybe you could hold his hands in yours, could feel him wrap his arms around you, could press kisses to his skin again. 

You move to the window and stand there waiting. It’s not good for him to be out, even if the rain had stopped a few days ago and the forecasters promised it was the end of the downpours. He was still weak, you’d be surprised he even went anywhere to begin with but you know he likes to walk to calm himself down. 

You worry for what feels like hours. You can’t focus on anything, not the way the sun starts to set, not the sound of cars passing or the neighbor leaving. You’ve worked yourself into knots by the time you hear his whistle echo up through the streets, nearly lost in the sound of some argument in the alley below you. You catch a brief view of his coat and smile when you see that he’s got some half-dead plant tucked under an arm. There’s the briefest glimpse of what looks like a Ca scrawled onto it, and your heart jumps in your throat.

You make your way to the stove, turning the heat up slightly too high so that it’ll be ready when he comes in. The arguing outside gets louder but you pay it no mind, pulling the honey out and setting it next to his favorite mug. You’re reaching for the tea when you hear something else. It definitely sounds like Namjoon’s voice, but it’s not in the hall or at the door like usual. It’s raised, like he’s yelling at someone, like it was just a while ago when he was fighting with you. A crash startles you and before you can even reach the window to see what’s going on, there’s a deafening bang. 

You slam your fist against the window, watch the red mix with dirt, and the kettle isn't that only thing that screams. 

“I think that’s the last of it,” Jeongguk says. His voice is scratchy and quiet, but it’s deafening in the silence of the apartment. 

“Yeah,” Hoseok replies. His eyes are rimmed with red and his hands shake as he slides the last mug into a box. “Thanks for the help, Guk. I don’t, um.” He sniffles. “I don’t think I could’ve done it myself, y’know?” 

“I know,” Jeongguk agrees. They’re quiet again, adjusting the things they’ve boxed and avoiding finishing what they’re doing. 

“Oh, can you get that?” You don’t have to look to know what Hoseok is talking about. Jeongguk grunts an affirmation and makes his way over. It’s a strange feeling, having someone pass through you again for the first time since. His hands fly into the air as he tries to lift, clearly not having expected it to weigh anything. 

His reflection in the window frowns, and he tries again, tugging on the pot. 

“I can’t get it,” He says. “Do you think he glued these things down or something?” 

“No,” Hoseok replies as he wanders over as well. “He used to pick them up to re-pot them, remember? And the others came up with no problem.” 

“Well it’s stuck or something, you try.”

Hobi takes Jeongguk’s place and pulls hard at the plot, but your grip doesn’t waver. He huffs and disappears. When he returns, he’s got a butter knife in one hand that he does his best to slip under the pot. He tries hard to pry it up, so hard that you almost want to give in. You don’t though. 

The knife clatters to the floor with as much force as Hoseok can put behind it, a curse following quickly behind it. 

“Fuck it,” Hoseok says. His voice is shaky and you know he’s near tears again. “Just fuck it.” 

“But that was-”

“You can try if you want, Guk, but I just-” He chokes back a sob, shaking his head and moving to pick up the boxes he’d set down. “I just can’t, okay?” He disappears out the door in a hurry, and you wish you could follow after him. 

Jeongguk looks down at the small plant, with its painted periwinkle pot and soft leaves. He runs a quivering finger over the leaf and sniffles. He doesn’t try to lift it again, just stands and lets his tear soak into the soil.

“I wish you could come back to us,” He whispers. “We thought...we expected more time. It’s not...it’s not really fair, y’know? So if you can hear me, if you can come back to us, please do. Please.” 

He turns and leaves, the apartment door slamming behind him like the lid of a casket. Your grip on Mang loosens now that you know no one’s going to try to take it. You’d watched them pack everything else up; you’d let them take the steamer trunk full of records, the shelf full of books and movies, the collection of mugs, the soft blankets, the ratty couch, the rest of the plants he’d cared for so tenderly. 

Piece by piece they had packed Namjoon up and walked him out of the apartment, but this was the one piece they couldn’t have. This was his favorite and none of them knew how to care for it like you did, and you had to. You owed it to him. He deserved to come back to at least one familiar thing, never mind that you woke up not even a day later and it’s now been weeks. If there was one thing you wanted him to see when he got back, it was his favorite of his plants. 

The sun glares into your eyes from where it shines down on the city. It reflects off something in the window from across the alley, would be blinding if you actually had eyes. You pay it no mind, focused instead on the remains of the broken brown pot down in the alley, the way you’ve pieced them together in your head a thousand times just to trace the word Casper with your eyes. You can almost hear his voice saying it, even now.

You whip around, eyes darting through the empty space of the apartment as your hands tighten around Mang.

All that rests there is empty space, mocking in its loneliness. You remember when he moved in, remember how it felt to test the boundaries of the apartment and wish you were free. The want is still there, to leave and never think of it again, never think of him. You know better, though. You could never escape the memory of him, the way he laughed and smiled and spoke. You could never abandon Mang. Not when he said he’d always come back to you. 

You turn back to the window, cursing the sunlight with every other breath. It fades, slowly, into the black of night, before returning again, and again, and again. Days pass, each one feeling like years. Hoseok doesn’t appear to show the apartment, no one comes to collect the small periwinkle pot between your palms, and the ghost of his laugh echoes around you. 

The sun blinds you again. You don’t even know how long it’s been, just that you’ve yet to move. Light glints off whatever hangs in the window across the alley. That's when you see it, a vague reflection in the weathered glass of a dimple and a grin, and warmth surrounds you.

“I told you I’d always come back, Casper.”

[nie7027]

I finally watched Adventure in the elements AND IT GAVE ME SO MUCH TO THINK ABOUT

First from what we saw at Convention I thought Lilith was going to be Amitys mentor and and the one to teach her spells BUT NO

Amity learns her new spells from her older brother and sister! Which i love so much! Specially because it looks like they do this regularly and from that montage of them training ot looks like they have a lot of fun.

And while the former option would have been cool and expected as a clear parallel to Eda and Luz this one is cute and I prefer it because it gives us an insight to the relationship between the Blight siblings

AND THEY LOVE THEIR LITTLE SISTER SO MUCH AND SHE LOVES HER ANNOYING LITTLE SHIT OF BROTHER AND SISTER

even though they still enjoy ruining her life and sometimes go way too far as we saw from the Library episode but when i watched that I thought they were going to have an strained relationship where the twins were going to be the cool and mean teens that dont actually care that much for Amity and would ignore her and her needs and shrug away everytime they hurt her as Amity being a baby or just plain dont realize what they are doing BUT NO

They love their baby sister, and they look after her and are apologetic for what happened at the library even if ts in their own older annoying sib way!

They care for her more than they let on...actualy they show it a lot but it just gets overshadowed by their messing around.

They take her to train to the most magical place in the boiling islands because they know serious Amity takes magic.

They jump to the front to protect her(and Luz) the moment danger comes up

They love Luz and get happy whenever Amity and her get close even if they cant help but tease her (they probably are realizing Amitys crush on Luz even before she does)

I havent watched Understanding Willow but i saw the spoilers about what Amitys parents make her do which in turn puts the twins comment about Amity finally having a cool friend in a new light! Because! they didnt just said it to annoy Amity but they are actually happy Amity is befriending Luz because this means she is starting to rebel her parents!

It isnt far to believe their parents imposed their strict control over the twins too amd whether they meld to it or not is yet to see because while they dont seem to be the proper and correct witches their parents want they domt hang with anybody but themselves either.

This episode gave us an insight into the twins different personalities too instead of just seeming they are the same.

Edric is the most irresponsible and inmature from the two more prone to goofing around and try new things(trying out Edas methods) while Emira seems to be more strict controlled and meaner deeming new stuff as just goofing around and when push comes to shove she acts like the oldest taking the reins

During training she was doing attacks pushing amity into defense while edric was more likely playing with her, she made dinner and scolded Edric whenever he was messing around and she was the one to talk Amity into doing the new spell while Edric was the first to mess with her whenver Amitry dropped her guard.

It seems like out of them Emira was the most influenced by their parents ...

...which we know is wrong and is another way the show has to open discussiom amd criticize the witches way.

All we know from magic and its origins we have learned from Luz.

The witches, even Eda, didnt know they were using glyps whenever they used magic. They just think they are making their circles in a special way. And if they didnt know about the glyphs they certainly didnt know they can be found in nature and that magic is a gift from the island as Luz and the first witches, which this episode strongly suggests, knew which means...modern magic or they witches see it is a corrupted form and Luz is here to correct it.

This is even more stronly suggested with Amitys training wand.

Amity depends on a faulty wand to learn new trickes and use her magic and when the battery dies she is left useless which she shouldnt be because Luz never need it to learn new spells amd i think this speaks a lot of how they use magic.

It seems like for witches society magic is a limited source that can be emptied while for Luz it is infinite.

And one would wonder why? Why the sole fact that Luz uses glyphs changes this?

Easy.

Whenever Luz uses magic she is using it from an outside source. She is taking from her surroundings and using them for her magic.

Whereas witches use themselves as the source amd belive magics comes from within (the magic glandule eda spoke about)

And yeah people probably have magic inside amd it would make sense to use it instead, right?

At first one would even think it is more poweful that way but the truth is it is not.

Becase a person is a limited source that will eventually dry themselves if they are not careful

Whereas Luz wont have this problem. Because magic is a gift from nature.

And here is where the corrupted view the wirches society have come into play.

Because Luz ways is harder, its more difficult. It involves looking outside and hearing what nature has to say and listening and trusting in something outside yourself.

Whereas the way witches are doing it allows them to separate themselves, to think they are the ones in control. That it comes from the inside and they only have themselves.

In a wider way these distintcs approach eson magic can be viewed like an analogy for individualism vs community.

In a simpler way they can be viewed as an analogy on the discussion on creativity amd its origin.

People like to think creativity comes from the inside, talent they call it, and that only those who have it will rise to the top while all the others stay below

And this is bad and why a lot of artist end up burning out.

When creativity in reality comes from the outside and you get inspiration from observing your surruoundings and the stuff you experience.

Like magic. Like Luz does it.

And before i finish this i want to ask something because ok we settled witches have a corrupted view magic but Why is that?

Who would do that?

Who benefits from witches burning and drying themselves doing tasks they could easily do the other way?

Who sees the witches as simple pawns that exist merely to serve?

As soldiers that can be discarded?

Who is limiting the magic?

Eda already told us.

Basically Eda may had been the first to rebel the emperors system by refusing to join a coven and limiting her own magic and but Luz will be the one to dismantle the system by teachin the witches there are other ways

And here is where my other analogy of individualism vs community comes from.

[gaycharr]

Stages of Grief

A bit different than my usual writing style i think, just a quick(ish) thing. Do the stages of grief apply to a life? When you lose your way, that is also a sort of grief, is it not ?

Vetrius and, in a way, resolutions. Initially inspired by @tyrias-library ‘s resolutions prompt but idk if it follows that theme enough to still count 

warning for themes of depression and talk of suicide

Shock and Denial

Childhood is innocent, yes, but at what point does that naivete start to change into a painful awareness of those around you? Vetrius could pinpoint the exact moment.

She’d never given much thought to her own image until here. She was happy, and sociable. She enjoyed chatting with the others in her Fahrar and never thought twice about offering a hand to another.

It seemed this very thing was what would bring her new revelation around. Practicing in the yard (swords today) after a heavy rain. When her sparring partner slipped backwards, falling heavily to the ground as their sword thudded away, there was no hesitation on her end. She dropped her sword, stepped forward to offer her hand to her friend, and froze at the look on their face.

They sneered up at her angrily, eyes glittering. Vet felt numb as they slapped her paw from them and scrambled to their paws themself. She didn’t react even as the smaller cub shoved at her shoulders, making her take a step back as she blinked at them, still processing.

“Burn it! You’re so...so..SOFT! Can’t you just be normal?” The other cub hissed at her before stalking away. Vet felt her ears burning under the weight of the stares of the others. Her stomach churned. How had she missed this? Now that she looked, she noticed the pattern of slit gazes and twitching tails. How bodies angled from her and the line of the shoulders grew tense and flat.

Vet clenched her fangs. No, no, this was fine. This was normal. Nothing had happened.

Pain and Guilt

In the wake of her newfound hyper vigilance of others, Vetrius seemed to see evidence of her wrongness everywhere. Always too ready to offer a smile, to compromise, to lend a hand. These came naturally to her, but now it was soured by the jarring realization that these weren’t strengths, but weaknesses. It sat heavy within her, writhing and occasionally growing overwhelming and clawing up her throat.

At night she curled up on her bunk in a tight ball hugging her knees to her chest, tail wrapped around her. She clenched her teeth against the cresting waves of despair within her, clawed at the sheets in the breathless pain of emotion. What had she done to be so alone?

Anger 

Slowly, so slowly, Vet’s pain and despair started to boil into anger. Why was it so hard for others to just accept each other, to be kind? Why was SHE the odd one out, for having fucking compassion? How dare she give a shit, how dare they treat her like this!

She withdrew ever further within herself. No longer attempting to bridge the gap between her and others, what was the point, she didn’t matter to them and she didn’t want to. No longer was she content either, to ignore snide remarks made against her, and her claws and fangs became ready to bear as she growled back.

She thought it was ironic, in a blood boiling way, how before she was too soft, but now she seemed too harsh, too prickly. The others avoided her now, not out of second hand embarrassment but out of a sort of discomfiting fear that the dog they’d beat might bite back now. She felt too big in her fur these days, felt as if she was always clenching her fangs against something- she didn't know what, just that it would be horrible to unleash.

Wasn’t she perfect now though? She thought with a snarl. Big and angry and ready to fight. 

(and Bargaining)

She didn’t need them to accept her though. She could just- run away. Start a new life.

This thought manifested in different ways, but quickly took a turn for unhealthy. To fantasize of a new life is okay, but not when you stray into the territory of ‘can i just die now so i can have a new life’. The thought turned into claws over skin, an increasing recklessness with herself, an always prickling sense of being prepared for a fight against her peers.

And then it happened. A heavy storm that her band was caught in, trekking back home after some field practice. Heavier than normal. Vet foolishly remarked this out loud, and instantly remembered herself as another scoffed. “Scared of a little water?” was the sneered reply.

Vet felt her fur grow hot, start to bristle at the shoulders. Felt that ugly something rear up in her, ready to bite. And just as she opened her mouth, a flash of lightning blinded her. In the receding bright and boom of thunder, they all stared in shocked awe as a large portal opened in front of them.

Instantly her band began to bicker about what to do. Vet felt her anger fade as she considered. “We should go back and tell the others, see what they want to do about this.” It seemed sensible to her, what were they gonna do, step through it? Nothing else to do but find someone who could at least take a proper look.

Except- to her band- it translated into cowardice, a want to leave the situation and have someone else handle it. “You would say that! Hah! Why dont you just run along for us, we’ll stay here and do the hard work.” And suddenly the anger was back and boiling up and finally, Vetrius could no longer bared it. 

It radiated off her, heavy and palpable, and even the storm seemed to quiet as everyone hushed and stared at her, waiting for the wave to crest. Her clenched fists trembled, blood mixing with the rain where her claws dug into her own skin.

She thought about turning around. Though about ripping into every single one, fighting until they had no choice but to admit that she was Strong, Stronger than them even. Distantly, breathlessly, and almost furiously disappointed in herself for it, she knew that she wasn’t going to do that.

Instead, she took a deep breath, and stepped through the portal. She would have a new life, one way or another.

Depression

The mists were unlike anything Vetrius had ever thought to expect. They were...ineffable, indescribable, in a way that sometimes struck an odd chord of nostalgia within her.

They were dangerous too, she quickly learned. When she first stepped into the mists from the portal, still  dripping with rain water as it snapped shut behind her, she’d felt only a numb angry sort of joy. She’d stuck it to them! Except...what now?

Time passed, or at least Vetrius thought it did. It was hard to tell, some areas seemed to lack any sort of sun or moon even. She could measure it only by her hunger, which stopped being effective as she slowly began to starve, the small meals she was able to catch not quite enough.

Often she could feel the weight of a gaze on her, or would snap her head around looking for the source of an imagine whisper. She must be going crazy. She must be dying. The thought came almost as a relief to her. Or...she wanted it to be a relief, so she refused to admit that it wasn’t.

She struggled on and on and on. The worse her shape became, the more she struggled, the more the panic within her started to rise. Her admittance was just on the tip of her tongue but still she couldn’t let it out.

It was in the dead of night. She’d come across some berries and, starving, had eaten them. It was the wrong choice, she could feel her stomach rolling. By the time the cold sweat of fear had reached her, she knew it was too late, whatever she had eaten was undeniably poison and finally she was faced with the reality that she was going to die, possibly any moment.

Her limbs began to tingle, her vision growing hazy. She shook her head dizzily, trying to stay in focus. Her breaths came in harsh pants. And finally, FINALLY, her realization hit her in a bright burst of light.

(the upward turn)

She...she didn’t want to die! She could feel the thought fill her, breaking through the walls she’d built against her own self. She didn’t want to die, she wanted to live! She WANTED to live.

Her teeth creaked as she clenched them, heaving breaths through her nose desperately as she crumbled but suddenly unwilling to give up. 

But it was too late, wasn’t it? Her arms shook, her mouth watered sickeningly. And- and-

Her vision was growing bright, so bright! She could barely see through the blinding light now. She was supposed to stay AWAY from the light, right? She stumbled back, not realizing that her vision had suddenly cleared, her limbs quickly regaining control.

“Be not afraid.” The voice sounded amused, and comforting. Vet could taste a spring breeze, despite the dusty crumbling walls of some mist castle around her. The light started to recede, and finally Vet realized that she wasn’t going to die, actually.

She looked up at the being of light, and it caused a weird feeling to squirm through her.  Vet was kneeling, she realized, looking up at this angel (what else could it be?) with teary eyes. The Angel extended a hand down to her, the limb solidifying within the fluctuating light.

Unthinking, Vet blinked away her tears as she reached up, took the hand, and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet.

Reconstruction 

“You want to leave this place.” Hearing Angel’s voice wasn’t always a common thing. Even now that they had learned some of their bond, Angel usually spoke through impressions of emotions or flashes of images in Vet’s mind.

Vet faltered. Much time had passed now, Vet was positive. She wasn’t a cub anymore. After Angel saved her, the two had just seemed to be entwined. Their bond wasn’t an instant thing after that, but it grew quickly as Angel followed and watched over Vet. The two grew together, and it was...nice, despite it all, Vet thought at least. She’d had a lot of growing to do, she’d realized.

Vet hadn’t had a home in a long time, but this place still wasn’t it. If Angel had asked before now, the fear of facing reality might have driven Vet to deny the statement, but intuitive as their connection was now she must have sensed that Vet was ready  to face these issues.

Acceptance and Hope

Vet didn’t vocally accept, but Angel’s presence brightened at the responding emotion of agreement and acceptance reflected from Vetrius. And excitement, even. 

A part of Vetrius felt terrified, as Angel steered her towards a portal that would spit her back out into Tyria after so long. But it was overpowered by the thrill of hope running through her.

She’d gone through so much, but she’d also learned so much. She was ready to accept the pain she’d been through: in her childhood, in the mists, the pain she may yet be to face. As long as she keeps growing, she’ll be okay. 

[rightsaidmanfred]

i’m having them biracial blues and this is 100% a rant about my life written in some weird ass...i dont know man, i got up in my feelings and it’s hardly coherent but

gif credit, cuz i couldn't get it in the actual gif adder thing

i dont think ill ever forget schoolyard taunts about my thick, black body hair. or that my eyes were demonic because if the light didn’t shine just right, they could almost be black. or that my eyebrows were too big and oh they can see a little bit of hair connecting between them. i never forgot when the girls who were supposed to be my friends started calling me broccoli nose because it’s wider than theirs, you see. or when the boy i had a crush on and a boy who’d always been my friend decided that instead of friend, i should be their yard workers or maids or harvesting their food but its funny ha ha cuz that’s what mexicans do! i wont forget that my hair was boring and why is there so much of it? why is it frizzy? “because i dont have that problem!” said the girl with strawberry hair. and the color! black, but just shy of the inkiness that is beautiful.

i won’t forget that my skin was brown or that the little girl i ran into at toys-r-us, excited and chatty because she’s a friend i thought, walked away with her mother berating “you didn’t tell me she was mexican!” as i stand next to my red-haired, light skinned cousin. i wont forget that no one could say my name proper and it was never worth the effort to try and it didn’t matter if they’d known me for years because it was too foreign on their tongue and it didn’t matter. but heaven forbid i didnt properly pronounce theirs because “its not that hard!!!!” it’s only hard when its attached to someone like me, right? even when it comes from europeans just the same, forced onto my people like the blood of theirs in my veins as a result of their violence.

i’ll never forget thinking my abuser of seven years was so beautiful, right to the very end. i wont forget being eight years old and fighting against fear every time i saw her but going all the same because she was all golden hair and ocean eyes and certainly that means shes good. even as she tells me to shave my hands, my stomach, get rid of the nasty hair that makes me look like an ape. even as she tells me my mouth is too big, my lips look like they’ve been stung. i suppose we are taught, then, from youth to see beauty in our aggressors. for how lucky we are, just to be in their presence. i felt that, in some obscure way. desperately and with all of my being i felt that and hoped and prayed and wished that i could be her.

that i could look like her. it was all i wanted, to look like her because maybe then the world would look at me and see something pretty. something worthy of love. beautiful, and good in all the ways i was told - even without words - that i couldnt be. something worthwhile.

i wanted to look like the mom who raised me. the one i wanted to be perfect for even when she never asked me to be, never even implied it. because to her, i already was. she always told me i was beautiful. braided my hair and kissed my cheek and told me all the things i got from my family that lived across the country, some still in mexico, and why it was such a beautiful thing. do you know what it’s like, that the person who sees you as a treasure is the one no one would ever connect you to? to go out with your mom and your two friends, and people are shocked to hear that youre her child and not the blue eyed blondes? even with her brown hair and hazel eyes and no features to share besides, it was more believable that they were her daughters rather than you.

their only similarity being the color of their skin and yet the message is clear even if you can’t articulate it: you couldn’t possibly be from her, someone who belongs to the group that sets the standard for beauty and worthiness.

that wasn’t me, brown skinned and dark haired and with every feature that runs strong in my papa’s family. my tia said it herself, when i was born. “oh julie, im so sorry. she has the family nose” because she knew, too. my beautiful tia who has no need for shame and she knew that my moms whiteness couldn’t protect me because their features showed full force in me, left no place for my mom’s family to show itself.

i wont forget that the world told me from day one that i was less than. i would always be less than. it’s awful funny, that i lost my love of the outdoors when i first heard that it darkened you. no more summer days spent in the pool, fingers pruning but refusing to get out. no more bike rides, gone in the morning and returned by dinner. no more outdoors karaoke or baton twirling in the driveway. the tree i once loved is abandoned and the branches i’d climbed till i couldn’t any longer grow weak and lonely with time, missing the child who’d settle in and fall asleep in its branches. the warmth of the sun was something i deprived myself of for years with only the wishes of lightening my skin, getting rid of just one of the many things that separated me from everything i thought i should be.

but i found that it didn’t matter how pale i became. because, you see, it’s not a lightness that indicates whiteness. its an “i havent seen sunlight in a year” kind, one that doesn’t fool many and never for long. and how could it? my name would betray my heritage even if my features didn’t.

at twenty-eight, i still havent recovered. i havent learned how to live under the sun again. i havent learned to rediscover that kid that would wait for the weekend and the adventures it’d bring, step outside my door and into the sunlight and stay there in the world, under the heat of the sun until it started retreat into the night.

i wont forget that all expectations of me were based around what i looked like, what they saw in my name. how surprising it was, that i might know things. how unexpected it was, that i understood anything. after all, how could i deign to perform better than some of the other girls, the ones that were expected to go places when it was quite clear where most people expected me to end up.

it didn’t take long, for anger to show itself because it was easier to show that than shame, sadness. it’s strange, that at twelve, a black girl calling me a “white bitch” was offensive for the first part rather than the last. white...white....the thing i wanted to be and yet i was angry when she called me that. angry even if i didnt understand why, at the time. but i do now. i understand the fury in my bones at that moment when she pushed me and i swung back, a kid noted for being quiet and well behaved because i couldnt believe that she saw that.

that because i was not darker then my struggle did not matter. that because i did not look like her, then my disadvantage didn’t exist. the one thing id yearned to be a part of felt like a fist to the gut to be sided with because...i wasn’t. it was the first time i realized that maybe there wasn’t a place for me. that i’d be doomed to be too white for all the people who could empathize with my struggles and too brown for all the people who’d been a source of them.

and it only got worse when people would thing, for appearance, that it was better. but its not a compliment to be fifteen and having a guy hit on you because he “likes them spicy” wink-wink, nudge-nudge. it’s not a compliment when someone wants you to be his spicy hot tamale. even when the things that were detriments about me aged into something desirable, it was twisted and tainted and never felt like anything close to acceptance.

and then....and then to get out of all of it, all those moments that tore me down and made me ashamed to be who i am and realize the beauty in my features, in my wide nose and big lips and dark hair all over my body. to learn to love these features that mark me as part of a people with a history so rich and roots so deep into the soil of this continent...to learn these things and fight against all those ideas and people who ever made me feel otherwise and then be told that it is not my place. that it isn’t true, what i said. that i am pale and so that means i am white and i don’t know racism because my mom is white.

it’s a unique thing, to be biracial, and i dont think people talk about that enough. one foot in one history, the other in another. both but not enough for either to accept you. and i know that truth, too. i remember family gatherings with my moms family. i remember feeling always like my brother and i were julie’s little mistakes. oh sure the words were not spoken but in a sea of white people who married white people and had white children...the contrast makes you aware.

aware that you are not a fit. aware that they will love you only if you never bring up your papa, never bring up the aggression against you simply for existing as a product of love and understanding between people from such different worlds. little whispers about your papa that you wont understand for years as your mom shakes her head no, no, he’s a good man because her love has never gone. changed, perhaps, from what it was. but steadfast and true. they criticize him for his drug problem but she tells of a man who always took responsibility for his failings, always admitted his wrongs, never harmed a hair on our heads.

a good man who is sick but a good man nonetheless.

both, but never fully one or the other. and they let you know that, too. even the ones you’d thought all your life were the few that accepted you fully. but then you argue, you fight to defend your people against the new husband of a cousin you loved so much. the anger...the anger feels like a heart about to explode because it isn’t all anger. its fear and sadness and hurt and the anger is what you grasp onto, inflate as you stand shaking to take a breath, get distance before a panic attack has set in. you do that a lot in life.

and you hate crying but you sit on the front porch doing it anyways. your mom knows better than to follow but your aunts dont. so they come and they talk and they try to ask whats upsetting because well we were talking politics, people don’t always agree.and you scream, voice breaking “he’s talking about my people!” because how could you have ever identified with whiteness? but you don’t find understanding or comfort. only your favorite aunt, the one you loved for so many years, the one you thought accepted you no matter what, says with just as much passion: “we’re your people!”

and you realize, in your mid-twenties after a lifetime of being mistaken, that the acceptance is only if you throw away a part of yourself. that only if you will forget your mexican half do you matter. that they would prefer to forget you’re not white because how can they possibly love you if you arent?

it’s a lonely thing, too. because your papa is sick and he did not do right by you in the all right ways. and you spend your childhood missing him, wanting to live with him because living with mom is too painful if that’s what it will be like. but it bitters, too. childish ignorance cant last forever and for years you are angry, furious, refusing to see his sickness as that and instead as a choice he made.

he chose to leave you. to stay with a woman who looks like him, to create a child who belongs. one who learns his native language and gets all that you dont. the good and the bad. it....hurts, that the first words your little brother says to you are in a language you cant understand because your father...he lived far away for so long and where else could you learn when your mom can’t speak it, either? he’s three and spanish will be his first language and age will bring anger that this is so when your attempts through your life just never seem to work.

you just cant seem to make the words right. they feel wrong on your tongue and youre sure it’d make anyone who knows the language laugh.

people often dont get why i am offended by being called white. because well, im not, for one. sure, my skin is pale but my features are not those of a white person. to reduce it to that is so offensive when my experience has been lived as a person of color. it’s rare that people assume i’m white. and yea, it makes me mad when they do.

because i haven’t benefited from whiteness. i have never been treated as it. ive noticed people treat me poorly by my name alone, before they’ve even seen me. my MOTHER has noticed this. she kept my fathers name and she’s told me before appointments made at new places, she is often regarded more rudely but when she shows up and they see her whiteness, it changes.

for me, though, the biggest indicator is that other mexicans seem to....know. its a blessing and a curse. its adorable when little mexican kids come up to me, start trying to say something in spanish. it makes me feel this...wanting. to be a part of that culture, to learn more that i havent been able to because im across the world from everyone who was meant to connect me to it. but it hurts, too, because its another realization of my defect.

that i am a part of them, but only partly. and not everyone is so kind. some will see my distance from my heritage as sign enough that im not a part of it at all.

this...really got away from me and honestly, i dont even feel like ive really scratched the surface. this wasn’t meant to be a “poor me” but to be honest.....just because people have it worse than i do, and i KNOW they do, doesn’t make my suffering less significant.

so much in my life i have been told my people of color that i cant say anything and i have no right to it and this and that and whatever because my skin is pale. some try to make me say im white passing if i must engage but you know what...fuck that

if i was white passing, this post wouldn’t exist.

[dont-follow-me-im-scared]

My worst goodbye

Per my therapist request im "journaling" breakup I guess. I mean its been a long time coming but this time it was real and needed to this might be long but here goes:

The force,

I dont even know where to start so I'll start from the begining. The night I met you, when I walked into that bar I had no intention of meeting my soul mate. Yes soul mate. I never believed in them until I met you. But after 9 long years ive learned sometimes we meet our soul mate and we dont get to keep them. I had quite a bit to drink, see you didnt know this but I was 19 I just looked old enough to be there and I had gotten divorced a few months before my world would be forever rocked and changed. The night carried on the christmas air was no match for the drink and the long sleeve I had on. I removed layers the more I drank and I stayed close to the bar. This tall man with the bluest eyes id ever seen was taking care of my drink needs but young me saw a mountain I wanted to climb. I was informed you were married when the regulars realized my attention wasnt going anywhere but you. I flashed the bar (dumb kid is probably what you thought) but everyone in there knew it was for you. Hell I said I wouldnt do it unless you were there. The night carried on, my friends were restless trying to protect whatever modesty they felt I had that night. I wanted to go to the after party I was told youd be attending. They refused and wanted to get me home. Closing time was coming. I wrote my number on a napkin and waited. You went back towards the bathrooms and I knew somehow in my awe struck drunken stuper that was my chance. I walked back caught you right at the end of the hall. Do you remember what I said? I can. The words and moment is forever burned into my brain. "I can keep a secret". Slipped my number into your front pocket smooth as fuck. Which isnt me. But you know that right? Because after that night you saw sides of me no one was ever allowed to see. You saw me grow as a person and into a woman. That was the begining of the end. That singular moment with rumple on my breathe as I stood on my tip toes to lean as close to your ear as I could when I spoke those words. I took in how you smelled. I had no idea soon that smell would be my favorite and put my spirit at ease.

I woke up the next morning with a text from an unknown number. Then the conversation started. You filled in the parts of the night that wasnt clear. You made me nervous. A sensation that would never die down. Tuesday. She'll be at work. Dinner and hang out at the house? Sure. I bet you thought you were getting lucky that night. Not as lucky as I was going to be I guess. Because see even though this is a goodbye, and one thats tearing me apart I was so lucky to feel this. Not everyone gets to experience this with anyone in their entire life. You had a young child. Maybe 3 months I think. Timing in the universe is shitty like that. We sat on the couch. Me almost shaking with nerves but trying to keep my calm because I refused to look a fool in front of you. Do you remember what we watched? Big bang theory. And from then on anytime I saw an episode (I never watched it myself) my thoughts would gravitate back to that couch with you. Do you know how hard thats going to be on me now because that shows everywhere. I guess thats not your problem though. We didnt have sex. I was too nervous and I mean I felt like I was going to puke you made me so nervous. But there was a warmth. This tiny spark of a fire that was felt by me at least. We made out alot. But everytime you reached for my belt my gut screamed "No! Not yet" and ive never been one to ignore my gut. I left. I parked my car a few houses down. The late December air felt so cold against my face because my cheeks were burning like id be in the gym. This couldnt be real. I texted you when I got to the end of the street. "Im sorry I couldn't have sex with you I was so nervous if you dont want to meet up again i get it." I expected you to blow me off. I mean you are older and a bartender. I knew in my head what you were use to with women. I had only been with two people my whole life but you. You reeked experience. Then my phone did something that felt magical in the moment. It lit up with that text. That text reassuring me you wanted to see me again. The text that made me float the whole way home.

The visits became more frequent. Sex with you was amazing. You engulfed my body in what seemed like worship. Not one inch of me ignored. Hands and mouth just exploring the new territory. I was more adventurous. I wanted to make you happy in every way possible. Theres a need inside me to make sure youre happy. There's this new feeling like in a woman and not just some highschooler whos date is trying to get lucky. Theres a chemistry unmatched and indescribable in all honesty. It happened on the couch. The 2nd time I saw you. You carried my straddling body to your room all that was on was my unbutton jeans and your jeans. Your arms lifted me with such ease I gasped. I remember. See how much I remember. Your bedroom smelt like soap and the sheets smelled clean. The only light in the room was the green from the clock by your bed. Then before I knew it your mouth was where no other mans had been. You gave me a new experience I had been deprived of before. Then you were inside of me when I felt like my body was going to stop. Laying there after wards, your hands playing with my spine while we had small conversations in between sighs I considered if this could be forever. I knew right then you were different. I knew we were different. I knew there was something in my way but never desired to remove it. Your kiss at the front door when I was leaving had a longing. Like you didnt want to send me away. It was dark. The neighbors didnt know but as bright as I felt like I was shinning I wondered if they were peering out of the windows to see the source. Was any of this real for you? I dont think I want the answer because it was so real for me. This all sounds crazy. You're married and I knew but here I was.

It got to where id barley make it through your unlocked door without you scoping me up like youd waited all week to get your hands on me. The text in between visits didnt seem like enough any more. So I started doing what any logical in love person would do. I started getting hotel rooms and going to the bar on the weekends. I had to see you more. Hear your voice. See you smile at me from across that bar knowing I was picturing having you under me on every surface there. It made it fun right? Like we had a huge secret right in front of everyone. Including your sister in law who bartended with you some nights. It was a rush right? Knowing I was going to be in that weed infused hotel room half drunk mostly stoned in the see through black robe you love(d) so much. Knowing there was nothing between me and you but this thin fabric. Do you think people could see it on our faces? Your friends became mine because I was at the bar so often but none of them knew. Our conversations grew and we became friends who just happen to explode with this chemistry. It was more than what it had been but that was the most itd ever be. Remember the Halloween you dressed at a 20s gangster. Remeber the red dress i rushed into the bar in on new years eve so I could kiss you by midnight. Do you remember taking me in your arms around my waist and kissing me in front of everyone? I'll never forget because that was a moment where I thought this is how it could be. I met you for lunches. I met you at quicktrips for a five minute visit. Boyfriends came and went but you never left. I kept you around. Remember the apartments down the street I moved into so I could be closer. You whistling while I was waiting at my open front door. That smile. You nuzzling me after on the balcony while i smoked. I hated you had to leave me every time. You lingered in my door hesitant to walk away. The good thing about me living so close is you got to spend more time with me.

I stated you were my soul mate. I mean it. I have forever missed my chance with the one person I truly believe was made for me. All because a year of timing. You told me so many times had it not been for your baby youd leave. I believed you. I love my husband and my daughter but no one will ever light the fire you did inside me and still do. Which is why I need to walk away. Youre a source of confusion in my life. I cant allow myself to question if my relationships right because I dont have the feeling I did with you. Does that make me bad? I dont think so. I love him and dont want to hurt him which is why I have to do this. Cutting an imprint with you is one of the hardest things ive had to do but hurting him would be harder. I'll never forget a million things about you. Memories with you. I honestly hope you'll never forget me. I wish I could tell my daughter about you one day and how she never needs to settle unless someone makes her feel like you made me feel.

Love always

Youre biggest fan.

[ducksbellorum]

Lights Out For Darker Skies (listen/download)

a sheridan genderbend mix - babylon five fandom - arranged by ducksbellorum

1) Not A Pretty Girl - Ani DiFranco Interviewer: There’s no reason to get angry. Sheridan: I’m not angry. i am not an angry girl but it seems like i’ve got everyone fooled every time i say something they find hard to hear they chalk it up to my anger and never to their own fear 2) Short Skirt/Long Jacket - Cake Sheridan: Oh, you could do that. And I could nail your head to the table, set fire to it, and feed your charred remains to the Pak'ma'ra. But…it’s an imperfect world, and we never get exactly what we want. So get used to it! She is fast and thorough And sharp as a tack She’s touring the facility And picking up slack I want a girl with a short skirt and a long jacket 3) The Riddle - Nik Kershaw Sheridan: If you’re going to wait for the universe to start making sense, you’ll have a long wait ahead of you. i got plans for us nights in the scullery and days instead of me i only know what to discuss of for anything but light 4) Proud - Tegan and Sara Sheridan: A Vorlon said, “Understanding is a three edged sword: your side, their side…and the truth”. Well, the truth is we don’t need you anymore. I’m proud to be proud to be proud to see freedoms rough so we take our stand and fight for tomorrow finally we got something something we can bring down the house with 5) Come On - Tegan and Sara Sheridan: You know, it’s funny, I was thinking about what you said, that the preeminent truth of our age is that you cannot fight the system. But if, as you say, the truth is fluid, that the truth is subjective, then maybe you can fight the system. As long as just one person refuses to be broken, refuses to bow down. and please don’t be mad at me you’ll get what you ask for come on come on come on so very close to what you had expected it makes it very hard to keep my head up level 6) Closer to Fine - Indigo Girls Sheridan: I wish I had your…faith in the universe. I just don’t see it sometimes. Delenn: Then I will tell you a great secret, Captain. Perhaps the greatest of all time. The molecules of your body are the same molecules that make up this station, and the nebula outside, that burn inside the stars themselves. We are starstuff. We are the universe made manifest, trying to figure itself out. And as we have both learned, sometimes the universe requires a change of perspective. There’s more than one answer to these questions Pointing me in a crooked line And the less I seek my source for some definitive The closer I am to fine The closer I am to fine 7) Have You Got It In You? - Imogen Heap Garibaldi: Because your CO has the moral authority that says, “You may not come back! But the cause is just and fair and necessary!” That’s why Sheridan is out there! Been one of those days, Safety first dont push, whats the hurry? One nerve remaining, waiting on one look, Have you got it? Have you got it in you? Have you got it in you? 8) No One Sleeps When I’m Awake - The Sounds Sheridan: All right. If that’s the trade-off. If you want to withhold your help when the time comes, that’s fine. I’ll go it alone I’ve seen people losing all of their faith Before they knew what they were looking for I swore I’d never ever do it again, ’til this day Words are all I have, to give, to you You never seem to see it my way 9) Welcome to the Black Parade - My Chemical Romance Zathras: You [Sinclair] are the One who was. You [Delenn] are the One who is. And you–[Sheridan]–you are the One who will be. You are the beginning [Sinclair] of the story, and the middle [Delenn] of the story, and the end [Sheridan] of the story…that creates the next great story. “Would you be the savior of the broken The beaten and the damned?” He said “Will you defeat them Your demons and all the non-believers The plans that they have made?” 10) Lights Out For Darker Skies - British Sea Power Sheridan: We know that many in the government have wanted to act, but have been intimidated by threats of retaliation against your families, your friends. You are not alone anymore. We call upon you to rise up and do what’s right! We have drawn their forces away from Earth and disabled them. The time to act is now! This is not the voice of treason. These are your sons, your daughters, whose loyalties have never wavered, whose beliefs in this alliance has forced us to take extraordinary means! For justice, for peace, for the future…we have come home! There’s things which we all need to navigate Daisy chains of lights around the city now They glow but never quite illuminate. Hell and high water, won’t stop us now The future’s twisted, righteousness is coming back around 11) Out of the Dark - Matt Hires Sheridan to Delenn: We may not survive the next two weeks, but I wanted you to have this and to know that whatever time I have left, I want to spend it with you. In a strange, strange place, Lying on the edge of a star. In these violent days, I only wanna be where you are.