#idk who the ghosts are and whether there are ghosts

[fangirl-erdariel]

I was gonna put this in the tags but it's gonna get too long to put there easily, so sorry, I'm replying like this

But my answer is, it really depends a lot on the media in question?

Like, the thing is, I've been a Tolkien fan for ten years or thereabouts now, and I've spent most of that time being at least to some degree also a Silmarillion fan. And with Silm fandom, sometimes even with relatively major characters and relationships, there's not that much information actually given about them. Like, there's a lot of filling in blanks involved with the Silm fan experience. So subsequently, in Tolkien fandom, you can persuade me to ship just about anything if there's even a tiniest hint of emotional resonance that can be inferred from something adjacent and I happen to be in the right mood.

Like, I sort of ship Celebrían and Isildur's wife! I've never gotten around to drawing or writing them but I sorta do ship them.

And like, these are characters where... Celebrían.. we know her name, we know who her parents are, who she married in canon, who her children are, and where she lived in some time periods, and the whole "getting kidnapped by orcs and sailing to the West" thing. No personality, hobbies, skills, etc. And Isildur's wife? The fancy word, I believe, is "textual ghost". She technically exists, but we don't even know her name, let alone anything else about her. For fanfic writing purposes, she's a Schrödinger's OC. Evrrything about her, you gotta either make up yourself from scratch like making an OC, or borrow from someone else's fic or headcanon. So we have a background character of whom very little is known, and a character who is for all intents and purposes an OC that happens to slot into a hole in canon. So why do I ship them? Because both of them were (presumably; technically I'm not even sure if it's confirmed that Celebrían did but it seems the most likely option) staying at the same place during a major war that lasted the better part of a decade, and once or twice I thought about what it would be like to be in their place, waiting, far from the fighting and yet knowing that everything about your future hinges on the outcome of the war, and your loved ones are there fighting and even if the war is won you don't know whether they'll survive. And I thought about how those two characters are kinda in the same boat in that regard, and started thinking about how they'd probably talk about it and help each other bear it. And from there it just quickly evolved into shipping. I basically tricked myself into finding emotional resonance in the gaps left by outlines that weren't ever developed into full detailed stories.

So yeah, Tolkien fandom? There, if I'm in the right mood and you introduce me to the concept in the right way, you can make me ship just about anything, up to and including characters that aren't so much characters as holes where a character should go.

But then in a lot of other fandoms, that's not the case? There's some fandoms where I only ship, or could even be persuaded to ship, characters that have a fair bit of on-screen chemistry/whose dynamic is in some way fairly important in the story.

Like, BBC Musketeers? I only really ship a couple of the central canon ships and sorta Porthamis. I probably could be persuaded to ship any of the main boys, and a few major supporting characters wirh established on-screen dynamics, though

Robin of Sherwood? Honestly I barely even ship either Robin and Marion or Robert and Marion, and those are like. Canonical very plot-important ships between the main leads of the show. (Like, to be clear, I don't like mind those romances, I just wasn't super invested in them and my interest was much more in some non-romantic character dynamics and other aspects of the show). I could maybe be persuaded to ship like. some of the other major dynamics between some of the outlaws, but I'm not even sure about that.

So yeah idk it just depends so wildly from fandom to fandom that I struggle to give a definitive genersl answer. Sometimes you can just give me a theme that resonates with me and two barely existent outlines of a character to explore with it and I'll ship it, and other times even getting invested in the most central canon ship is an effort. I've yet to ever ship characters from two completely separate medias. Anyway I would say that even with fandoms where I have ships that I like toying with, shipping is never really the main angle I tend to approach the thing from

Hey, I wanna talk about how we do fandom! I've come to realize that I, personally, tend to differ from many others in that I highly prefer to only engage with a text as it's written, so I don't tend to really like fanon/extremely ooc characterizations and I find it hard to get invested in ships that aren't canon. My way of doing fandom isn't better or worse than anyone else's, but I am curious about how much of a minority I'm in! So:

*We've all seen ships of characters not from the same media and stuff like shipping the concept of ennui with the color blue, okay, I'm asking what you, personally, find compelling!

[capybaraonabicycle]

trick or treat!!!

Hiiii :D

Did I just ignore all my work and write you a fic snippet? Maybe. But it's halloween and we get to enjoy!

This contains spoilers for Ghosts from Big Finish and is also inspired by that episode plus your love for trains :) Hope you enjoy! (and hope you don't have that on your 'to listen' list)

(This was also written in the last 30 min and not proof read, so - yk what to expect)

Rating: G

Genre: Halloween

Characters: 12, Bill, Nardole

Warnings: Ghosts, identity crisis, I guess? also spoilers

Words: ~700

[ID: gif from the episode "Mummy on the Orient Express" showing a train in space. end ID]

The train in this fic is not necessarily travelling through space but you are free to imagine it that way :)

The train was busy. Bill had only taken one step out of the TARDIS, when already someone collided with her on their way towards their seat.

“Sorry” she winced, stepping to the side as fast as she could.

Physically, it felt fast enough. The expected crash held off, Bill did not even feel a whiff of air as the passenger rushed past her. Visually, however...

Looking at this logically, there was no way the passenger and their bulky luggage made it past Bill without so much as grazing her. There just wasn't enough room in the aisle. But it couldn't be, could it? It must have been a trick to her eyes, witnessing the traveller's hand and their luggage glide through Bill's hip in passing?

Bill gulped.

“Uh, Doctor?” she asked, turning around to her friend.

That was when she noticed the woman behind him, straight on course to barrel into his back. Her instincts took over.

“Doctor, behind you!” she called.

But before he could react, the woman had already reached him. She broke through his chest, undisturbed in her way as she almost traversed Bill as well, the timetravellers staring at her dumbfoundedly.

“Incorporeal people” Nardole whistled.

“Excuse me, ma'am!” The Doctor called after the woman, the same curiosity in his eyes that Bill could feel rising in her own chest.

The woman ignored him, even after calling repeatedly. He shrugged and turned to a little child on a seat nearby.

“Hello” he smiled, crouching down to their eye-level. “I'm the Doctor. This is Bill and Nardole. Mind telling me your name and where we are?”

The child didn't seem to hear him.

“Creepy” Nardole mumbled while Bill looked around. As expected, none of the other passengers were taking notice of them. And another thing.

“Oh no” she said.

“Oh yes.”

The Doctor was positively beaming.

“What?” asked Nardole.

“Look at their mouths” Bill advised him.

“Oh no” Nardole whimpered.

The passengers' mouths were moving, animatedly talking among themselves. And yet, they could not hear a sound from them.

“They're ghosts” Bill said.

“Are they?” the Doctor asked.

“Not just them!” Nardole cried out, watching his hand disappear in the backrest of a seat. “We're on a ghost train! I don't like this, Sir, I don't like this at all.”

“You're being too hasty, both of you” the Doctor scolded.

“They can't hear or see us and are pass-through and silent” Bill shrugged. “Not transparent or giving you cold shivers, but that still sounds like a ghost to me. Or a hologram without audio, but you know, same thing.”

“It is not the same thing” the Doctor huffed.

“Yeah, that would be less spooky” Nardole pointed at him in support. “I am with the hologram explanation.”

“It's not my point, anyway.” The Doctor straightened his back and Bill knew he was phasing into lecturing-mode. “My wife once invited me on a date to Demonese II. Most haunted planet in the galaxy.”

“How romantic” Bill snorted and he glared at her.

“We proceeded to make holograms of ourselves, or, as you like to call them: ghosts,” the Doctor continued. “Later, I read the memory-file on our holograms.”

A dark shadow crossed his face as if he regretted that choice. “To them, we looked like the ghosts.”

“So what you are saying is - “ Bill understood and he nodded.

“There is no way of knowing whether the train is incorporeal and silent” he summarised, “or we are.”

“How fun” Nardole whined. “That's exactly the adventure we wanted to have today. Hang out on a train as possibly-a-ghost. Why can't we ever have a nice, relaxing trip to a beach.”

“I don't do beaches” the Doctor glared, then he grinned. “Let's get a scope of the place. Let's phase through to the engine room, that's where the exciting stuff happens!”

He moved through the passengers and seats, away from the TARDIS. Nardole came up next to Bill.

“I don't like how he phrased that” he grumbled. “I don't like it at all.”

“Come on!” Bill grabbed his hand, slightly relieved that he still felt as corporeal to her as ever. “We get to explore and haunt a ghost train!”

“Uughhh” Nardole groaned. “I should have stayed in bed.”

Thank you for reading!

[bitchfitch]

I've started playing Potion Permit, and so far it's one of my favorite games I've messed around with, but the most big brained move the devs made was giving you a dog on day 1, and then making that dog able to track NPCs and lead you directly to them no matter where they are in the town.

[txttletale]

i have thought about this a fair bit, it's a fun circle to try to square.

first of all i would have made it a closed circle mystery. that's clearly what the set's name, the cluedo tie-in, and the (imo) more interesting parts of the flavor and story were angling towards. obviously you need enough cards for a whole set so you can't literally set the entire story in karlov manor--so i'd have it take place on some private island (maybe an artificial floating island? i know ravnica has no oceans idk if it has lakes), so you have an expansive-ish setting with distinct wildlife and inhabitants to fill out your draft chaff.

so the setup is now, the guild bigwigs are all meeting at karlov manor on this private island to figure out blah blah continutiy blah blah phryexian invasion blah rebuilding blah blah. and then the murders start. now one of the lamest things about karlov manor was that the murders were zegana (fine) some new gu ythey made up (who cares) and teysa karlov (double ultra extra who cares with sugar on top). ohhh nooo the ghosts magic woman in charge of the ghosts magic guild has been murdered how consequential. like if these are murders make them murders. i'd personally kill niv-mizzet so that the stakes are actually high (and suitably ravnican) with the guildpact hanging in the balance.

then all these guild leaders who don't trust each other are stuck on this island with a dead body and a murderer. they obviously don't want to let anyone leave, but they don't trust any third party to be neutral enough to investigate. so naturally, each guild brings in its own investigator.

this is fun because it lets you have a managable number of detectives. ten detectives is a lot but it's not genre-shattering, especially if you let them team up. you can have each detective kind of represent a different genre of fiction to get your references in without gunking up the rest of the set with mixed genre messaging and then have fun with it by having the detectives all represent their guild. keep alquist proft as the quintessential sherlock holmes figure to be the azorius detective and protagonist, but i'd want to make his sidekick massacre girl instead of kellen (fuck off kellen) with kaya playing more of a deuteragonist rival role as suspicion is naturally falling on the orzhov and teysa karlov because the murder happend under their watch and their ghost magic is 'conveniently' not working.

i think alquist proft, extremely traditional hyper-observant three-pipe sleuth, and massacre girl, rakdos detective, whose plan to investigate was 'stab all the suspects until they stop moving' would make a really funny duo that could play off each other, and i think kaya having a big moment of heroism at the end of the story would land better if she was more ambigous and suspicious before that.

oh and the last change i'd make is get rid of the stupid fucking mind control flowers shit. who caressssss. have a real murder method and a real whodunnit that a reader could conceivably crack. if you're going to rely on magic bullshit then establish it really early and have it be part of a major set theme or mechanic. but really i thikn all that was needed was a classic murder mystery with a short name of memorable and beloved characters as suspects, competing investigation teams with vested interests to actually have a guilds aspect to this set allegedly set on ravnica (and not the Secret Eleventh Guild: Cops**), and murders that meant something. oh and a totally different ending instead of a wet splat of nothing like obviously there's a lot to be said about the ideological implications of the classic murder mystery ending of the suspect being taken to jail and Everything Is Okay Now :) but it's at least more emotionally satisfying than 'well its fine. It wasnt illegal to do all those murders eBut we're going to sue Her and shes going to lsoe lots of Money.' have the culprit, whether it's still one of the trostani or someone else, actually face consequences, right, whether death or arrest or even just going on the run while ackling 'you havent seen the last of meeee' anything but the total void of interesting stakes we ended up getting *no no tthe guild thats laready cops ** of the guild thats also already cops

i keep seeing people say that mkm was bad because it was 'tropey' or focused too hard on the genre stuff and honestly i think its problem was that it by far didn't commit to the (or even pick a) genre enough

[mabaris]

ok so reading the article about world state choices. my take on it is that it seems like they’re specifically referencing choices to create the inquisitor, like that’s the “adventurer” in question? it might be on its own page because that’s when you’re also customizing their face and voice. maybe there will be another page for more worldbuilding because i don’t think there will ONLY be three choices that matter in the scope of the game. the well of sorrows absolutely has to come up in a game with morrigan and the inquisitor and the elven gods right??? i hope??? come on

[lotrmusical]

My high school did a yearly poetry recitation contest (Poetry Out Loud), so Oh Boy do I know some poems. My favorites are Ozymandias and "the world is about to end and my grandparents are in love," by Kara Jackson. Also in 8th grade we had a Poe unit and had a class contest to make the best music video of the Raven, so I still know a good chunk of that.

i hadn't heard of the kara jackson one! just read through it and enjoyed it, particularly these lines > 'grandma returns to her love like a hymn, marks it with a color. // when the world ends will it suck the earth of all its love? /will i go taking somebody’s hand, / my skin becoming their skin?'

[shrimper]

PLS TALK ABOUT DUNMESHI GHOST TRICK AU!!!

YAAAY WELL!! IF YOU INSIST!!

so briefly to discuss the main roles. chilchuck is yomiel, izutsumi is sissel, laois is lynne, falin is the equivalent of kamilla and marcille takes on the role of missile ! (thus, marcille is also ray, && i’ll elaborate on this later)

the plot is similar to ghost trick!! (…kinda) (not really)

brief plot overview!! it happens in a similar enough universe to ghost trick, but the races from dungeon meshi pass over . i don’t think there will be a dungeon but don’t quote me on that one

but Anyway um. yeah chilchuck got divorced by his wife and it was BAD his wife took the house took the kids he was SO fucked. he dropped out of his job (which was…ummm. engineering maybe, if not rogue ?) and entered a spiral of depression > drink to feel better > hangover > depression. he was quickly gaining an addiction . LUCKILY FOR HIM he had a bit more sense than his dunmeshi counterpart — enough to recognise that his reliance on alcohol was a Bad Thing — so, in order to Recover (or at least replace it with something) he adopted a cat ‼️ he named her izutsumi and they became best friends, especially since it was likely chilchuck wasn’t going to live much longer after she died (half foot lifespans)

a few months into this he was falsely accused of armed robbery . he already had a pretty bad reputation around the area for being somewhat of a lousy guy, so he was taken into questioning and then. yeah whatever happened with yomiel 👍 temsik meteor, holding lynne (or in this case laios) hostage, etc etc

you know how this goes . chilchuck got revenge on the officers who cornered him && now senshi is in prsion . yeag . he (senshi) had two wards under his care, who were laios and falin. they all also shared an apartment with falins VERY close friend marcille who was very intelligent but not wise at all !

the first loop happens, and marcille got stuck there but sticks with it in the hopes of saving falin (…why? what happened to falin. can anyone hear me the number of plot holes in my own au are astounding). she eventually took the form of a log with a small sprout at the end of it (a reference to her staff) . she calls herself ‘bud’ !

you know the rest. izutsumi wakes up, sees chilchucks body & assumes it is hers and continues on without knowing how to read. etc etc .

“what about the characters you haven’t mentioned?” i’m working on it 😭!! i’m thinking senshi is jowd, Maybe (if not obvious by the story overview). kiki is inspector cabanela, maybe, and namari and kaka are her Right Hand Detectives(TM) with varying amounts of respect for her (playful sibling rivalry vs. kikimari perhaps?), but that does leave the issue of ‘why does senshi know kiki???? hwhuh’. shirou is the justice minister, maybe??? inutade is also here in the form of a dobermann i think. somewhere . inutade izutsumi best friends every universe

[danidoesathing]

am i the only one who feels like alex(the world ender guy) was kind of a missed oportunity in vide noir? like, he was set up by johnnie to be a badass gang leader just for him to never even appear in the end, we just got a close up to his face scar

i feel like buck's encounter with the psychic would've been way more powerful if it was alex instead. its implied that johnnie and moonbeam had a relationship ig, but its barely even hinted at, and he never even mentions her. but with johnnie and alex, johnnie actually mentions him and speaks highly of his brother, and says alex will help buck if he sees the red cloth that belonged to johnnie

the fact that all that build up led to buck not even TALKING to alex kinda irks me. imagine how much better the payoff would be if alex had received the cloth instead of moonbeam? if we had seen his reaction to johnnie's death? if he would've helped buck like johnnie said he would? if we saw what johnnie implied alex would do to the guys who black brained his brother? idk man i think we were robbed

im new to the fanbase, so im gonna be very embarassed if this is a topic that already came up here LOLL but i still wanted to get it off my chest💀sry if this ask is messy, i suck at writing down my thoughts lmao

No I gotta agree on that. Like I LOVED seeing Moonbeam and getting know her as her and having all this new information about her (her being part of the World Enders is still wild to me and I love it) and it’s a good scene and all, but I’m still confused as to why they built up Alex so much, especially since this is the first time we’re hearing about him, and he never even got the chance to speak. If it were Dale I’d be a bit more understanding as we know him already (tho not by much cause I would have loved to see more of Dale). But it’s Alex, whose not only the leader of the World Enders but also Johnnie’s (and Dale’s) brother. I would’ve have loved to, you know, actually meet the guy. Especially with how much build up he got. And I GET IT Lord Huron’s lore is meant to be weird and vague and hard to pin down but like. Didn’t need to tease me like that come on

The only reason I could think of was maybe they needed to get Buck on his own again? Like having this the beginning of a war between the World Enders and Z’Oieasu shown or having Buck work with them consistently might have thrown off the tone. It is supposed to be Buck’s story and his own descent into madness. The whole album has this isolated vibe to me, like being alone in a city of people Hard to get that when there’s other people around, especially a group as lively as the world enders. Or maybe they just wanted to include Moonbeam back into the story again lol

GOD I would have loved to see Moonbeam’s scene with Buck done with Alex. I can only imagine how that scene would’ve played out and his reaction to Johnnie’s death. Contrasting Buck’s scene with Johnnie with Alex’s own personality, the possible dynamics, the anger and grief that could arise…..ough

[elliottexists]

bbc ghosts quotebook

s1ep5: moonah ston

"guys! guys! anecdote! anecdote alert!"

"TOOTSIE! TOOTSIE! TOOTSIE! TOOTSIE!"

"I dont want them thinking were the type of people that we are"

"pom pom!"

"do come in on."

"and frankly i think he deserves a little respect." "yes moonah is-" "shut up robin!"

"theres not really anything that fabulous down here." "speak for yourself."

"i play. im a player." "not sure you are mike-"

"and the captains ross." "what? no im clearly chandler!"

"could that BE anymore vexing?"

"before you was moonah, before house was moonah. everything come. everything go. but always there, moonah."

"pray tell, how YOU doing?"

[memories-break-our-fall]

wait Eve fey thought….

[wildevenusian]

i just don’t understand. why say ur ready to talk if you aren’t?

can u believe this post is what got me to reach tag limit

[sage-nebula]

To be honest I kind of just want to write a fic set after Frontiers where Tails ends up in Possum Springs and befriends that crew. Not for any plot reasons, there's no plot really, but just so he can hang around with a bunch of people who have problems and negative feelings and think it's A-OK to feel and express those negative feelings. They treat him like the kid he is because they're in their twenties, and he explodes with everything he's been through in a way to prove that he's not just a kid, and Mae responds with the NitW-certified understated, "Jeez." They take him to smash lightbulbs behind the Snack Falcon. They let him sit in at band practice. He helps Bea out at the Ol' Pickaxe so she can finally fire the creep that assaulted her. (She at first tells him that's probably a violation of child labor laws. He goes, "what are those." She says "fuck it" and hires him.) He and Lori get to gleefully shout, "everything sucks forever!!" while laying on the train tracks because sometimes you've just got to embrace the fact that, yeah, things suck! And maybe they always will! And maybe that's okay! Maybe it's okay to not be okay!!

There's no plot. This follows the events of NitW too, so there's no danger from the cult. Tails is aged up a little maybe, perhaps 12 so that he and Lori can be closer in age (since she's 14), because I want them to be besties and later pen pals. (She gets him a friendship necklace that's two halves of a star. Together they spell "BFF." She gives him the B, because he has a big brain, and keeps the second F because she wants people to think it means "fuck."

Tails: "So . . . Brains Forever Fuck?" Lori: "Exactly" :3)

I just think it would be fun and maybe what he needs. Everything's dying in Possum Springs and everything sucks, Mae is severely mentally ill, Bea is cut off from her dreams, Gregg and Angus have no way of knowing if they'll ever manage to get out, Lori was probably going to be the next target of the cult. But hey, they're still alive. They can still smash lightbulbs and build crazy robots and tightrope walk on the power lines and have knife fights (ok that's just Mae and Gregg) and play grunge rock as loud as they can during band practice. Angus can tell Tails about a universe that doesn't care, and people who do. Gregg can commiserate on what it feels like to feel worthless, and Bea likewise on how it feels to be overwhelmed but knowing you have no choice but to keep going anyway. And Mae can save him the trouble of paying for a shit therapist by telling him, look, the only therapist around will tell you to just journal your thoughts and feelings. So do that. Maybe it helps. She doesn't know. But she does it, so hey, might be worth a shot.

I don't know, I just like thinking about it. Don't know if I'll ever write it, but the idea of Tails and Lori M being pen pals regardless is one I like a lot (as well as Tails taking a burned CD of the band's EP with him when he leaves, and actually picking up on that journaling thing big sis Maeday told him about . . .)

[mrdyketator]

it's weird but this is the first time i have fallen prey to the lesbian confusion of ''is she a friend (to me) or more''

[supergraphicultramoderngirl]

I AM. CONFUSED.

[myli3s]

i dont like him

[wintaerbaer]

bottle up old love (jjk) (m)

summary: Jungkook may have broken up with you a year ago, but that's not going to stop him from coming to your rescue when he sees you being cornered by a creep.

pairing: Jungkook x Reader

rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

genre: exes to lovers, the holy trinity of angst/smut/fluff

word count: 4.6k (this was supposed to be a drabble 💀)

prompt: JK + exes to lovers + "I'm sorry" + "I hate you" + "Don't fucking touch me" + "Leave" (for @btsborahaee <3)

warnings: language, a short harassment scene at the beginning (nothing too intense), explicit content including: unprotected sex (DO NOT), fingering, praise kink, biting, marking, spanking, cum eating (sort of?), big cawk soft dom jk, cowgirl (yeehaw), creampie, cockwarming, i think that's all but this also wasn't supposed to be too smutty so clearly idk what's going on lol

MASTERLIST

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

You spit the words at the man in front of you, pushing him back as he tries to make another grab at your arm.

“Why do you gotta be like that?” Seungcheol whines. “I thought we were having fun.”

“You and I have very different ideas of fun.” You take a step backwards towards your building. Somewhere down the sidewalk, footsteps clatter against the pavement.

“C’mon.” He matches your movement, reaches for you again. “Invite me up. You enjoyed the last time, didn’t you? I told you that was just a warm-up.”

The building’s brick wall is closer than you thought, and you bang your shoulder against it as you try to sidestep him. “Last time you didn’t follow me to a bar I didn’t even invite you to. How did you know where I was anyway?”

“Let me come up, and I’ll tell you,” he rumbles with a flicker of his eyebrows. He has you fully backed up against the wall now, and you press against the muscle of his chest to no avail.

“Stop!” you shout before he’s ripped away from you so suddenly that you’re left blinking in confusion, huddled against the brick.

There’s a thud–the sound of a fist hitting flesh–and a yelp before Seungcheol is reeling back with his hands clutching his nose. Blood seeps out from beneath his fingers, black even under the glow of the streetlamps.

“What the fuck?” he shrieks, and it’s only then that you take a proper look at your savior, looking every bit like he’s stepped straight out of the shadows with his dark hair, ebony clothes, and deep brown eyes.

And a lead weight drops into your stomach as you recognize him.

Jungkook sets himself between you and Seungcheol, looming over the latter as he continues to cover his face, whining. “I’m giving you ten seconds to get out of here.”

“Who the fuck are you?!”

“Ten,” Jungkook growls, taking a step in Seungcheol’s direction. “Nine.”

Seungcheol straightens–clearly a last-ditch attempt to look intimidating. Spitting blood onto the concrete, he peers at you over Jungkook’s shoulder. “This isn’t over, bitch.”

Then he spins and takes off running down the street.

Your hands grip your elbows. It may be a balmy summer night, but you’re shivering where you stand, unsure whether you’re more affected by Seungcheol’s behavior or the ghost who’s unexpectedly in front of you.

“Are you okay?” he quietly asks, gaze fixed on your face. You stare at your shoes and give him a brisk nod as a response before turning away, punching in your building code, and walking through the front door.

He follows closely, slipping in behind you and trailing a few feet. You let him for a little while, guiding him through the modest lobby and up the first flight of stairs. But when you’re halfway up the second stairwell–almost to your floor–you pause on the landing, spinning his way.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

His eyes are gentle, sincere. “Making sure you get in safely.”

“There’s no need for that,” you assert. “I’m already in my building. There’s a keypad. I’m good.”

“The keypad does almost nothing. I followed you in no problem.”

“So I should be worried about you then?”

He flushes, the tips of his ears going pink. “Please just let me see you inside.”

You want to argue back, want to shout at him and make a scene, but you know it’s no use. Know that he’s stubborn as a bull and will get what he wants one way or another.

It’s how he broke up with you after all.

You say nothing, only hustle up the last set of steps and down the dimly-lit hallway until you’re in front of your door, Jungkook tailing you the whole time with his hands in his pockets. You practically fumble your key in your haste to get it into the lock, letting out a satisfied sigh as the latch finally clicks open.

“There. I’m in,” you say as you step over the threshold, waving a dismissive hand at your unwanted companion. “Leave.”

But he hesitates just outside the doorway, teeth chewing at the corner of his lip. “What are you going to do if he comes back?”

“That’s my problem, isn’t it? I stopped being your concern when you dropped me out of nowhere a year ago.”

Your eyes sting at the memory, tears threatening to spill over. You don’t want him here. Don’t want to see him or have him anywhere in your vicinity. Not when it still hurts like this.

Though, truth be told, you don’t expect to ever be fully over him.

“We’re done, Jungkook,” you murmur. “You made sure of that.”

And you close the door in his face.

The distress subsides quickly once he’s out of sight–like he was never there to begin with–and you don’t linger, dropping your bag on the sofa and heading straight for the bathroom. This is how you’ve made it a year without him; it was weeks of crying before you realized that wallowing was doing you no good, only fueling your misery instead of providing any kind of catharsis. So you’ve done your best to simply push past it and cast away the anguish that bubbles up every time you think of him. Not allow it to linger like the shadows at the edges of the room.

You shed your clothes and turn the shower to a temperature that you’ll probably regret later. But for now, you savor the way the water sears your skin as you wash away the day with all of its unpleasant surprises. Taking your time, you scrub every inch of your body and carefully shampoo your hair (trying not to fall back into the fantasy that’s plagued you on occasion where it’s his hands and not yours spreading the bubbles over your form).

The self-care continues as you step out of the shower and leisurely work through your skin care routine, even taking the time to blow dry your hair. By the time you exit the bathroom, the fog on the mirror has dissipated, and you’ve once again successfully tamped down the memory of Jungkook and his hands and eyes and everything you ever felt for him.

Or so you think.

After popping into your bedroom to pull on some pajamas, you pad back into the living room for a glass of water, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the front door. Regret attempts to push its way into your consciousness against your better judgment. The man broke your heart, yes. But you do feel a little guilty slamming the door in his face after he just fought off a creep for you.

And speaking of Seungcheol, what if he does come back? You’re pretty sure he saw you punch in the building code the night you brought him home with you, and given his behavior, you wouldn’t be surprised if he filed it away in his head.

Anxiety winning out, you creep to the door and peer through the peephole. The hallway looks empty, drab beige walls taking up most of your field of view, but you jump as you spot a hulking shadow to the right. Your heartbeat races then slows, a closer look revealing hunched, unmoving shoulders wrapped in a familiar black t-shirt.

Jungkook swings his head to look at you as you open the door and glare down at him. His legs are pulled up, arms resting on his knees, and it might be endearing if not for the fact that he absolutely, positively should not be here.

“What are you doing?” you ask him for the second time tonight.

“He might come back.”

“And you’re going to what? Fight him?”

He shrugs. “If I have to.”

“Yeah?” You raise an eyebrow, challenging. “You’re going to sit out here all night?”

He shifts where he sits, wiggling his hips like he’s firmly planting his butt into his chosen spot. “Yes.”

You roll your eyes at him but don’t doubt that he would. Again, if there is anything you know this man to be, it’s stubborn. “You’re going to scare the neighbors.”

“Who, Mrs. Kwon?” A tiny smile plays on his lips as he glances in the direction of your elderly neighbor’s apartment. “I think she’d be delighted to see me.”

If you’re being honest, she probably would be. She’s always adored Jungkook and praised him as the “kind, handsome young man” who helped her put away groceries and fixed her leaky faucet one time. In the months following your breakup, she’d asked about him once or twice, patting your arm reassuringly when you awkwardly told her she wouldn’t be seeing him anymore.

“Don’t worry, dear,” she said. “He’ll come around.”

Well she’s turned out to be right in that he’s certainly back here again, still watching you from his spot on the floor. And you don’t know whether it’s his big doe eyes or the fact that he really would guard your apartment all night if you let him or the genuine fear that one of the other neighbors will make a fuss at his presence, but you feel yourself softening.

Turning abruptly, you stride into the kitchen for your glass of water, walking out of sight of the door, which is still wide open.

“You coming?” you call, pulling two glasses down from the cupboard.

There’s a rustle as Jungkook stands and shuffles into your apartment, closing the door behind him with a soft thud. For someone who was so determined to defend you tonight, he seems uncertain now that he’s actually inside. His hands are once again stuffed in his pockets, and his eyes flicker around like he hasn’t been here a thousand times. Hasn’t cooked you breakfast in this kitchen in nothing but his boxers. Hasn’t watched The Notebook with you on this TV and held you as you both cried.

Hasn’t made love to you on the couch.

You slide a water his way, and he murmurs his thanks, sipping at it lightly. It’s strange–seeing him here again–and you can’t help but think about the last time he stood in this room. It’d been a maelstrom of accusations and hurt feelings that culminated in him storming out, the slam of the door echoing in your ears.

“You never cleaned that?” He gestures at the rug that covers most of the sitting area in your living room, eyes on the dark purple stain roughly the size of your hand.

You gulp down your water and try not to follow his line of sight. Try not to remember how you’d knocked over a glass of wine in your haste to get his clothes off during another movie night less than a month before your breakup.

“I kind of forgot about it,” you say. “Stopped noticing it after a while.” 

It’s a lie. There was never a time when you didn’t notice it, the memory of him haunting you every time you sit down on the couch and stare at the garish stain. And still, you haven’t been able to bring yourself to try and erase it.

Silence worms its way between you again. With only the soft light from the tabletop lamp glowing next to the couch, Jungkook’s face is cloaked in shadow. And so you barely see his lips move when he speaks. Barely hear it with how quietly his whisper slips into the room.

“I’m sorry.”

Your glass almost drops from your fingers, droplets splashing across your knuckles as you catch it at the last moment and steady it on the countertop. Turning to face him, you find his gaze already on you, melancholy tinting his expression.

“What?”

He tongues his lip ring, shoulders dropping a fraction. “For how things ended. I’m sorry.”

You can see the sincerity in his posture, can see the sadness in his form. And yet, his words only fill you with a hot anger that bubbles out of you before you can swallow it down.

“I don’t know why you would be,” you challenge, “being that you didn’t even respect me enough to give me a proper reason.”

Jungkook huffs at that; you think he’s resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Did it really matter?”

“Yes.”

He gnaws at his lip again, no longer looking at you, and his lack of an answer only riles you up further.

“Was there someone else?” you demand, causing him to flinch. It was the same thing you asked him when he told you he thought you should break up, standing in almost this exact same spot.

“No,” he murmurs after a moment. “There wasn’t anyone else.” He pushes a hand through his dark, silky hair. “There hasn’t been anyone else since either.”

This surprises you. Jungkook is, in your eyes, the handsomest man you have ever come face-to-face with, but even from an objective standpoint, he is exceedingly attractive. There is no doubt in your mind that he would easily be able to land a woman if he so desired.

“So then why?”

He sets his jaw, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows and fixes his stare out the window. And it’s this final refusal, this steadfast dedication to not explaining himself, that finally has tears tracking down your cheeks.

The sight of you crying has his attention snapping back your way, hands reaching out as if to hold you.

“Don’t touch me,” you gasp, recoiling until you’re out of reach. “I…I hate you.”

It almost seems as if your voice lands physically, and Jungkook staggers back like you’ve slapped him, remorse immediately wiggling its way between your ribs. You know you don’t mean the words even as they fall from your mouth, but it feels pointless to take them back now, the sentiment already thrown out there and hovering in the hollow space between you.

Jungkook muddles towards the couch–more of a defeated slump dragging his steps than anger–and you think he’s going to sit down before he whirls back towards you at the last second.

“The gala,” he mutters. “That’s when I decided.”

You know which one he’s talking about. Hosted by your medical school to celebrate the end of the academic year, it had been a night of food, dancing, and socializing. You had, of course, brought him as your date and introduced him to your friends and classmates, excited to finally allow him to put faces to names. As you comb through your memories of the night, you can’t pinpoint any warning signs, only remembering the way he’d smiled at you throughout. The way he’d pulled you close and danced you around the room.

“I don’t…I don’t understand.”

He rakes his fingers through his hair again, tossing strands of night over his forehead. A sad chuckle looses itself into the thick air of the room, and the final dregs of his resolve flicker away. “I realized that I didn’t deserve to stand next to you. That you could do much better than me.”

Whatever you thought his reason had been–whatever theories or thoughts had kept you up night after night for the past year–this is not even close to what you expected. And while you always thought finally receiving an answer would be freeing, would offer you some semblance of understanding, you’re surprised at the rage that boils in the pit of your stomach, bile rising in your throat.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” you growl, taking an angered step towards him. “You were feeling insecure, and you made the decision to break up with me without even thinking to, I don’t know, discuss it with me first?”

His hand goes to the back of his neck now, embarrassment showing its face as he peers at you from under his lashes. “I was stupid–”

“No, shit.”

“But can you blame me?” he presses. “There we were: you, about to be this incredible doctor with all of your doctor friends…” His voice falters, sorrow lacing his tone. “And I’m just a tattoo artist.”

The defeatist way he says it helps to dampen your ire some, even if a heap of frustration remains–the sad shape of his doe eyes softening your edges.

“Just a tattoo artist,” you repeat. “Jungkook, I have always been so, so proud of you. I was never anything but proud to have you as my partner. You must’ve known that.”

His teeth worry his lip, and though he nods, he doesn’t seem fully convinced.

So you continue on, closing the distance between you a fraction more. “You started your own business from nothing. And I saw how hard you worked: to get the building, to hire other artists, train your apprentices.” You shake your head–half in irritation, half in awe. “And look at you now! You’re thriving. The last I heard, if you want an appointment at Golden Tattoo, you need to book months in advance.”

His eyes are alight now, some hidden emotion glimmering under the surface, but he stays quiet as he soaks in your words.

“So how can you possibly act like you weren’t enough?” you push. “You are amazing, Jungkook. And I never gave a shit about any job comparisons people may have made.” One more step, and suddenly you’re almost chest-to-chest. As always, you’re unable to resist the pull of his gravity. Yanked right back into his orbit. “I only wanted you. I’ve only ever wanted y–”

He cuts you off with his mouth, strong hands snagging your hips to pull you against him, and your own fingers reflexively tangle in his black hoodie as your subconscious gives itself over to him. Like it’s been waiting for this.

“I’m not. Not thriving,” he mumbles against your lips. “Not without you. Been miserable without you.”

And in spite of your anger, in spite of the fact that you were ready to kick him out a mere hour ago, you find yourself kissing him back, relishing the slick glide of his tongue as he licks into your mouth.

You startle as the backs of your knees suddenly bump against the couch, and then Jungkook is spinning as he settles onto the plush seat, pulling you along to straddle him. He sucks at your neck until you can feel the blood blooming under your skin, painting you like the pretty ink on his arm.

Speaking of.

The fabric of his hoodie whispers as you pull it up and over his back and head, tossing it over his shoulder and into a corner. His arms now bare to you, you gloss over his tattoos with your eyes and fingers until you find the one you’d picked out for him; the lovely orange of the flower petals seem to glow even in the dim light of the room.

“Beautiful,” you whisper.

“Just like you.”

You look at him then, the twinkle of tiny galaxies in his eyes betraying his hope. And before you can go any further, you need confirmation.

“You left.”

“I did.” Fingertips press lightly against your waist like he’s afraid you might be the one to disappear now. “I’m sorry.”

“Jungkook, if…” You lick your lips. Can almost taste his regret. “If we do this and you leave again–”

“If we do this, I'm not going anywhere,” he insists, tugging your hips down to grind against him and ghosting a kiss at your jaw. “Just wanna be here with you. Just want you.”

And it’s all you need to hear.

You shed the cotton shirt you had thrown on after your shower and move to yank his own off, tossing it in the same corner as his hoodie. The muscles of his pecs and abs shift under your hands, burning hot where your fingers trace the contours of his torso. 

“God, I missed this,” he groans as he buries his face between your breasts, nipping at the skin there before laving the spot with his tongue.

You’d agree–echo the sentiment that your body has been aching for this–if not for the fact that you’re too busy trying to get the two of you naked, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your shorts.

But a tattooed hand covers yours, eases it away to take its place. “No,” he rumbles. “Let me.”

Wide palms and long fingers span your hips and thighs, grasping as much skin as possible even as he drags your shorts and panties down your legs and helps to steady you as you kick them off. They join the tangle of his own clothes

“Fucking gorgeous,” he growls at the sight of you finally naked in front of him. And with such speed that it almost seems like it’s involuntary, an impulse outside of his control, he’s immediately stroking at the apex of your thighs.

“Baby, this wet for me already?” A breathy sigh passes from his mouth to yours, almost laughing at the ease with which he glides through your folds. “Hell, I could just–”

A finger slips in and you gasp, Jungkook smiling wickedly at you as he quickly adds a second and curls them against your walls. You force your eyes closed as they roll back in your head, and you keel forward, babbling incoherently against the line of his collarbone.

“Use your words, love; you can do it.” He says it as if his fingers aren’t currently buried in you down to the knuckle. As if he’s not making you see stars behind your eyelids right now.

You choke down a breath, desperate for the oxygen. “Insane,” you pant. “I said you’re fucking insane.”

“Only for you,” he says before sliding his digits out of you and dipping them into his mouth. He moans at the taste, and even with his lips closed tightly, you can see the way he’s working his tongue around each finger, unwilling to waste a single drop of your essence.

Like you said. Insane.

He gives you a moment to catch your breath until you’re the one who’s getting impatient, hastily undoing his belt and tearing it from his pants with a hiss. But as you shift off of him so he can slither out of his pants and boxers–his length springing free to slap against his smooth stomach–you’re hit with an untimely realization.

“Jungkook, I don’t have condoms.”

He freezes, the color draining from his face (though admittedly, that may be because all of his blood has clearly gone south). The two of you stare at each other for a long second before he suddenly leans over, rummaging back through his pants pockets. He pulls out his wallet, rifles through it, then tosses it across the room in frustration, head tilting back against the couch as he groans at the ceiling.

“Fuck, me neither.”

You chew at your lip, a loaded quiet settling over the room as Jungkook wipes a hand over his face.

“I’m still on birth control,” you whisper, and Jungkook whips his head around, eyes wide and questioning like he’s not sure he heard you right. But you don’t repeat yourself, only hold his stare until he’s tentatively reaching out to graze his fingertips along your thigh.

“I told you. There’s been no one else.” His expression is earnest, eager. You trust that he’s telling the truth, and yet you also know that if you refused him, if you said you weren’t comfortable, he wouldn’t push.

So you swing a leg back over his lap, drag your wet folds against his cock. He moans, gripping your thighs hard, but he leans in to bite at your lower lip with a growl before pulling back to search your face.

“You?”

It hurts that he even feels the need to ask. Because how could you even want someone else? Who could possibly measure up?

You brush a reassuring, barely-there kiss against his already swollen lips. “No one else for me either.”

This seems to please him, but you still see hesitation behind his eyes as he asks, “What about the guy downstairs?”

A drunken mistake was what that was. All sloppy lips and fumbling hands that had left you feeling more empty than anything, and which resulted in you sending Cheol away before he had even gotten a peek at your bedroom.

“We made out once,” you admit, hating that you’re even having to think about another man when Jungkook is here in front of you. “But nothing else happened.”

“Good,” he grunts, but his fingers dig into your backside like he’s trying to reclaim you. And just a fraction of a second later, he’s devilishly tonguing his lip ring as he winds his palm back to bring it down harshly against the meat of your ass, the smack echoing between the walls almost endlessly.

“Ride me, baby.”

You’re quick to line him up–desperate, at this point, to have him inside of you–and begin to ease yourself down slowly, trying to give your body the space and time to adjust to the burning stretch of his girth. He’s always filled you to your absolute limit, tested the furthest boundaries of how much your body can take with his size.

“Yesss,” he hisses, nipping at your neck once again. “You’re doing great, love. Always take me so fucking well.”

You gasp as he bottoms out, struggling to catch your breath with the relentless push of him. If you were a betting woman, you’d put money on your intestines being somewhere in the area of your throat right now.

He wraps his inked arm around your waist, continuing to whisper his praises against the shell of your ear as he starts to guide your body up and down. Intoxicated by the smooth slide of his length, you soon find your pace, and your shared moans fill the room–the whole city probably able to hear you right now.

You move that way until the pressure building becomes too much and your legs start to tremble, quivering against Jungkook’s own muscled thighs.

“It’s okay; I’ve got you.” He bands his arms around you and presses you to his chest, holding you in place so he can thrust upwards.

Hard.

You’re practically screaming now, burying your teeth into his shoulder so as to muffle your sounds and not scare the neighbors. It’s all you can do to hold on for dear life as he rapidly pistons his cock inside of you, the slap of your hips like a metronome.

It builds and builds until it breaks and you’re falling apart in his arms, the spasms of your inner walls pulling him over the edge with you as he empties his seed deep inside.

The silence that follows in unlike the others you previously shared this evening–tension traded for serenity as you sit on the couch holding each other, you still contentedly stuffed full of him. He traces the ridges of your spine in a soothing pattern that has your eyelids drooping, your cheek resting against the warm skin of his neck.

“I missed this,” you whisper once your brain has finally remembered how to construct human speech.

“I missed you.”

You pull back so you can rest your forehead against his and gently run a finger over the lines of his face. “Where do we go from here?”

He hums. Tucks a stray hair behind your ear. “Take it day by day?” he suggests. “We don’t need to rush into anything if you don’t want to.”

“Mm, that does seem like a problem for tomorrow.”

A dark eyebrow quirks, teasing. “And what about right now?”

“Now?” you ask. “Do you remember the way to the bedroom? Or…” You shift your hips, already feeling him twitching inside of you.

“Or.” He jolts forward to capture your mouth in a hot kiss, and you smile into it, whole again. “Or sounds good.”

a/n: pls like, reblog, reply, and/or send an ask if you enjoyed! <3