#im trying to find a conclusion to my tags no one will read but call time is in 9 mins i have to change

[milkwands]

for a lot of reasons but the one im locked in on is he said hi to me for the first time in a while

im so happy today

[callibones]

hello!!! 🩸🟪 again. sorry for asking so early in the morning--i know you said you timed your last poast so i would see it so i feel bad for changing my hours but i had some extra free time. in the future you don't have to time your responses if you dont wanna. i peruse your blog at least once a week or so so ill probably find things ! and i dont wanna bother you first thing, thank you SO MUCH for that injoke guide! i'm like lvl 500 autistic so i had trouble figuring them out naturally. this makes things sm easier.

second thing... you have a bill cipher fictive? that's inch resting. i think i might also be plural too but i'm kinda off and on about it. but when u said that i looked back at the post they made and it was tagged with a #👁️? and then i looked at your other posts and there's a few tagged with a #👑. and your posts are usually tagged with #callie.txt.exe. so i thought hm. so i don't make any mistakes--what's your bill cipher fictive's name? how many people are there? is callie around the majority of the time? this is probably invasive so you don't need to respond to any of this JKHJBGVFCDXRCFGVHBJKNHBGVFCDXCGHBJKNHJBGVFCDGFVHBJ. also ive definitely Won and have obtained zero shelled feelings ever absolutely.

third. I LOVED OIL AND WATER!!! thank you sm. i haven't finished reading through all the other fics you reblogged though so when i do ill send you my thoughts on all of them in a different ask. you are so Based but not in a weird way in like a cool awesome way. fourth. i.. do rlly wanna dm you but my main thing is that i kind of Lost access to my main account a bit ago? idk how i was just stupid and Forgor

so ive been slowly trying to rebuild it on this new one. problem is, it's not Done yet. i'm worried im going to dm you and it will be Incomplete and you will forever perceive me as a Flawed, Unfinished version of myself. it would simply tarnish the wonderful 🩸🟪 brand, you know?

so i think.. if i do dm you, it'll be in a little while. i'll probably create a dedicated sideblog for the occasion when i do, ok? i do wanna hear you yap in a more controlled environment.

last thing i swear. so this actually has NOTHING to do with anything else you said but im like freaking out. so i checked your youtube channel and i noticed your description.

television for a head.

this is cool and all and your sona is SO AWESOME but this also Sucks for me because this ENTIRE TIME i've been drawing you as a computer! i have so much callibones fanart of you as a fucking desktop where it's like nested so your monitor has a little desktop assistant that is also you and it goes on forever and ever and ever with even smaller callies and that idea was WRONG!! i shouldve known from the antennae but i thought that was a bug thing not a tv thing (which, by the way, excellent choice on your part. when i'm not an assembly of shapes, i do enjoy being an insect.) but i was a FOOL!!!

so this makes me realize hey wait what else am i getting wrong? this thing is colored differently in this image than all the other images. what's the correct thing to do? and i came to the conclusion that i need to just ASK YOU! (wow who could've guessed. you're so smart.) yeah! i am! the smartest in the whole world even

if you happen to have any, i need reference sheets of your sona. if you have reference sheets of the alternate variants (or are those headmates? i saw one was called calliope and i think there was a bill cipher one so is that the fictive? i don't know but i want to draw them) those would be appreciated too. i have made a grave error and i must resolve it immediately.

with that. um. thank you for humoring me, id like to thank all our sponsors for getting me to write this ask, i will join the discord servers and message you one day because i am Not Afraid of Anything in the Whole Wide World. toodles

HELLO 🩸🟪! hope i didnt keep you waiting too long.... wanted to finish my ref first! PLUS i got a whoooole buncha busy goin on so im SUPER occupied.... but now i got time just for YOU! i definitely didnt time this one im just postin it now that i Can.... but im sure you can use the tag and your weekly browsing skills to find your way back here. hehehehe.

SECOND: very observant! yes, while we haven't made an official post for it, calliope uses the crown emoji and calcifer uses the eye emoji! that's his name, by the way. in fact, here's the whole gang, labeled with NAMES & PRONOUNS!

("who the fuck" is me, sorry. hehehehe.) (putting the id on this one out here so its easier. from left to right, you got:

the commissariat (she/they) in red, in a fancy longcoat with a jacket makin a serious pose

me, callie (it/fae/she) in green, in my usual "have a rotten day" top that shows my bra a lil and my short skirt

calliope (she/thon) in purple, wearing thons over-the-top storm supervillain dress

calcifer (he/she/it/they and it insisted on including "calcifae/calcifaer" as well) in yellow, with a suit, a shorter skirt than mine, a sword, and the bill cipher triangle-eye pose

and callyris (she/it) in pink, with short-shorts and a crop top fully showin its maintenance panel.

i'm around the majority of the time, but there's five of us includin' me and Calcifer! he's more than just bill cipher, btw. he's he/him lesbian bill cipher! hehehehe. he's also like genuinely growing as a person and i'm REALLY proud of him. also it's okay i have shelled one feelings too. calcifer says you're probably pretty easy to take advantage of and should call her.

THIRD: YAY! cedardivine, who made that peanutiel story, JUST made a separate post the other day with all thons blaseball writing. so GO CHECK THAT OUT! i sure plan to. :-D

FOURTH: cmon you dont gotta brand. EVERYONES flawed and unfinished! including me! im fucked upppp dont put me on a pedestal. im incomplete too!!!!

FIFTH HERES MY REF!!!! i made it just for you (genuinely!) so you GOTTA show me your fanart now because omg? omg???? omg???????? you made fanart of me? sobbing and crying??

also youre KINDA right about the desktop assistant thing! i fuckin love the nestedness so much and theres definitely some stuff where i imply that! but thats because.... so the actual sona is a desktop assistant virus thing. but fae takes on the appearance of a tv-head bot! so when fae's in The Real World fae uses a Made Physical version of that same cartoony self to walk around in. and on that robot's an OS running... the actual desktop assistant! so while it's not infinitely nested, you're right that my reality is Layered. i wonder if it could go deeper than that....

theres not a lotta art of the others YET but heres SOME FUCKIN AWESOME ART MY WONDERFUL FRIEND OF RIGORMARCY DREW OF THON so lookat that.

and here's calcifer's never-before-posted discord pfp, just for you:

calcifer sez: THERE'S MY CARD! GIMME A RING IF YOU'RE LOOKING FOR A NEW DEITY TO CHAT UP. THE SHELLED ONE MAY BE DEAD, BUT I'M AROUND FOREVER! FOREVER.

so. do what you will with this information.

IN CONCLUSION please send me your fanart if you wanna and feel like it because thats SO AWESOME that you made some... literally misty eyed.... ill look forward to your next correspondence whether i know you as 🩸🟪 or as whatever your name is on whatever platform you wanna reach me with! feel free to shoot me a friend request on discord if tumblr aint workin for ya. tell em 🩸🟪 sent ya! because that's you. and you can send you. But not in the mail, unfortunately. 1984.

UNTIL NEXT TIME GOOBY!!!!

[todayisafridaynight]

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR TRUSTING ME BRO I COULD CRYYYYYYYYYYYYY 😭😭😭😭😭I hope it does not disappoint... REAL THOUGH about the drama you mentioned in your tags, that's exactly how I felt reading If My Wife Becomes An Elementary School Student's title, for example, but I'm told it's wholesome☠️☠️I would love to hear about the one you were thinking of though!

I WILL BEAR IT IN MIND TO PREPARE FOR ARACHTAGON WHENEVER THE TIME COMES... totally understandable to get frustrated with RNG on top of that, RPGs can be so evil 😭😭😭still, again, I'm glad you're back to it! Also totally understandable to want to play on the original consoles... NOTHING beats the experience... the availability of playthroughs nowadays is nice for sure to be able to experience the series without investing that much!

I would LOVE to see more Normal interactions between Ichiban and Jo for real😭they have so much potential for silly moments... ever-thankful for your content and I Can't Say Enough always looking forward to whatever you might have in store :] whether it's that or something else :]

I EXPECT YOU'RE DONE WITH EPISODE EIGHT NOW AT MINIMUM SO I WILL JUST SAY the Ohashi arc and Episode Ø [<- why the hell is ep eight called this] are peak to me I am soooo glad you enjoyed the arc... LOVE the OST too, Yugo Kanno is a legend. HOWEVER all the songs on it are titled words that start with S and P so you get titles like Scarlet Pussy 😭

OH BUT SPEAKING OF SP'S WACKASS STRUCTURE pleeeeeaaaase consider watching SP: The Motion Picture and SP: The Motion Picture: The Final Episode after you finish the show... there is A Cliffhanger and those are the true conclusions to the story... and SP Final In Specific is what blew my nuts clean off...

STOPPP NO THAT'S EXACTLY THE DRAMA I WAS TALKING ABOUT BUT I DIDNT WANNA SNITCH ON MYSELF 😭😭 it really is a cute show..... im ngl it has some of my fave tsutsumi scenes/performances like it TRULY blew my expectations out of the water. i just feel SOOO awkward about it cause.. with a title like That and a premise Like That i wouldnt blame a single person for giving me a weird ass look so i generally try not to talk about it ☠️ its my guilty treat so to speak and i cant even tell if im making it sound worse than it actually is (╯x╰ )

in any case... i finished Security Police SO !!! onto After The Rain for me when it comes to Media Thats Awkward To Talk About But Please Believe Me When I Say Its Not What You're Thinking :]

LMAO PLEASE like... so long as you have the right equipment you don't even really have to do much extra grinding by the time you get to him... it truly is just hoping RNG doesnt dick you over ☠️ i've been cruising through the game since tho ! i dont expect myself to get into anymore awkward blockades anytime soon and then i can finally say i finished this game (●ˇ∀ˇ●)

THANK YA THANK YA it aint much but its honest work..... i have been real dead this week tho and i always get scared if ill draw again durin periods like this- i HOPE to come up with something soon cause there really is an untapped well of Good Stuff to be explored :]]

THE SOUND DESIGN OF SP WAS REALLY GOOD IN GENERAL THOUGH LIKE not just music wise was it good but i really loved hos inoue's migraines gave me migraines... immersion... but also just knowing when to keep things dead silent (like finding nishijima's corpse) did SOOO well to put emphasis.. the weird as hell names are just bonus points by now like. Gotta Let Bro Have SOMETHING As A Thank You For The Sound Design (╯▽╰ ;;) OH BUT IM GLAD THERE'S MOVIE TIE-INS CAUSE THE LAST SCENE HAD ME CONCERNICUS LIKE 👁️👁️? i was only able to find the first 2010 movie on the site i usually go to but its somethin...

[boypussydilf]

I'm going to throw you a curve ball and say Sherly and that one guy whose name I don't remember who you ship him with (I think it's Soseki?)

idont know how to say this without unintentionally sounding mean but this is the second funniest ask ive ever gotten. (i was going to say funniest, but i cant lie even for comedic purposes- the funniest ask ive ever gotten was “shouldve KNOWN an AKESHU shipper would RIP MY THROAT OUT IN PUBLIC for mentioning shusumi”) i got curious and looked at all the relationship tags for dgs on ao3 until the site wouldnt let me anymore and i can almost conclusively say tht no one on this earth ships sherlock and souseki, which, to be honest, is kind of a surprise. on my journey i learned just how dire the state of the dgs ao3 relationship tags really are. i hadnt looked that hard, and i had thought, “oh, woe is me, only about 200 of these are homumiko” There are less than 30 with the susahao tag. theres like, a Small Handful of fics with kazuma interacting w iris or yuujin. This is. This is awful. Someone needs to fix this. What’s wrong with you people? You could have filled this website with one hundred Kazuma Asougi Gets Forcibly Absorbed Into The Greatest Family fics and you’re still asobaroing away? Unbelievable. Unbelievable.

Anyway it’s completely understandable to mix up souseki and mikotoba when you havent seen a ton of them they do both . have mustaches. thank you for thr ask and also for always calling him Sherly bc its cute here we go

describe their canon relationship/dynamic

*putsmy head in my hands* they have like 2 hours of screentime interacting its hard to describe a dynamic beyond “God they are so mean to each other”. its ok though. Its ok. the concept is very clear honestly. World’s Most Hyperactive and Completely Insane Man & Completely Normal Guy Who Goes Along With It. Oh My God They Were Roommates. lets see. serious notes. they trust each other completely and implicitly (mikotoba has to find a good home for The Baby He Was GOING To Raise But CAN’T and asks sherlock and he IMMEDIATELY agrees On The Spot my god ……) look . what do u call devotion if not saying “our home” about a place youve been away from longer than u ever lived at and thought youd never even see again & acting like you were never separated in the first place. Unreal. unreal.

anyway the fact of the matter is theyre literally just another variation on the Holmes & Watson concept go read an acd sherlock holmes story and imagine if they were ace attorney characters and idk i think youd more or less have it

your ideal/headcanon version of it? how does it differ from how it is in canon & why is this your favorite version? any other alternate versions of it you enjoy?

*pulls out my giant conspiracy board and 90% of it is just screenshots of fanfic The Legendary Pair by Meowzy on AO3* IF YOU LOOK AT IT. THE NOT-REALLY-INDICATED-BY-CANON BUT MORE FUN AND COOL TO ME VERSION OF IT. it makes this A Necessary Relationship. sherlock is. smart in Some places. definitely observant. But has. 0 common sense. you would think hes never been to this planet before with his apparent complete lack of frame of reference for what is or is not plausible or likely. there is too much shit going on in his brain for him to figure out which ideas are Actually Likely without taking like 2 days to work it out. Give him someone who actually has common sense and can crossreference What Sherlock Has Actually Noticed And Figured Out with What Actual Human Beings Generally Would Do.

OHGOD MAYBE I CAN TRY TO ELABORATE IN A MORE SERIOUS TONE ON MY FUCKING “YUUJIN MIKOTOBA SILLY ARC” POST. GOD. what im attempting to drive at is thinking abt . the idea proposed of 16-years-ago sherlock being more of a prickly little bitch and, Much More Importantly, mikotoba going to britain to try and escape the Grief Of Losing His Wife & subsequent Depression That Made Him Unfit To Take Care Of His Baby . and then theyre . again, worlds most hyperactive and completely insane man, and, again, GUY WHO TAP DANCES DURINVG INVESTIGATIONS ?!!!!?!???????????

basically fuck you *gives you by chance a fundamentally life altering friendship right when you need it*

Anyway i dont think theyre that different in my head than in canon but its hard to say.

what do you like about their relationship, why is it interesting or enjoyable to you?

i like it because i think they are neat. i like it bc i love families and fuck dude they sure do have one. i like it bc i am a dgs sherlock holmes kinnie and this drives my behavior,

what about the individual characters involved? what does this relationship mean to them, what makes it unique among their relationships?

*SCREAMS* BESTIES. anyway,

sorry for once again saying serious concepts in the dumbest fucking ways possible but Pov u are yuujin mikotoba age 26 leaving ur home to try and run away from the deepest pain of ur life & deciding not to stick with ur very close friends uve known for quite a while as you do so? For some reason? AND IT WORKS ???????????? in some part bc of this weirdo freak u moved in with impulsively who keeps almost blowing the fucking house up?

This is basically something i already said in this post earlier and i STILL . cant think of an actual good way to say it. I guess just . as many people on this blog may have noticed. me wh. me when stories involve the way positive connections with others help people <3

Also basically the only 2 reactions sherlock seems to invoke in people are “this guys insufferable” and “this guys insufferable but i also admire him” - god the trajectory of this train of thought just changed drastically im laughing so hard Bear with me . mikotoba is of course in th second camp bc thats where all sherlocks Positive relationships are. this is known to us. see: thr dialogue where hes like “Well your methods are unusual but ive always been willing to try them :)” (and then sherlock yells at him for being stupid.) anyway thats wonderful and its also Wonderful. mikotoba shortly after meeting sherlock watching this man rip up a handful of grass an d just eat it and then solve an entire mystery and mikotoba has to work out if this guys a genius or insane. He quickly realizes it is both. Anyway i guess to yuujin mikotoba sherlock holmes is his dear friend and partner & also the guy who cursed him to occasionally think “i DO wonder what that grass tastes like” at inopportune times

I don’t know WHAT the fuck i just rambled about for like ten minutes. So anyhow. sherlock describes mikotoba as “the only person i could truly call a friend” so shoutout to this friendless man i guess . no but literally hes a little weirdo freak and people dont tend to. like him. societal perceptions of ND people are not conducive to sherlock holmes having close friends . (Also he might not be. or might at some point not have been. particularly social in the first place - But this is my extrapolation based on acd canon and nothing in dgs at all so it cant be counted as anything other than my female hysteria.) and like. epic win for him finding someone who can Tolerate Him Enough To Live With Him and not just that but like . Actually Likes Him. Actually Likes Being Around Him And Would Like To Be His Friend. Congrats! also a win 4 him having like, a normal human being around. who can keep track of him and yknow. Help him remember important things. make sure he actually sleeps and eats instead of spending 42 hours straight trying to make The Sequel To Toasters (It’s Also A Juicer!)

favorite interaction they have in canon

oh,my god you know the thing is theres not a Lot of them but what there is is Really Good Actually.

on one hand we have the shit from the legendary pair scene like “:/ only JAPANESE mice go Chu. make a RUSSIAN mouse noise” or “YOUR BIRTHDAY? THATS FUNNY BC AS OF TODAY YOURE DEAD TO ME :D” “measured as always.” On the other hand we have the part from the scene after the last trial where sherlock thanks mikotoba for leaving iris in his care.

Basically i dont know how to decide. im going to say the Other part of the scene after the last trial where sherlock is excitedly telling mikotoba a story about something he did. With mikotoba. like a day before. and mikotoba lets him get through thr whole fucking thing before going Yeah i was. i was there.

favorite interaction they have in your head/a situation you want to put them in

OH GOD I DONT KNOW ACTUALLY. what is there to say beyond the Default List Of Every Homumiko Fans Shared Interests. its all been done. “Remember That Time They Raised A Baby Together For A Month”; “Have You Heard Of Arthur Conan Doyle’s Adventures of Sherlock Holmes? Great Here’s My Adaptation-“; “Put That Beast (Sherlock) In Japan LOL”. i will say that like. i dont remember where but theres some tiny bit of optional dialogue where iris says that sherlock playing the violin was a detail she wrote into the stories for fun and then after that he felt obligated to actually learn. i think a lot of people dont know this or dont use this. which is fine its a tiny random one off line i wouldnt even be able to track down. and a lot of people have the order of events go sherlock has violin -> mikotoba learns to tap dance, Look another musical thing matchy matchy :) . which again is FINE. BUT. isnt the other order of events - the order that it’s only reasonable to assume is canon - more fun ? Sherlock goes HEY GUESS WHAT I LEARNED VIOLIN NOW WE CAN MAKE MUSIC TOGETHER. He has not seen mikotoba in person in 9 years

thats the end of the post thank you i like the dads

[suchalonelysunflower]

Take Your Feelings, Put Them Into a Song (A.I)

Pairing: Ashton Irwin x Wallows! Fem! Reader

Requested: yes!

Summary: Y/N Sixx, bassist from the famous band Wallows, is helping 5SOS write their latest album CALM. If only she could keep her crush on the drummer under control…

Warnings: Fluff. Language. Some grammatical errors (English is not my first language, I’m sorry)

Word Count: 4.6 k

Author’s Note: IM BACK! Remember that Reblogs, Likes, Comments and Feedback are very important! You have no idea how much they help 💕 Hope you like it and Happy Reading 🦋🌻✨

My materialist // wanna be part of my tag list?

anon: Can you do a one-shot where the reader was born on 1996 and she’s the daughter of Nikki Sixx and Brandi Brandt and it’s the bassist and songwriter of Wallows (…) and she helps 5sos write songs for the album CALM and starts dating Ashton and the fans go nuts (in a good way) with shipping? There’s no drama like it was in EUH

It was another boring day in the studio and you would literally prefer to do anything else than to listen to Cole talk about the last date he had instead of working on your new song. But inspiration was lacking between you and your bandmates and you really had no other choice since you already took that time on the studio’s schedule.

One would believe that you would be used to dull times in the studio, having spent a lot of time on them while growing up with your parents, but boredom was a cruel crime inside your head and today your patience was running thin.

“Hey, peanut!” Dylan called your attention “Everything good there?”

You were laying on the sofa, looking at the ceiling for some kind of saving grace, but Dylan’s voice brought you back to your reality.

“Are we going to get something done today?” You asked with a sigh, with your eyes still glued to the ceiling “Cause we are really just wasting time by now and I don’t think Cole’s last fling will bring any kind of inspo into our little group”

“Hey!” Cole protested, earning a chuckle from Braeden.

“Whatever,” You said, already getting up from your spot “I’m going to take a walk”

You took a deep breath once you closed the door to your private room. You loved the guys, you really do, but sometimes people can be too much, especially people who you spend every single day and hour with.

Memories from the past year started to fill your mind and you smiled when thinking about how much your little band has grown. Wallows was now everywhere, you created a name for yourself without using your parent’s influence and you were so damn proud of that, yet when moments like these come around - the moments where you just need to breathe to escape the reality for just a while - you start to reflect on every choice you made and if they were the right ones.

It’s the overthinking that got you to write those first lyrics in the first place, the ones that were put into songs and now were, somehow, all over TikTok with thousands of people relating to them. So maybe, overthinking now might not be such a bad idea after all.

“It’s a terrible idea if you think about it for more than one minute, mate”

You stopped in your tracks when you heard that voice, thinking that maybe you were finally going crazy or someone could’ve read your mind. But it wasn’t until you heard someone else answer that you realized it was a conversation.

“Well, I don’t know what to do with it anymore!”

You turned your head to the left and smiled when you saw the little sign that said “5SOS now in session. DO NOT DISTURB” And realized that your other favorite boys were back in town.

Of course you ignored the sign and knocked on the door a couple of times before opening it shamelessly.

“Well, well, well…” You said with a teasing smile as you leaned over the door frame “If it isn’t my second favorite Aussie band”

The faces of two of the members of said band light up once they realize it was you, quickly getting up to wrap you in a hug.

“Mini Sixx!” Calum said, ruffling his hand through your hair “About time you came to visit us”

You pushed him and Luke away from you “And you should’ve told me you’re back from your break! I could’ve escaped Dylan and the other minions earlier”

“Rough session?” Luke asked, seating down and patting the place next to him for you to sit on.

“Oh, you have no idea”

You loved the 5sos guys, it was impossible not to. Ever since you met them at a label party in 2015 when you were introduced to them because you were the same age as half of the group, you knew that they were made to be on the stage.

It was easy to become their friend, given their welcoming attitude and easy-going smiles even before they found out who your parents were. It was nice for a change not to be Y/N Sixx, daughter of the famous bassist of Mötley Crüe and famous Playboy doll Brandi Brandt, for a moment and just be Y/N, a bassist that had a lot to give to the world. And with the boys you didn’t even have to try to be someone you were not, with them everything was just so… real.

Just like now, where you were allowed to complain about your lovely bandmates to them and they would complain just as well, with no judgment nor responsibilities, just three friends letting out some steam due to the stress of your careers.

“-And basically we don’t know what else to do with the song” Luke finished his rant on the missing piece of their new song for their next album.

“And you have the lyrics ready?”

“Yeah, me and my girl wrote it a few weeks ago but the melody is just…”

“It’s missing something” Calum finished for him with a sigh.

You hummed “Can I see it?”

The two Australians got to work, playing the song with the piano and the guitar and you came to the conclusion that they were right: there was something big missing.

“So it’s a ballad,” You said, thinking of ways to fix it.

“Technically yes, but when you play it like that it sounds incomplete and the lyrics won’t work with another type of rhythm” Luke sighed “We’ve been at it for days now.”

You stayed quiet for a while, reviewing the lyrics and melody more carefully now, analyzing the situation with different approaches but without getting anywhere. It was a beautiful song, it truly was, but it needed something else, something that could create a “boom” sensation for whoever was listening.

Something like…

“Hey guys, have you finished with the- Oh, Hey, Y/N/N!” Ashton said, opening the door and finding you with his bandmates in deep concentration.

Bingo.

“Uh, why are you smiling at me like that?” Ashton asked you with a chuckle, but you didn’t even address him as you turned to Luke and Calum.

“It needs drums”

“What?” The three men said in unison. You rolled your eyes and snatched the notes from Calum’s lap and started to sing the melody.

“Here!” You pointed out “In this part, before finishing the first chorus: I already made, already made that…” And then you started to make drum noises and movements with your arms for them to get the idea.

In a matter of seconds, Luke got up from his seat and walked towards you, taking the notes from you and reviewing them with new eyes, smiling as he got the idea.

“Ha!” He laughed loudly, “You’re a fucking genius!”

“Thank you,” You said with a smug smile as you, Calum and Luke started to discuss the arrangements.

“Wait, hold up” Ashton interrupted the chatter “Y/N, I appreciate you trying to help and no offense and all but I think this isn’t your place to just decide something like that,” He said, pointing to the three of you.

You rolled your eyes. You’ve dealt with stubborn people before, but Ashton did take a spot on your top three and you knew just how to handle him.

“Wow,” You said sarcastically with a teasing smile “One would think that by being half of the rhythm section you would have more… I don’t know, rhythm?”

Ashton crooked an eyebrow and you and you knew you had him in the bag “I just don’t think-”

“You don’t think?” You said, getting up from your chair and walking up to him to be almost chest to chest. You looked up to his eyes and challenged him “Or you just can’t handle the fact that I might’ve had a better idea than you”

You could see by the sparkle in his eyes that he has taken the challenge to heart. He took a step closer to you, almost pressing his body completely against yours, and smirked.

“Want me to prove you wrong, princess?” He teased but you didn’t back up.

“I’d like to see you try, darling”

Ashton’s smirk widened as he took a step back, turning his head towards Luke and Calum who were watching the scene with intrigued eyes and knowing smiles “Get your asses back in the recording booth”

He followed them as they walked into the big recording space they had, but not before sending you a wink seconds after he closed the door.

You were thankful he didn’t see you blush.

Once they were all set with their instruments - Calum on the keys, Luke on the guitar, and Ashton behind his drum set - You pressed the buttons of the console that would make it possible for you to hear them at the other side of the mirrored glass.

“Okay boys, show me what you got”

*

You became an official 5SOS songwriter after that day and even Ashton had to admit that you were adding so much more to the band lyrics and melodies since you started to work with them.

Every day you would find yourself walking towards their studio after your band’s session and you start to work wherever they left off. It was a simple dynamic that worked wonders for everyone and after every session, you would get even more inspired to write your own music for Wallows, so it was a win-win situation, not to mention, spending time with your new co-workers; especially a particular drummer that grew closer to you that you would’ve ever imagined.

When you first met the band you hit it off pretty quickly with Luke and Calum, them being the same age as you and having pretty much the same interests; then came Michael that shared a similar sense of humor with you and with whom you discussed videogames with. But Ashton was always the one that you consciously tried to not get too close to.

In all honesty, he intimidated you but not in a bad way. He was smart, talented, and super funny, not to mention also ridiculously handsome. But he was also stubborn, a little bit egotistical, and the only one that could keep up with you in a battle of wits, teasing, and sarcasm. And you knew that if you mixed that all together it might mean trouble, especially when he smiled at you like that.

Of course you had a crush on him, who wouldn’t? But the fact is that you know what it is like to date in the industry and having feelings for a member of another pretty famous band might bring some tension to the table, so it was safer to play the crushing card and just stay friends. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself every day since you started to see him regularly and spend more time with him than with any other of the two bands.

Speaking of…

“Earth to Y/N?” Called Braeden waving a hand in front of your face “Is anybody there?”

You blinked a few times before pushing his hand away with a scoff “Very funny, B. What’s up?”

“You spaced out again” Cole added, fidgeting with his drumsticks “Just when we were going to start complimenting you on that bass line you wrote the other day…”

You smiled as you threw a pillow at him that he was able to easily dodge “Sorry, I was just-”

“Thinking about a particular drummer again?” Dylan teased, to which Cole added.

“I knew it wouldn’t take long for you to fall in love with me”

You searched for other pillows and started to throw them at your band members, giggling as they started to throw them back at you and starting an improvised pillow fight in the middle of the recording booth.

“Hey, Y/N/N! I was wondering if you-” Ashton’s sentence was cut short as he opened the door and took in the scene that was in front of him.

You were so busy chasing Breaden with a pillow on each hand and a devilish smile that you didn’t even notice when the door opened or that Ashton was standing there, smiling at you with his arms crossed as you aimed at your bandmate's head.

“Oh look, peanut!” Dylan said teasingly “You knight in shiny armor is here to-” But before he could say anything more embarrassing, you threw a pillow directly at his face to shut him out.

You quickly turned your head to Ashton who was fairly amused by your battle skills and smiled at him.

“Hey!” You said breathlessly after chasing down the others.

“Hi,” He smiled back “Am I interrupting something or?”

“Nah, you’re good,” You said, throwing one last pillow at your three friends that stood in a corner blowing teasing kisses and puppy eyes at the two of you “These assholes and I are done for the day” You commented before said assholes started to pout and complain, but you were already out the door before they could say something embarrassing again.

“So…” Ashton trailed off, starting to walk alongside you with his hands in his front pockets.

“So,” You said, drifting your eyes from him and praying to the universe that he didn’t hear anything or else it would make the blush on your face even pinker “You needed me for something?”

You wanted to get the topic of work right there in the open as soon as possible, not wanting him to notice how nervous you got when you were alone with him. At least when you were talking about work you leveled the ground in some parts.

“Actually, I’m going home early today” He smiled softly “Luke and the guys are working on a love song that’s just way too happy and butterflies - in - your -stomach like and I didn’t think they needed me there if I can’t bring nothing to the table”

“You’re not a lovey-dovey feeling kinda guy?” You teased by bumping your arm with his, earning a “hey” from him “I actually get it, I’m not that kind of person either”

“It’s not like I don’t like it, it’s just that-”

“You process your emotions differently, and it’s easier to write those when you think of love in other stages and/or mixed with other complex emotions because-”

“Love is not just one-sided! Yes!” Ashton celebrated, amazed that you could understand what he was saying “I knew you would get it”

That comment made your cheeks heat up as you looked at him, all dimpled smiles and light chuckled as he looked at you with sparkly hazel eyes. Oh no…

“Well,” You said, breaking that little moment “If they are going to work on that all day then I guess I would head home, too. I don’t think I’ll be able to provide anything else either”

“Actually,” Ashton said as he stopped in the middle of the hall leading to the exit, making you stop as well and turn to him “I was wondering if you would want to get some coffee with me now that we are both free. Of course, if you really are free and have nothing else to do and want to actually drink coffee or tea… or maybe not and you’re not that type of person and-”

“Are you asking me out?”

Ashton stopped his rambling and looked at you with an incredulous smile and lightly blushed cheeks.

“I- well, yeah,” He said shyly “Yeah, I am”

You smiled and softly chuckled “Look at the famous drummer all nervous” You teasingly took a step closer to him, not knowing where this confidence was coming from, and he did the same “It’s just me, you know?”

“And that’s exactly the reason why”

“Do I make you nervous, darling?”

“Let’s say that if it were anyone else, I wouldn’t have rambled like that, princess”

You pressed your lips in a thin line and smiled as you looked away from him, blushing like a teenager on her first date.

“So…” You trailed off.

“So?”

“Lead the way”

*

From that moment both of your routines changed once again. Now you took time off the studio at least two times a week to go with Ashton on those small friendly dates as he took you out for coffee or just simple but meaningful talks.

Soon enough you lost all the doubts that made you nervous around him, seeing how easy it was to talk to him and how much you had in common in more aspects than just music. You became more comfortable around him and your level of teasing and playing grew alongside your relationship, not to mention the level of teasing and playing you received from your band members and the other 3 Aussies who joined in on all the fun.

You were used to blushing and dismissing comments about your - undeniable - crush on the drummer, but Ashton didn’t seem to be affected by them at all. On the contrary, Ashton played along and even seemed like he was enjoying it. Like in one particular occasion where you were working on a song together and Michael said:

“Oh my god, date her already!”

Ashton didn’t blink an eye before responding “I’m trying! But she just wants to focus on the harmonies”

And you’d be lying if you said that didn’t put a smile on your face.

Yet, you kept it all professional while being in the studio; no need to mix your personal lives with whatever was going on down there, that’s why those coffee runs were your favorites.

It was an unspoken rule between the two of you that “work-talk” was forever banned from those outings.

“So what are we going to talk about?” You asked him the first time you went into his favorite coffee shop.

“Us” He simply answered, unaware of the butterflies he just set in your stomach.

“Us?”

“Yeah, I want to get to know you better, princess. Who is Y/N Sixx?”

“Who is Ashton Irwin?”

“I asked first”

“I asked second” You countered

Ashton smiled widely “You think you’re clever…”

“It doesn’t matter what I think” You answered, casually sipping on your coffee “I know I’m clever just like I know you like me that way”

You were testing the waters back then, hiding the shaking of your knees under the table as you longed to know how he felt about it. But the way he smiled and how he blushed a little bit made all your fears go away.

“Yeah, that I do”

Your cheeks turned red whenever you reminisced about that moment - or any moment that you spent with Ashton for that matter - which gave you the perfect idea for a song.

“I don’t want to kill my time with somebody else…” You hummed to yourself as you wrote down what you think is the chorus to a new song.

You told Ashton that you were not the type to write silly love songs or very uplifting songs; but there was something in that memory, something in that feeling that you couldn't ignore or just let it be without doing something about it. So, you started to write it.

You couldn't separate the feeling from the art, after all, feelings were what led you to dedicate your life to music. People would say it was because of your parent’s influence but they had little to nothing to do with your decision. This was you, the authentical you writing whatever came to mind and then sharing it with the world and only a few people will get it in its entirety. And surely Ashton was one of them.

“Dadadada something, want you all to myself”

“Wacha doing there, princess?”

Speaking of the devil.

Ashton smiled at you as he hunched over the table you were working on, trying to peek at what you were writing. You lifted the notebook and pressed it against your chest faking offense as he giggled.

“Didn’t your mother taught you not to sneak up on people, darling?” You asked as he walked around your workspace and sat himself down on the chair next to you “Besides, you’re late. You were supposed to meet me here like half an hour ago!”

“Aww, sorry Sixx” Ashton pouted “But there were no chocolate chip cookies left in the shop so I had to go around town to get you some” He then put a bag of freshly made cookies on top of the table with a cup filled with coffee.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know?”

“Of course I did! You always only eat chocolate chips cookies in the afternoon”

He started to giggle again, ignoring the way you were looking at him “How did you know that?”

“C’mon, Y/N/N, every time we go for coffee you order two, one for the coffee and another one for the road. And every time we cater something you never touch anything but those cookies”

“I never knew you were so observant”

Ashton shrugged “I just pay attention if I like what I see,” He said nonchalantly with a wink, making you blush instantly, but you covered it up with an eye roll.

“God, you’re terrible” You scoffed.

“I’m honest!” You shook your head and went back to writing, but Ashton was not going to let that go so easily. “Look, how else could I know that you always put an extra bag of sugar in your coffee?”

“‘Cause I always drink the same thing,” You said without looking up from your notebook.

“Yeah, a mocha latte with extra chocolate drizzle and no foam. Honestly, how can you handle that much sugar?” You were about to answer but he caught you off. “But that’s not all you drink, whenever you have a bad day you always order a cup of mango and ginger tea because that’s your mother’s favorite drink and it helps you calm down. You also don’t want anyone to know that you’re having a bad day but the minute someone looks away your smile starts to flatter until you’re back in the conversation”

You stopped the writing completely as you turned to him, suddenly feeling how your heart started to jump all over your chest as he kept talking, eyes never leaving yours as he gave you a soft smile, almost as if he was remembering all those moments with you.

“You draw flowers on the corner of your notebooks whenever you feel bored. You love the sad songs on the radio and you know every single word to Lorde’s Melodrama, yet every time you have to choose a playlist you put 2000’s pop and R&B songs because it hypes you up. You hate awkward silences unless you are the one being quiet. You help Dylan dye his hair every time he asks you to because you would trust each other with your lives, you give Cole relationship advice because you care about him and he always appreciates your advice more than anyone’s and Braeden is your best friend because you always say that he is one of the few people that could make you laugh in a bad day and you have no idea how much I want to be included in that list”

“Ashton-”

“You write better with dim light, it helps you concentrate on your work. You say you don’t believe in astrology yet you check your horoscope every day. You want to make sure that everyone has a good time and feels included, that’s why you always make conversations with Micahel about games you never even heard before or let Luke braid your hair when he’s bored or how you switched topics when you noticed that Calum was not engaging as much in a conversation. You literally take care of everyone but you never let anyone take care of you, and when we do you get all shy and you blush as you say thank you and you have no idea how fucking adorable you look”

You sat there speechless as he spoke. You felt the back of your throat dry as you tried to find the right words to answer all of that.

It was too much. The fact that he knew all of that and how he said it like he was just talking about his favorite things in the world, it was just too much but at the same time, you want to hear him say that again.

A weird sense of joy and shyness came over you as he set his hazel eyes on yours. You gave him a small smile as you averted your gaze to the floor.

“Wow, I-” You started “I never thought someone noticed all that”

“How could I not?” You heard him say “You’re all I can think about and to say that I don’t notice you is like saying I don’t notice the sun in the sky or the stars at night. You’re the brightest light out there, Y/N, you shine everywhere you go”

You noticed how he pulled his chair closer to you and suddenly you felt how your chair started to slowly turn his way until you were face to face.

Ashton carefully placed his fingers under your chin and tilted your head until you were finally looking into his eyes again.

“There she is!” He smiled when he noticed your blushing cheeks and gleaming eyes.

“What do you mean when you say I’m all you think about?” You asked expectantly, curling your fingers nervously on top of your thighs.

Ashton chuckled. “Well, if you didn’t notice, I really fucking like you, Y/N”

You looked up at him, smiling with hopeful eyes and feeling as if a weight was lifted off your chest thanks to the joy you were experiencing while hearing those words.

“You do?”

“Unless you don’t like me back and I just spilled my feelings for nothing-” You smacked him playfully in the arm “Ouch! I’m kidding! Of course I like you! Fuck, Y/N I’ve been falling for years now and I thought I was being pretty obvious”

You laughed “I thought you were just playing!”

In an instant, Ashton pulled your chair closer and grabbed you by the hip, lifting you up and making you sit on his lap as he hugged you by the waist and you placed your arms around his neck.

“I’ve never been more serious in my life,” He said, “I’ll do anything to prove it”

“Well,” You said, pressing a kiss to his cheek and knocking your forehead to his “How about you help me finish this song and then you take me on a date? Cause I’ve been falling for you, too and I don’t want to waste any more time”

Ashton hummed as he nuzzled his nose against your cheek, kissing it softly as he murmured “Will I get to kiss my princess at midnight?”

“Maybe… or you can take your chances now if you’d like”

He smiled.

“I like those odds”

And just before you know it, he softly pressed his lips against yours; finally creating a happy beginning for the two of you.

Instagram Posts

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tags: @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @mystic-232 @talksoprettyjjx @theshyspy @hoodhoran @flaneurcth @notinthesameguey @bubblegum18 @irwin-fletcher-ash @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @1980holland @wiiildflowerrr @hoplessromantic727 @fivesecondsofonedirection @another-lonely-heart @aabc5sauce @dudethisiswhyyoudonthavefriends @major5sosstan @5sos-imagine @SunflowerAngel2123 @perfectnouis @in-superbloom @lukeisstillapenguin @sadcupofcoffee @superstarmarvel @personalmuyverypersonal @ashtonsunflower @nicebasscalum @calumspupils @secretsicanthideanymore @the-ghost-of-luke @alltimesos @girlwhosimps @wontlastimokwiththat @ttinahood @lukespitinmymouth @perfectnouis

[aliensunflower-fics]

In Defense of Salt AND Sugar: Aka ML Fandom pls chill out.

So I don’t talk much as those who follow me will say I tend to just stick to myself and my own things. HOWEVER, Ive gotten a lot of asks about why I write both Salt and Sugar for Miraculous Ladybug.

The short answer: Both salt and sugar are valid, fun, intriguing things to read and write and the point of writing is to entertain and be entertained.

The long answer: Salt isn’t inherently someone hating on your fav show and sugar isn't someone necessarily giving it a free pass either. Ya’ll are just dramatic as hell.

The LONGER answer:

I write salt because I LIKE Miraculous Ladybug, BUT the show has not lived up to its potential AT ALL. The show could be so much better and the characters are so flawed or full of holes that occasionally I feel FRUSTRATED and mad!

I hate that Alya a character who I was so excited about, gets shafted ignored, sidelined, or written like a jerk! She could have been this great detective working alongside her friend to unmask the villain, but instead she often comes across as pushy, obsessed with Ladynoir or Adrinette, and so damn easily tricked. Not to mention how when shes not gushing over her ‘ships’ shes pushed to the side and ignored. [or you know... LILA]

I hate that Marinette’s crush makes her do things that are so cringy and awkward i feel ill I hate that she’s constantly the only one making mistakes and ‘learning lessons’ when the show has all these other great characters that could use the spotlight and be the ones learning lessons. I hate that she’s so jealous and that she cant ever seem to catch a break as if the show is punishing her constantly.

I HATE that Adrien is a mary sue, how the writers say hes perfect and treat him as such, I hate that he gets to guilt Marinette into fixing everything and dealing with bullies, I wanted a funny, Ron Stoppable, naive boy who learns about real friendships and grows into a great partner. Instead he gets to be pushy and downright a jerk as Chat Noir ignoring his responsibilities, guilting Ladybug with his feelings, never taking no as an answer. He’s not a good role model for kids.

I hate that Chloe got built up to have a redemption arc several times only for the writers to decide that Chloe a teenage girl who needs some serious therapy [and actual reasonable punishment for her actions] is worse than Gabriel child abuse Agreste. She could have been a great lesson on compassion and growth and dealing with your own pain without hurting others. Instead the writers wrote her off completely.

And dont get me started on how the show treats Nino, Kagami, Luka and the rest of the cast. They may as well be a backdrop for the forced love square that we NEVER get a break from. Seriously I’m a sucker for romance but does it need to be EVERY damn episode?! Can’t we just get some wholesome friendship between everyone including Adrien and Marinette at this point like COME ON.

And i’m not even touching on the white washing, awful lessons on responsibility and forgiveness, awful lessons on well so much other stuff really, the guilt trips, the teacher, the fact that she show could be used to teach kids how to better handle negative emotions and the importance of open communication and not keeping quiet about injustice and/or your feelings but instead decided that the main priority should be a love square that gets force fed to us EVERY SINGLE EPISODE.

My point is the show has FLAWS. That doesn’t mean its the worse show ever and it doesn’t mean its not fun, and has a great premise and characters, and so when I write Salt I write it because i’m frustrated! Im frustrated with the show, with the characters, with the writing and so I vent that out with salt I write those characters as their worst selves because I cant stand how the show has decided to treat them and Im ANGRY and disappointed.

It feels good to write salt and to read it. It’s nice to see characters get called out for bad behavior, its nice to read about Adrien not getting the girl. Its nice to occasionally indulge in salt because it validates that the show is flawed and lets you get out that frustration.

BUT ON THE FLIP SIDE

Miraculous Ladybug is a lovely show. It’s a show that decided to give little girls a FEMALE HERO. And not just as a side kick or background character! No they made her the protagonist! Its so important to me that little girls see good well rounded female characters in media.

And even if the show is clumsy about it they are TRYING to build an expansive lore that tickles the theorist brain. And gets people invested in the world.

The show also made Marinette shy, and awkward, and clumsy something a lot of girls deal with during puberty as growing up can literally make you clumsier as your body adjusts. Having a character who tries to be positive and tries to find solutions who solves things with creativity instead of pure violence. Thats LOVELY for young girls to see.

Growing up I loved and admired Kim Possible, and probably would have loved Marinette, even if the shows not perfect I can admit its trying and I can see why people love it as much as they do! And why they write these fluffy sugary fics its the reason I WRITE fluffy sugary things.

Because even though I am frustrated and angry and disappointed with the show, I still see Alya’s potential and how great she is as representation to little girls who want a black female superhero so I write fluff where Alya’s loyalty, compassion, cleverness and her pursuit of justice are center stage.

I see how Adrien could be better and I want him to be better and I WANT him to be the naive funny comic relief the Ron Stoppable to Marinette’s Kim Possible. I want Adrien to grow and learn and spit in his dad’s face I want him to overcome the abuse and be happy. To show people that neglect and abuse doesn’t mean you will get stuck like that forever, that you can overcome that and be a better kinder person.

I want Nino and Kagami, and Luka and Chloe and the class to grow and get attention and have funny moments I want to laugh and make other people laugh! So I write prompts focused around comedy and shenanigans and where the characters get to be fun and silly and make decisions for themselves!

SO IN CONCLUSION:

I write salt AND sugar. I see the value and merit in both sides of the coin, and I respect how other people see the show. I know its easy to get angry with other people in the fandom who see the show differently then you do but please can we put down the weapons and just BREATHE.

Someone who writes salt might LOVE the same show as you, and they might in fact love it so much that they vent their frustrations in angst and salt and cracky fics. Let them vent about how they wish the show was better, leave their tags alone or block them if you cant stand to see it. But dont attack salt writers for ‘hating on your show’ when they might love it just as much as you do but want a way to vent out their feelings.

On the flip someone who writes sugar might NOT be forgiving the show for its flaws, they might see all the same flaws as you but decide to take that frustration and write fluff and fix it fics and sugar because they want to indulge in a version of their favorite show where everything is just... OK. Where everyone is well written and happy and the character development sticks. Stay out of their tags let them have their sugar, they aren't writing it to hurt you just like you don't write salt to hurt them.

So ENOUGH. Enough hunting each other down, enough sending each other hate, enough filling each others tags. Let people write SALT if they feel angry and vengeful and disappointment, let them have their tags, let them explore the dark side of the characters, let them rant and rave and be HURT when the characters they love upset them with their actions. Its not your place to tell them to stop, to tell them their feelings are invalid, to tell them that ‘adrien is sweet sunshine boy how dare you’ or ‘alya would never’ or ‘i hate your marinette leaves dupont au’. Just leave it be, heed the tags, and let it go.

AND ENOUGH. Enough hunting each other down, enough sending each other hate, enough filling each other tags. Let people write SUGAR if they just want something to feel happy about. Let them makes coffee shop au’s, let them make fix it fics where everything is just happy without needing 8 pages of backstory for why everything is just happy. Let them squeal and gush and talk about the ship they like and the fluff they see. Its not your place to argue with them that the show is flawed, its not cool to ruin their fun by accusing them of not understanding the flaws, to tell them ‘umm actual this character shouldn’t get to be happy’ or ‘wow this is so shallow’. Just leave it be, heed the tags, and let it go.

PS: Now with that said and done. I do have one final message for everyone - If you write/enjoy pedophilia, if you sexualize KIDS. Then get the fuck out of fandom spaces, stop fucking following me, and do everyone salt and sugar a favor by LEAVING. Your pedophilia and child sexualization aint wanted, aint ok, and I will fight you.

PSS: IF YOU HATE WHAT IVE SAID ABOUT SUGAR AND SALT FINE OK I RESPECT YOU REGARDLESS. ENJOY THE SHOW, STAY CLASSY, DONT HURT PEOPLE BECAUSE THEY HAVE A DIFFERENT OPINION.

[weepingvoidpenguin]

The Gods’ Blessing (Pt. 5)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4,

Summary: In your world, everyone had a soulmate. That’s just how things went. Everyone had some sort of Indicator that their other half was out there, be it telepathy or a red string that connected these two strangers. Yours was one unspoken of, in fact, you’d never heard anyone say that they had the same Indicator as you. And because of this rarity, you longed to meet the person who could gift you with what you lacked, maybe not so much so to be with the person but more so to finally see what others took for granted. Yet, you held onto the hope that one of your best friends was your Meant-To-Be but he has his eyes on another girls and the little green monster slowly engulfs you at the deterioration of your hope.

Warning: Like 1 F-Bomb, angst, reader being reckless

Word Count: 4.3K

Author’s Note: I’m literally so sorry this took so long to come out but I lost motivation to write and randomly got it back and now I know where I want to take this story so I’m dedicating some time to this series again. ALSO I wanted to thank EVERYONE from the bottom of my heart who has asked to be tagged or complimented my writing it means SO MUCH and helps me continue to write. Everyone who has requested to be tagged will be; I’m just dumb and didn’t know I could privately respond to asks and I didn’t want to spam my page with answers so... yeah I know, I’m dumb lol ENJOY

(CAN SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME HOW TO FIND THE ORIGINAL GIF FOR MY STORY BECAUSE WTF I SPENT LITERALLY 30 MINUTES LOOKING FOR THE RIGHT ONE BUT COULDN’T FIND IT AND I USED THE SAME TAGS AS ALWAYS AND YES THE GIFS ARE STILL THERE SOMEONE HELP PLS AND THANK YOU) (AND ALSO LITERALLY CAN’T ADD A READ MORE LINE BECAUSE I COPY AND PASTE FROM WORD SO IM SORRY TUMBLR IS JUST TRYING ME TODAY)

  You let the thunderous knocks at your door rack for nearly five minutes before you trudged out of bed with your blanket still encased around you. You kept your eyes glued to your carpet, watching as your feet slid along the floor on your way to the door. Your hand hovered over the knob as hesitation ceased your actions. 

  What if it was Peter at your door? Your heart twisted at the thought and you couldn’t stop how your hand shot out and grasped the handle. Damn how your body could betray you. 

  You noticed how your actions slowly became less your own over the past few days. Naturally, you could sit, lay, stand, eat, drink and etc. on command but whenever the thought of the brunette boy shattered its way through the walls you’d created, your hands flew towards your phone every single time. You had desired Peter, desired for him to reach out to you and clear the air, answer the questions consuming your mind, just talk to you in any way. Maybe his words wouldn’t make you feel better but at least his voice would soothe the storm brewing in your stomach.

  You had skipped school the last two days, claiming to have a fever to your mother who, as a doctor, knew better. But she was an understanding woman and gave you the time she suspected you needed to deal with whatever was bothering you. She’d tried to get you to talk but each attempt was met with silence and isolation so she left you be, only occasionally leaving a warm drink on your nightstand.

  You hadn’t just isolated yourself from your mother though; you’d completely disregarded the messages you were getting from MJ and Ned. You tried to keep away from your phone, in all honesty. You wanted to disconnect, to just feel what you felt and ride the wave until the waters soothed themselves. But with the amount of times you’d checked your inbox for a new message from Peter or merely went back to read old texts that used to bring a smile to your face, you’d say disconnecting had failed miserably. In fact, every time you checked your phone only made the sinking feeling in your stomach liven with a fresh ache and you’d lay right back down.

  Your window remained locked now. For the most part. Some nights, for about an hour or so, you’d unlatch it, idiotically hoping that somehow Peter would be aware of your actions and know that you, in a moment of weakness, wanted to see him again. That your silent invitation had been noticed and he would come running to you. But, of course, it didn’t work like that.

  You were released from the deep constraints of your thoughts with another set of rapping on the door. You sighed and brought yourself to look through the peephole only to be met with an eye already glaring through it. You let out a quiet shriek at the expression strewn about MJ’s face and slowly unlocked the door.

  She didn’t wait for you to open it though, taking matters into her own hands and flinging the entryway open to storm through and slam shut behind her. You stood frozen, watching as she glowered with her arms crossed over her chest. You two stood in silence like that for a few moments and she continued to stare, waiting for you to give an explanation for your behavior for the past few days.

  She knew better than to think you were sick. Even when you were sick you always messaged her back but this mood was something she had yet to experience in all her years of friendship with you.

  “So?” She practically snarled and you gulped.

  You scanned her up and down. She was entirely on the defense here. Her arms crossed, foot tapping on the ground and the disapproving look of the century plastered on her face all scrambled together to serve you one very pissed off MJ.

  She waited for a response, not breaking her composure for even a fraction of a second. The anger radiating off her body was more than you could handle in the moment, especially when it was accompanied with the sorrow encasing your very being.

  Her expression softened in the slightest as she studied you, noting how you couldn’t meet her gaze, not that it had been a warm one to begin with but still. Your hair was in shambles and the deep, dark circles under your eyes conveyed more than you were willing to bring yourself to admit. And when you finally looked up at her she took your desperate embrace with ease; all of her anger diminishing as she held you.

  “Hey,” She soothed, running her hand up and down your back through the blanket, “what’s going on?”

  You looked up at her, only slightly pulling back from the hug, “There’s something I have to tell you,” ~   That first day that you had kicked Peter out of your apartment he didn’t go on patrol that night. He was too distraught. Instead, he trudged home with his head hung low and his thoughts drowning him in regret.

  He’d been weak that afternoon. He couldn’t help it. It’d been so long since you two had hung out together alone, aside from the rare occasion last week, and so much had happened within that time. 

  That first night, when the two of you kissed and the stars had come to life for the first time in his existence, everything in those few moments had been perfect; no, better than perfect. The world had burst to life under your touch and suddenly his years of yearning and longing for you had made sense. The world had been right and just for once. For one goddamn minute.

  And then, because of that moment that he hungered to relive again, he’d lost you. Maybe permanently. 

  How could he have been so stupid? How could he have just given in to the desire pining for your touch? He couldn’t have helped it. The way you looked, the smile gleaming on your face, the way you were straddling and hovering above him; it all called out to him. You called out to him. His eyes traced down from your eyes to your neck and then lower to the bit of exposed cleavage in his face. He blushed in the moment, feeling guilty for letting his mind wander to those treacherous places that caused his imagination to spiral. And, oh, how his thoughts spiraled. 

  That need to touch you, to hold you, to kiss you, to be with you had made him weak in the moment. But had it really been so wrong to give in? After all, you are his soulmate and if it were okay to touch anyone the way his body had urged him to, why not the person that he was meant for and was meant for him?

  No, it hadn’t wrong to give in because from the look that glazed your eyes and elicited your body when you connected, he knew you wanted to give in too. He knew you wanted to be with him just as much as he wanted to be with you. 

  And that’s why he wanted to go over that day. He had planned to tell you everything. He even had his suit in his backpack to show you but then it all went wrong. He’d prematurely exposed the truth but in a way that made it seem secretive. He hadn’t meant to be secretive; he was just scared.

  Plus, he finally had the girl he’d been working to get for the past few months and he had to just throw that all away. At that point, his feeling for Liz were real just miniscule compared to the ones he attempted to drown out for you. Not to mention, Liz liked Peter as he was without the hero complex but (Y/N) liked Spider-Man, a literal superhero. 

  Maybe that had been the reason that (Y/N) had kicked him out so quickly. Was she disappointed that her mysterious hero had turned out to be none other than Peter Parker? Was being Peter really that bad in her eyes? No, (Y/N) loved Peter . . . platonically. 

  But Liz . . . Liz liked Peter, not Spider-Man. (Y/N) didn’t want her shy best friend, she wanted her mysterious hero. (Y/N) didn’t like Peter for who he was, only who he presented himself to be. Her feelings were solely based on a hidden character under the red and blue suit. She didn’t want Peter Parker. She couldn’t want Peter Parker. Peter Parker wasn’t enough for her and he never would be.

  He shook his head at the thoughts, hating how his conclusion could tug at his chest so fiercely. Nonetheless, he let himself fester on that idea until it became his mentality.

  (Y/N) was not interested in Peter. ~   You could hardly communicate everything that had happened over the course of the last few weeks to MJ with all the tears and sobs interrupting the story. She caught onto the gist of it, though. Peter was Spider-Man, Spider-Man was her soulmate, Peter was with Liz, etc. 

  She let you cry until you fell asleep that night and she stayed with you the next day so she could force you to go to school, even if it was Friday. 

  Her alarm woke you up the next morning and you groaned as you shoved your pillow over your ear to drown out the sound. MJ rolled around, cutting the alarm off and cuddling closer to you before shoving you out of bed.

  “What the hell?” You asked, reaching out for the pillow that was pried from your hold. 

  MJ held the cushion just out of your reach and dangled it in the air, “Good morning!” She cheerily shouted, very unlike herself.

  You groaned in response and shoved the blanket over your head just for that to be ripped away as well. “Get up, you’re coming to school,”

  A huff escaped your lips as the sunlight shone even from behind closed eyelids. You wanted to argue and stay home but you would just get hell for it and end up going to school anyway so you used that time of argument to get ready instead. MJ had woken you up early enough to let you shower, as you hadn’t recently, and made breakfast while you got ready.

  In the stillness of your room, you observed your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes were still puffy from the crying and there was a slight dry rash from wiping your nose so much but other than that, you looked practically normal. You ran your hands down your body, hating that you put in a little extra effort in your looks to catch Peter’s attention. In the midst of shamefully admiring yourself, you caught a glimpse of the pictures tacked onto the wall behind you. You whirled around and your gaze landed on the brightest of them all. A picture of the four of you sitting in the grass, MJ on one side of you and Peter on the other. You removed the tack from the photo and smiled down at it. The picture had been taken the first time you all hung out together, the same day you’d told MJ about your feelings for Peter only to be met with a knowing look from her. She could read you like a book that woman. 

  “Hey, breakfast is ready-” MJ burst through the door and cut herself off at the sight of you. “What’s that?”

  “Do you remember this photo?” You asked, holding it up for her to see.   Her eyes softened and she had a small smile, “I have this same picture in a drawer somewhere,”

  “Do you remember what I told you that day?”

  MJ looked up at you, her eyebrows furrowed as she waited for an explanation.

  “That’s the day I told you that I thought I liked Peter,” She looked down at the photo and handed it back to you, “It’s like . . . since the beginning it’s been him. It’s always been him.” You placed the photo back in its original place, “And now I know why,”

  Later that day in the cafeteria, the table had been full of tension. MJ throwing glares at Peter, Peter brushing them off his shoulder, your head crammed into a textbook, Ned trying to break the tension and Liz having no idea what the hell was going on. 

  “You guys are so cute together,” MJ cheerily spoke up after a while, looking at Peter and Liz’s interlocked fingers.

  “Thanks,” Peter stated bluntly, his gaze fixated on MJ.

  “I just didn’t think you would end up dating a guy like that, Liz, but now that I’m looking at it, it makes sense,”

  “A guy like what?” Liz raised an eyebrow, concerned there was something about Peter that she didn’t know.

  “A liar-”

  “MJ, can you help me with this equation?” You interjected, hoping she hadn’t heard what MJ said.

  “I don’t know why you’d need my help, you’re the best one here at math,” she slyly retorted, not once breaking her eye contact with Peter.

  “I’ll help you,” Ned spoke up and the both of you exchanged worried glances. It suddenly dawned on you that Ned probably already knows Peter’s secret; which means, he already knew about you as well.

  “Anyway,” Liz spoke up after a few tense moments of silence, “I’m throwing a party tonight at my place, everyone’s invited!” 

  “And why would we-”

  “Sounds fun! We’ll be there!” You spoke up quickly, glaring at MJ to shut her up. She rolled her eyes but sat back in her chair and complied.

  You’d kept your head down for most of the lunch period but had to snap your attention up to keep MJ tamed. Your gaze wandered over to the direction you felt a pull coming from and was surprised when you met Peter’s gaze. You were almost frozen, caught in a mixture of crying, panicking and keeping it together. Still, you couldn’t pry your attention from Peter so you dwelled in it instead. 

  He looked tired. The dark circles under his eyes were more apparent than usual and his hair appeared to lack a bit of life, the curls on his face falling flat rather than their normal bounciness. You let yourself study the man before you and that’s when it happened again.

  Instead of his normal physique, an outline of his person took form and the wounds on his body glowed to catch your attention. He had a few cuts and scrapes here and there, some bruises on his shins and forearms, not to mention the busted eyebrow that you’d failed to notice under what you assumed was makeup. You squinted your eyes at this and Peter seemed to catch on to what was happening. He grew uncomfortable under your gaze and forced yourself to retract it, fighting the urge to reach out your hand and place it over the split skin on his face. Not that he’d appreciate it.

  You sighed and closed the textbook before shoving it in your bag and standing up seconds before the bell rang. MJ followed suit and walked you to your next class, knowing you usually take the route with Peter and punched your shoulder lightly when it was time for her to go.

  “Meet at my locker after school? I need help picking an outfit and we can stop by your place to pick some stuff up,” 

  MJ nodded in agreement and you turned to enter the classroom but walked into a hastily walking Peter. You reached out your hand to steady yourself and grabbed his forearm which, unfortunately, was not covered in fabric.

  The warmth in your fingertips soon sprawled all over your body and you could moan at the ease it brought along with it. The ache in your heart subsided and the strength of the pull towards him tripled until you really were being shoved against him, your chest pressed against his own and his arms wrapped around you as if to keep you there.

  You wanted to pull away but the fact that Peter was even holding you right now soothed the agony in your bones and you needed this for just a few seconds more. You let the sensation overtake you, submitting yourself to its enticing comfort and when Peter’s hands gripped the back of your shirt tighter to pull you deeper into him, you let him.

  This was right. Being with him was right. How could it not be? How could being with your soulmate be wrong? The two of you were literally made for each other as were all soulmates but there resided something deeper between both of you that caused a very physical gravitational pull to one another. Though you’d heard of instances similar to that, you’d never heard of it being physical, only an emotional pull. And that physical pull somehow forced you two into each other’s arms where you were fighting the urge to give in.

  With the little strength that you could muster, you pried yourself from him and you exchanged a worried glance with each other, “Did you-”

  “Feel that? Yeah,” he said, bewildered at what just happened.

  “So, you didn’t-”

  “Pull you? No. And you didn’t-”

  “Suddenly forgive you and throw myself into your arms?” You spoke with venom and cocked your head to the side, the little distance between you allowing some of your anger to return. “No,”

  Peter wanted to roll his eyes and brush off the comment, he really did but he could see through you. The pain you tried to hide was laid barren for him, he couldn’t miss it if he tried. It shouted for his attention, demanding his explanation and wanting nothing more than to dissipate and leave you at peace. But he couldn’t grant you that. He couldn’t bring himself to beg for you when you didn’t even want him; at least, not the real him.

  You finally walked away and took your usual seat in class, forcing your gaze down so you wouldn’t accidentally make eye contact with Peter as he took his place next you. You chuckled at that. ~   Liz’s house buzzed with energy, most of the people already arrived and under some kind of influence. You had to give it to her, she knew how to throw a party. Not that you’d been to very many of them considering MJ was your best friend.  

  MJ appeared beside you with two cups in her hand and offered you one, “Oh, I figured you were going to chug them down simultaneously,”

  “Don’t tempt me.” She laughed and you took a gulp from yours, finishing it off in a few seconds, “Maybe you would like to do that, though,”

  You smiled sheepishly, “I’m gonna get another one,”

  “Make sure you leave some for everybody else,” she hollered over the music.

  You giggled and sauntered over to the table, ignoring the beginnings of a lure coming from your left. You plucked one of the cups up and brought the brim to your lips, letting the liquid burn its way down your throat and rejoined MJ.

  “Hey, so I was thinking,” you started, keeping your focus anywhere other than where it wanted to be, “where did you hear that story about the gods and the stars and all that?”

  “Huh?” She shouted over the music and despite the volume of the noise, you could still filter out Peter’s voice through it all.

  You grabbed MJ’s arm and pulled her towards the door, “Outside!” You shouted and she followed.

  Once the fresh breeze hit your face, you took a deep breath in, attempting to clear out any negative emotions. MJ took your hand and led you away from the front of the house where quite a few people were still crowding around and settled on the rooftop. She grabbed a ladder off the floor and held the ladder while you climbed up.

  “What were you trying to say?” She asked once you two had gotten comfortable.

  “I was asking about where you heard the story about being chosen by the Gods,” you stated, taking a sip from the cup and already feeling a slight warmth in your cheeks. This cup was definitely stronger than the previous one.

  She cocked her head a little and raised an eyebrow in confusion.

  “You know! About the Gods’ choosing a few special spirits to have this intense love or something,”

  “What are you talking about?” 

  “Like, about my Indicator and the stars and my soulmate,”

  Her eyebrow remained raised in your direction.

  Now it was your turn to get confused, “The story you told me when we were all at your house watching movies. The day I went on the first date with Brad,”

  “Dude, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she admitted, a concerned look on her face.

  “Yes, you do! You’re the one that told me that story, how could you not remember it?” you practically yelled. “When I got mad because of Liz and Peter and went to your room, that’s when you told me!”

  “I remember you being bothered but I figured you needed a breather so I let you have it,”

  Was it MJ that had told you? You scoffed, yes, of course it was. Who else would it be? She was the one that walked into the room and comforted you.   “MJ, stop playing,” you scolded.

  “(Y/N) . . . are you feeling okay?” she asked and you glared at her in response. “Dude, I swear I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  You shot up from your spot and struggled to find footing so you raised your arms to balance yourself. You had drunk a little more than you thought but managed to steady yourself. MJ held out a hand to you in caution, raising them to catch you.

  “Something’s not right,” you said, taking a small step back from your friend. You were certain it was MJ in the room with you, the memory was clear as day.

  The reason you had even brought it up in the first place was because you wanted to know where she heard the lore from considering you’d never heard anything like it. You had been ashamed of your Indicator because you’d never come to know of any other person who had the same one as you ever. Not even in the history books. It was just completely unheard of. So, why would MJ know the legend? 

  “(Y/N), sit down.” MJ ordered, her words concrete.

  “No, no, no, no, this doesn’t make sense,” you spoke aloud, your mind trying to understand the events of that night. You took half a step back from MJ as if the added distance would deny her truth. And it was her truth. You could always tell when MJ was lying, years of friendship could attest to that but her words were genuine and her confusion was too.

  “Stop moving, (Y/N),” she growled, slowly coming closer to you.

  You created the same distance from you as before and she stopped her movements altogether, her eyes glued to the back of your foot. You tried to wrack your brain around it but no matter how you tried to understand it, it just didn’t make sense. How would MJ know the lore for your Indicator when you’d studied extensively to try and find something-anything to make you feel less alone in your path. How had she just randomly come across such information and why hadn’t you asked her right then and there where she heard it from? 

  “(Y/N)!” You heard your name shouted from behind you and whipped around, the force of the action causing you to tip over the edge of the roof and your heart stopped as you watched MJ jump out to catch you.

  The fall was quick but scarier than any rollercoaster you’d been on. It elicited the same sensations but held more finality to it. 

  “(Y/N)!” MJ screamed from above but you kept your eyes glued to the ground when a figure swung into your line of sight and clung onto you in midair before landing on a patch of grass on the side of the house. 

  The action had knocked the wind out of you and you struggled to regain your breath, your eyes glued to your feet and how they rested against the ground. MJ flew down the ladder and raced with Ned to get to your side. She hadn’t even reached it before she started yelling at you.

  “Are you fucking crazy?” She yelled, kneeling by your side and encasing your face in her hands, failing to draw your attention to her.

  Your body shook uncontrollably, the fear from before just now catching up to you. But it wasn’t the fear from nearly dying. It was from whoever the hell you spoke to in MJ’s house. 

  “Can’t you see she’s scared?” Peter yelled at MJ and you winced. You’d never heard Peter yell like that before.

  Peter picked you up and placed you in his lap, his hands attempted to center you in on him but you merely looked through him. You were out of it and you couldn’t bring yourself to come back to the present.

  “(Y/N),” Peter whispered, worry and fear laced in his tone, “Are you okay?”   It took a minute of letting the fear make its course through you before you zeroed in on Peter’s expression. It was the warmth coming from his hands that brought you back.

  “Who was she?”

Tag List: @the-ducks-umbrella @free-pool-trash @wherewecomealive @eridanuswave @watson-emma @imjuliabtw @powerstrangerdacre @chess-anon @le-yona @dear-selena @becausewelie @myr5heart @michaels-endtime @lastupidebichette @yetmeema @bisexualfangirlsblog @akabaneyuriko @allthings-sandy @foreverpark @courtmarie2016 @maya-t-13 @copxland04 @lostinwonderland314 @theolwebshooter @alainabooks143 @dark-night-sky-99 @shameless-dani @memequeend @chewymoustachio @thewayilookatbacon @rvgrsbrns @jaimewho @sexysamsungl @stitchers-in-stitches @spideyyeet @mira-9-rose @racewife2004 @eternallyanxiousandstressed @lost-xim @notavintagecliche @peteysbaby @awkwardnesshabitat @lushalternative @deans-1967sbaby @phrogtheguitarist @xwackk @theatergeek2000 @elenatalia @littlechillies @l-a-a-e @a—1—1—3 @herondalism @jxhnnysbxby @jessyballet @astralnyx @the-nonsenseblog @ornella0910 @parkeret @utterlyconfused-tm @oh-whatabeautiful-parker @fishswimbetterunderwater @reysclana @notavintagecliche @homosexualjohnwayne @procrastinatingmurder @delicately-important-trash @honeybutterparker @chelsxxsworld @herstolenheart @petalduck @utopiamiroh @roses-raindrops-and-writing @qxeen-of-hearts @beansat3am @buckysjuicyplums @champagnesugamama @just-a-littlebit-of-everything @primsa-the-pretend-avenger @used-avocado @martinafigoli @ramblingsnfandom @zofty15 @colorfulartbywriters @keitkeat 

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Mental Health Headcannons - Tsukishima, Kageyama, Ushijima, Tendou & Bokuto

All these are from my knowledge and based off of each character’s actions haikyuu, this is all my opinion so feel free to discuss other thoughts! I’m happy to talk about each more in depth if anyone would like it :) this is just me projecting my own problems on fictional characters

You can also message me if you wanna talk about these too!!

This is going to be long

TW: Mental health, learning difficulties, eating disorders, self-harm

Tsukishima - Depression, Anxiety & OCD

Tbh someone else (I’ve been trying to find their username to tag them but I can’t find it, they’re called something like theguessmonta but idk) has amazing posts about Tsukishima and his mental health which I totally agree with all of it so some of this is going to be pretty similar

I think his mental health problems started when he was quite young, around the time when the Akiteru drama happened so he’s been dealing with these for a while

Having depression can often make a person seem very disinterested/sarcastic/negative as a way of pushing back emotions and self-protection which explains a lot of the way Tsukishima acts towards some people (I have a whole post on how he isn’t just some asshole)

His anxiety stems from a place of terrible self-esteem and self-image, it’s clear to see he has a bad sense of self-worth when he talks about how people are obviously a lot better than him, he’s just there to ‘stop trouble happening’

Tsukki suffers from panic attacks quite regularly (especially when he was a bit younger) but he tends to shut himself off then they happen, he doesn’t want anyone else to see him like that

His anxiety and overthinking is often why he keeps his headphones on him at all times, listening to music helps drown out the sounds around him and those in his head

His OCD got worse over time - first it was things like turning the light switch on and off repeatedly until it felt right, or tapping on his desk before he went to bed, but as his anxiety and self-esteem got worse it developed into him needing himself to be perfect

This included only eating a certain amount of calories a day (no where near the amount he should be eating) or getting a very specific grade on an exam, where even one number over or under set him into a panic

Things got to their worst for Tsukki around the age of 13 - this is where he was much too underweight and self-harming on his hips (so no one else could see)

Probably also thought about suicide a couple times around this point

He has tried a couple different types of anti-depressants in the past, however none have seemed to help

He likes a lot of time alone - he gets too overwhelmed dealing with other people

The only person besides his family and Yamaguchi that knows about his OCD is Kageyama - they both noticed each others odd, repetitive habits until Kageyama asked him about it one day, while they don’t get along too well, they feel some comfort in each other understanding their actions

Kageyama - Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD)

wow what a smooth segue 

this boy is like a walking definition of ASD - coming from a person with ASD

Kageyama was diagnosed with Type 1/High-functioning Autism when he was very young (probably around 3-5 years old)

He struggles with social interaction, knowing what to say to people and most importantly, how to say it, e.g. when he smiles people often think he looks angry

Kageyama has never had many, if any, friends before Karasuno, as he has often struggled with conversation and speaking in an inappropriate tone that may make some people uncomfortable or even scared

He isn’t very good when it comes to remembering academic studies but if it relates to his fixations (volleyball) he is extremely intelligent - this is seen clearly when Daichi shows their team hand gestures and Kageyama says he remembered them in a day

Kageyama uses masking a lot - it’s a technique people with ASD tend to do which involves copying other peoples actions in order to understand social situations, he does this many times in the anime/manga such as his awkward BBQ song dance, or high-fives

He visited a social worker once a week while he was little until he started middle school, resulting in his behaviours getting worse

Towards the end of his first year at Karasuno he went back to therapies regularly and has anger-management training in order to help him express himself in a manageable way - he probably won’t admit it but it helps a lot (key note is that having anger-management training often does not have anything to do with anger, simply just managing emotions in general but it often a great type of therapy for those with ASD although he is a bit of an angry boi sometimes)

ASD comes with repetitive, almost OCD-like tendencies - two examples include filing his nails every single day and having a very specific routine before going to bed that consists of drinking milk, putting on pjs, laying in bed and throwing + catching a ball, brushing his teeth and going to bed on his left side - if he doesn’t do these things at the right times/in the right order, he gets extremely anxious and agitated

It is important to remember people with ASD tend to also have another mental health issue, such as anxiety or depression

Ushijima - Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD)

autism buds with kageyama

I kid thats probably a bad idea

Ushijima was also diagnosed with Type 1/High-Functioning Autism when he was 5

Unfortunately due to the stigma around Autism, his family (besides his father) were not very accepting of this and he was put into therapy at a young age

While this was actually helpful for him, his family insisted his therapies should ‘cure’ him and were dismissive of the many times a doctor told them that ASD is not a curable disorder

Outside of therapy he does not receive much support from his family, except his father who got him a pair of noise-cancelling headphones he used to wear until he 8 whenever they went out together - he was only allowed to wear them if it was just him and his father, the rest of his family thought it made it too obvious there was ‘something wrong with the child’

Extending on this, Ushijima was very sensitive to sensory input as a child, and while he still is, it has become easier to manager as he has gotten older

His ASD is most prevalent in his lack of understand ways of communication, such as sarcasm or jokes, and tends to take things very literally 

@simp4satori and I came to the conclusion that if you were to call him daddy during sex, or ask him to ‘punish you’ the poor boy would have NO CLUE - would probably call your dad and tell him you needed to speak to him, or say you can’t watch anime for a week lol 

He is extremely direct when he talks, to the point where it comes across rude or hurtful but he doesn’t realise this until someone mentions it

Tendou probably helps him rephrase things from time-to-time in order for him to get his point across

He gets very anxious when faced with things he doesn’t know about or understand (this is mentioned by Tendou in the manga), this can include people, going to new places or trying new foods

It is important to remember people with ASD tend to also have another mental health issue, such as anxiety or depression

Tendou - Depression and Anxiety (also a highly sensitive person - that’s not a mental health disorder or illness but it does affect him)

Tendou’s mental health suffered from a young age due to bullying in school

This caused a lot of low self-esteem and low mood, and he was later on diagnosed with depression and anxiety

Only his family, Ushijima and his coach know about this, and even then, only his family know any details

No one would really expect Tendou to deal with such mental health issues as he always keeps a bubbly, happy persona around others - he doesn’t want people to think he is weak or cowardly

It is also hard for others to see and he is someone with high-highs and low-lows, so when he is happy or excited his emotions are quite extreme

Tendou’s anxiety relates a lot to his image, mainly his appearance and the way he acts, but he is also a general over thinker

He doesn’t have panic attacks as often as Tsukishima does, however they do happen occasionally when things just get too much

He often thinks that people are staring at him, or talking about him whenever he goes out, and he tends to hid this by seeming overly cocky or sardonic

When his depression hits, he tends to just feel sad or hopeless instead of numb, which tends to trigger his anxiety too

Tendou used to self-harm often around his hips/thighs however he hasn’t done so since the end of his first year of high-school 

Probably makes a lot of dark ‘jokes’, especially around suicide and people semi are like ‘...dude...you ok?’ and he’s just like ‘hahaha yeah im fine what’

He doesn’t like alone time too much as he tends to get trapped in his own thoughts

As expected of the guess monster, he is extremely good at reading and understanding people, which is how he finds it easier to help and communicate with Ushijima

Bokuto - ADHD

A lot of people at Fukurodani think Bokuto is just stupid, however he actually has ADHD

He was diagnosed a lot later than the rest at 12 years old

Bokuto tends to struggle with his studies as his attention-span is very low and can get distracted easily - either by things in the classroom or his own thoughts

He’s very forgetful, often forgetting his lunch at home or forgetting to do/bring in his homework, and this goes into volleyball too where he forgets how to do certain moves

Taking exams are the worst for Bokuto, he hates having to be still and quiet for such a long time and is very sensitive to little sounds or movements that distract his attention - you’ll often find his bouncing his leg or fiddling with his pen

He tends to butt into conversations or interrupt people when they are talking, he just gets a bit too enthusiastic to share his thoughts

He has extreme mood-swings too which we see often in the anime, especially when he is stressed or someone mentions his behaviours

Is very reckless - Akaashi has probably had to stop him from leaning too far out the window and almost falling to look something

The whole Fukurodani volleyball team are aware of his ADHD and do their best to help him and make him feel comfortable or accepted

They are the only people allowed to call him stupid - they will fight anyone else

I think there are more characters with mental health illnesses or disorders, such and Yamaguchi, Yachi, Kenma and Asahi having anxiety so I might write more at some point!

[shrinkthisviolet]

Author Interview Tag!

Tagged by @maipreciation, thanks for thinking of me! This looks really fun :D

(Note: I’m keeping this as a running list, so if you’re ever wondering what fics im working on/brainstorming, make sure to check here! Last update was on 12/12/2020)

Name: Lavi! As of 12/5, I’m no longer going by my real name (see this post)

Fandoms: so many 😂 check my bio, I think I have them all listed. I’ve posted fic for Hamilton and ATLA, and then there was a huge Inktober compilation I posted last year with a whole host of fandoms. Currently, my major fandom is ATLA, and probably Kipo as I’m starting to move through S1

Where you post: I have an AO3 (lavi0123)! I used to have an FFN and a Wattpad, but I don’t use either of those anymore :/ tbh, I’m embarrassed of anything I still have up there 😂

Most popular one-shot: Most definitely we’ll give the world to you (and you’ll blow us all away), one of my contributions to Maiko Week! I’m not surprised it’s an ATLA fic, but I find it interesting that a fic with Izumi in it blew up so quickly. But hey, if y’all want more Izumi content, you won’t be disappointed 😉

Most popular multi-chapter fic: ...I’m really embarrassed to say because I don’t think I’ll ever finish it...but En Hamilton Heights is the only multichap fic I’ve published so it’s gotta be that one 😂 hopefully soon I’ll have another fic to add to that, since I’m working on one (sorry EHH fans but it’s been too long and tbh I don’t remember where I was going with it :/ I’m thinking I might orphan it)

Favorite story you’ve written so far: you think this world is a dream come true (but you’re wrong) for sure! It’s super niche but it’s something I wrote out of love for a movie I discovered this Halloween and absolutely love. Though all you’ve got to do is want something (and then let yourself have it) is a close second. Basically, anything I write that sounds absolutely bonkers as a concept is one that I love 😂 (and it’s no coincidence that both fics are Mai-centric! I love all my Mai-centric fics nearly equally)

Fic you were nervous to post: Is there an “all of the above” option? 😂 I’m always nervous to post. But in particular, I was nervous for if you ran away (come back home), because it was Mai-centric and longer than any one-shot I’d written thus far, and also you think this world is a dream come true (but you’re wrong), because it’s Mai-centric and a Coraline AU, which makes it BONKERS as an idea

Why was I nervous to post Mai-centric fics, you ask? Two reasons: 1) Mai is very different from who I am as a person (I vibe a lot more with Aang and Ty Lee, sometimes Katara and Sokka), so I didn’t want to upset the Mai stans by writing her incorrectly. 2) Mai is generally not well-liked in the fandom at large, so I especially didn’t want to attract antis who would accuse me of writing Mai as too emotional and loving (which is why I tried to justify that in my tags). Luckily, my comments have all been lovely, and I’m far less afraid to post fics about her now that I’ve written three fics with her as the focus! And the shoutout from @nonbinary-crafter-aang praising my portrayal of her?? I was touched 🥺 still am

How you choose your titles: Song lyrics or movie/book lines that speak to me, occasionally a pun. Remember that post I rb’d about how authors title their works? My tags pretty much say it all 😂

Do you outline: Ehh...define outlining 😂 for my one-shots, nope. But for my upcoming multichap works (see below) and Nanowrimo work (original fiction, so I won’t talk about it on here, but send an ask if you’re curious), YES ABSOLUTELY!

For my Nanowrimo work and one of my upcoming AUs (a Soulmate AU), the worldbuilding is so complex that it’s an absolute necessity. For the other upcoming AU (a time travel AU), there are just too many things that need to happen at certain times so as not to interfere with canon events, and things I want to change from canon and things I want to keep...I think you get the idea 😂

Complete: Basically my entire maiko halloweek series! Check it out if you want some fics about the most underrated canon ATLA couple :)

In-progress: ...En Hamilton Heights again...but not for long, sadly. Still trying to decide between a quick conclusion and just flat-out orphaning it. Still haven’t made up my mind, but either way, it won’t be what I originally planned, unfortunately.

I’m also counting my ATLA Soulmate AU on the basis of forever in my mind (only you), which has the worldbuilding and fits into the AU without much problem (the AU is going to be a series of one-shots, not a multichap fic, because there won’t be enough deviations from canon imo to justify multiple chapters. And one-shots are just less pressure for me 😂)

[EDIT 12/12/2020: added another fic because I’m an idiot and forgot about this too 🤦‍♀️😂 it’s a year-old idea that I started writing but I’m picking it back up thanks to the Heist banter in MatPat’s St Jude stream!]

-A fic series combining Escape the Night and Who Killed Markiplier (Heist and Date are part of it too, but only tangentially at the moment. Depends on how involved I want DA Y/N to be). Tentatively titled A Heavy Cost, and definitely won’t happen in any of Mark’s projects, but in a way that’s actually for the best 😂 the canonicity for me stops at ETN S3 (with some S4), then it’s canon divergence

Coming soon/not yet started: OOOH YESSS HERE WE GO

Okay okay sooo we’ve got two main things:

–An ATLA Soulmate AU, featuring platonic and romantic soulmates! I know I called it in-progress, and I stand by that even though I haven’t actually set up the series on AO3 yet, but this AU is about to be SO MUCH MORE than just a few Maiko moments. Because...drum roll...it’s gonna be entirely Aang-centric (with maybe one or two exceptions)! Like Mai, Aang is a character that doesn’t get as many -centric fics as he should (and being an Aang stan also isn’t unanimous for some reason??), so I’m gonna fix that. Plus I want to dive further into his mind, and I think I’m more equipped to do that than I was with Mai, since Aang and I are very similar in attitude.

–Bumizumi time travel AU, which can be read as platonic until the last couple chapters (it’ll be multichap) but definitely has a romantic agenda throughout. So just. Be warned if you don’t ship them. It’s gonna be chock full of comedy and antics! Also A LOT of platonic affection between Izumi and teen Zuko (and just between Izumi, Bumi, and the Gaang in general), because platonic affection is underrated and also I can :D I’m also probably gonna make fun of how some elements of affection have become solely romantic territory, because...um, no, hugging and holding hands and cuddling can be done between friends, thanks! (Maybe it’s the ace in me talking. But regardless)

There are also vague concepts I’m spitballing, like:

-Zukaang telepathy AU (Platonic Zukaang, the only romance I’ll ever write in ATLA is for the canon ships, prompted by a dream because apparently ATLA lives in my head rent-free forever now 😂)

-Evil Zuko AU (Azula doesn’t exist, mostly prompted after watching Aang make fun of Zhao and realizing that if Zuko had been in any position of power during the War...the Gaang would have stood no chance at all)

-Bumizumi Arranged Marriage AU (Bumi and Izumi both think the other is hotheaded/reckless (Izumi @ Bumi) or uptight (Bumi @ Izumi). So Kataang and Maiko (along with Sukka, Ty Lee, and Toph because...duh) set them up in an arranged marriage, with the presented reasoning being that they already know each other’s families, it’ll be a great symbol of unity, and this way Izumi doesn’t have to worry about suitors. They both agree to it (it’s arranged, not forced), and over time, they warm up to each other...and maybe even...fall in love?? Prompted because we need more arranged marriage fics! On that note, I’m gonna plug shadows and steel by @dearestpartnerofgreatness because arranged marriage needs more rep and this fic does it and with Maiko to boot!)

-Zukaang as Brothers AU (I saw a fic about this, but it wasn’t complete. If it’s not done by the time I get to this concept, I’m gonna write it, because just...imagine the possibilities! Zuko and Aang are already basically brothers in canon anyway, this is just making them brothers in blood as well as in their hearts. This is especially vague because I have no concept of how this is gonna work 🤷‍♀️ I’ll get to it eventually)

(Can you tell I’m obsessed with Zuko and Aang’s friendship? Because I am!)

[EDIT 11/25/2020: I’m adding two more because I forgot these have been swirling around in my head too 😂]

-A fix-it fic based on May You Always Be Satisfied, a backstory fic for Who Killed Markiplier by @blackaquokat! I recently reread it and remembered that I was gonna write a fix-it for that fic. Not because the fic sucks, it’s actually amazing! I’m just a sucker for the main (requited unrequited) pairing, and there’s at least five ways to make that pairing canon and avoid the mess of Who Killed Markiplier. And THEY ALL DESERVE TO BE HAPPY OKAY

-A Finnrey fix-it for the Star Wars Sequel Trilogy (this one is especially vague, and I probably won’t write it since a bunch of these already exist, but it’s fun to think about. Maybe if I ever run out of WIPs 🤷‍♀️)

Upcoming story that you’re most excited to write: I’m equally excited for the Soulmate AU and the Bumizumi Time Travel AU! I’m also excited for my Nanowrimo work to be finished, but that’s more so in-progress than upcoming

Tagging:

@nonbinary-crafter-aang @dearestpartnerofgreatness @ohsalamanders @blackaquokat (no pressure ofc, only if you want to! But please tag me if you do, I’d love to see it!)

[amphipodgirl]

Thank you for the tag, @xivz! I haven’t written anything at all this week (I’m in a bit of a funk) but I can share more of the deep backstory that I’ve written for Baz for The Longest Time (the sequel to Parent-Teacher Association). This is him talking with Mr. Minos, who was his English teacher in middle school and inspired him to go into teaching himself. This is kinda long, sorry.

BAZ

He stood up and walked over to the window, looking out over the athletic fields to the fields beyond. “What are you reading right now?”

“Life on the Mississippi, The Hobbit, and, um, Little Women.” I was kind of embarrassed about Little Women — having learned years ago not to read “girls’ books” at school — but it was the truth.

“Is it your first time reading Little Women?”

“No sir.”

“Which is your favorite March sister?”

“Jo.”

“And why is that?”

“She doesn’t fit in. She wants something different from her life. When she finally finds love, it’s on her own terms.”

“She’s my favorite, too, and I think she’s Alcott’s favorite, or at least the one Alcott patterned on herself. Jo March is a writer, and I’ll bet you she doesn’t write dull little cookie cutter five-paragraph essays. And neither do any of those authors you’re reading.”

“If those cookie cutter essays are so uninteresting, why do you assign them?”

“Partly because I’m supposed to, and partly because it’s a useful structure. Someone who can write a good, clean five-paragraph essay can keep up with the writing requirements of most office jobs, and for most of your classmates a white-collar job would be a dream come true. But I think your life may take you far from Coalinga. I don’t know where. But I think you may want to do something more than write monthly reports in an agricultural supply house. I don’t know whether that will be scientific papers or short stories or legal briefs, but you’re going to want them to sing. And there’s one more reason I’d like you to try something more challenging.”

“What’s that, sir?”

He turned and looked at me, his hands in his pockets. “I want to see what you can do.” I stood there for a long moment, torn between still being angry that he thought what I had been doing wasn’t enough and being enchanted by the idea that someone — anyone — an adult — thought I would get far away from here, from farms and heaps of produce and the baking hot summer sun. That someday my life might call for writing that was more interesting than an orderly five paragraphs with topic sentences and conclusions. That I could — and should — aspire to model my writing on Twain, Tolkien, and Alcott, not just some a standardized outline. I gave him a sharp nod and left.

I tag @omgcmere mostly because I want to be sure she sees the Alcott bit (but feel very, very free to share snippets of Slutty Henry) (eyebrow waggle).

I also tag @krisrix @thehoneyedhufflepuff @carryonsimoncarryonbaz @gampyre @im-gettingby and anyone else with work to share! (Please forgive me if I omitted you; I was up super late last night and I think I’m operating at about 45% of my typical capacity today)

[anakinthetrashking]

How’s the Heart?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26871853/chapters/65565265

Somehow I made it and it is FINISHED!!!! This is my fic that I wrote for @batfam-big-bang​ !!!!

The biggest of shoutouts and THANK YOUUUUS to my incredible betas: Ace, Skye, and Em!!! @toomanyfandoms21​, @timmydrakewings​, and  @geekinthecorner​ !!!! I’ve never actually had a beta before, but for this i had 3??? You guys were so kind and patient with me and my last minute tendencies. Thank you for all your suggestions and edits!!! [heart eyes]

and then!! ARTISTS!! you guys really put your heart and soul into the pieces you made and i just,,,, want to cry,,,,THAMKKKKK YOUUU!!!! keep being awesome! im love u: Butter, Dean and Lucy!!!!!! @heybabybird​, @greenbean-riverdean​, and @houser-of-stories​ !!!!!

Its a Tim-centric 3+1 Three times Tim is helped or comforted by his family, and one time where he's doing pretty alright. (TW: Depression, Anxiety, Suicidal thoughts, etc! full tags on ao3)

1) Here I am to Share the Fear (Tim & Damian & Dick) Bruce is back and everything seems to be going well- so of course old fears pop up again. Damian notices his absence and tries is best in his own way to offer some comfort.

2) Fly Towards the Calm (Tim & Steph & Cass) Steph notices that Tim's failing at basic self care again, so she declares Movie Night. She and Cass try to remind Tim that he needs to take the time to care for himself and not just continue pouring himself out on behalf of others.

3) Night Will Come But Not to Stay (Tim & Bruce) Turns out catching the Clench and loosing his spleen have more lasting effects than they thought. Tim tries to ignore and push past his new found limitations, Bruce notices that something is off and is there for the inevitable breakdown.

+1) Fair Winds, Another Tale (Tim & Alfred) A rare event of relaxation, the Waynes have a picnic at the manor. Alfred worries about his family, but for now, it seems like everything is alright.

Read it under the read more or on AO3 !

Here I Am To Share The Fear

Too much. Everything was too much.

Bruce was finally back, and Tim was glad that everyone was so happy - despite them all being wrong.

Wrong.

WRONG.

He shook his head and put a light smile on his face, trying to focus on the conversation in front of him, but Dick was so loud. And there were far too many people in the mansion - in the same room - Tim swallowed and grit his teeth against the feeling of his organs crawling up his throat.

There were eleven people in the room.

Ten roses in the flowered centerpiece on the buffet table.

Nine cups scattered about the room.

Eight candle flame shaped light bulbs in the chandelier.

Seven white socks (why was Dick only wearing one?) 

Six voices in variating clarity.

Five… Five? Five fingers on each hand.

Four windows, none open.

Three lamps, all unlit.

Two doors.

One exit. Viable exit, at least.

Zero people looking at him. Perfect.

It was time for him to go, so he took his exit as quietly as possible, noticing the volume of the crowd drop as he walked out. No one stopped him. No one seemed to notice. Or maybe they just didn’t care. Good. That- that was something he could deal with.

As he fled to his room, he couldn’t help but notice how alive the manor was. So many lights were on, even in empty rooms. Little things littered the place as if people actually lived here. A book on the table here, ready to be picked up and read from where they left off. A suitcase full of clothes there, waiting to be unpacked. Doors open instead of closed and locked. Bed covers turned down, ready to welcome them home.

Tim reached his door and saw the life that had flooded there as well. Posters, pictures of family and friends covered large portions of his walls. Little trinkets given to him were lovingly placed around his desk. It was more than he could take, so he ran. He ran and ran through hallways and past open doors until the warmth of the occupied portion of the Manor turned to the chilly halls of the guest wing. Back in the furthest unused room is where he finally stopped, willing his heart rate to slow down.

The room looked like something out of a book, everything covered with sheets and layered with undisturbed dust, no signs of life. The evening light cast the room in cool tones of blues and greys, shadows soft and hazy. The attached bathroom was much the same, cold tiles sucking the heat from his feet.

Sitting down, he hugged his knees to his chest, letting the lines of the sink cabinet dig into his back. Tim stared for a while, trying not to think, and letting the clock tick a rhythm into his head.

The clock sounded so loud, and his breath seemed even louder. Nothing felt ok. Exhaustion pushed at the edges of his vision while panic seemed to well up inside of him and claw into his throat. Everything felt like it was closing in on him so he pushed back, laying on the floor and stretching his arms and legs as far as they could go. The cold seeped into him and he vaguely wondered if that’s what it felt like to die. To let your warmth bleed out into the universe. Death… was a calming thought. As humourless as that was, it forced a short laugh out of his throat.

Death would be preferable, he thought, to whatever feeling this is.

Bruce had been back for a month, and for a little while the triumph of bringing him home had been, well, satisfying. Relieving. Exhilarating.

But now, somehow, he was left feeling empty. Hollow. Carved out. His skin was pulled taut over his bones and there was nothing inside. Each day was an empty victory. A consolation prize. An uphill battle against an unseen enemy.

Eating, drinking, getting dressed, sleeping, showering, all done out of the necessity of existence. But most of the time he didn’t feel like he existed at all. Just a doll or a robot - there, but not really. Tossed aside until needed again. Some sort of empty, semi-existent thing. It felt too much like being five again and waiting by the phone for that occasional Sunday call from his parents.

A single tear slipped out, unbidden. It left a quickly cooling trail in its wake.

Everything is so stupid. Tim thought, frustrated by his own stagnancy, willing himself to just do something, instead of just lying there considering the logistics of several stupidly lethal ideas. He was working on kicking out the thoughts when he was distracted by the sound of light, purposeful footsteps. Damian. With footsteps like that it meant he was trying to be considerate. Creepy.

“What do you want?” Tim sighed.

“Drake.” Tim could feel rather than see the curt nod Damian gave him. “Pennyworth brought out those blueberry scones you seem to favor. However, you were not present. So I…” His self-assured tone faltered.

Tim turned to look at him for the first time. “You came looking for me?”

“I would hardly call it looking. You frequent a few spots and the conclusion was obvious by the number of people that are currently within the Manor.” Damian sat cross legged on the floor, pushing a scone into Tim’s hands.

“But why would you…?” Tim sat up, arching an eyebrow.

“It is only natural to know your enemy, Drake. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.” Damian sniffed and waited for Tim to take a bite. Then he continued. “Then you will best know how to poison them.” A (dare Tim say it) friendly smirk showed itself on Damian’s face.

Tim snorted, and for once they seemed to have gained a sort of mutual understanding.

They lapsed into silence again. Damian shifted, obviously wanting to say something but didn’t know how. The expression on his face looked so scrunched that Tim almost wanted to laugh.

Instead he asked, “Is it still unbearably loud out there?”

Damian clicked his tongue. “With Grayson in the room? Obviously.”

Somehow Damian seemed even more frustrated. There was a good chance that any moment now he would jump up and leave, but not before throwing out an insult to cover his wounded pride at having to retreat. In his own way, he was trying to offer an olive branch, and as tired as Tim was, something in him couldn’t let that opportunity pass. He could almost hear Dick’s voice in his head, telling him that if he would just talk with Damian, have a conversation, maybe they could find common ground.

For once, he could see the clumsy effort that the brat was making, and he knew deep down, more than anything they both yearned for warmth. Not the sort of warmth that contrasted the grounding feeling of the cold tile beneath him, but the warmth of human connection. The numbness that had been growing in him twisted at that thought and he decided to take a chance.

“It’s nice to have everyone around, but…” he glanced over to try to gauge a reaction, “I can’t seem to settle into it.”

A sort of recognition, reflection, sparked in Damian’s eyes at that, and some of the tension began to leave his body. Tim continued.

“I guess it’s just that there’s always been something. If I do well enough in school, maybe my parents will take an interest in me. If I become a better Robin, maybe Batman will go back to normal. If I bring Bruce back, maybe we can all be happy again… But it never works. It’s never enough, and now- now there’s just… nothing.”

A few moments passed, and Damian’s own internal battle ended as he found the words to reach out in return.

“I, too… Mother’s time was very limited. I trained and studied hard for any extra moment of time or nod of approval she could give… and after Father denied me, it was much the same, trying to rework standards and limits for his approval. Not having something specific to work towards does indeed seem… disconcerting.” Tim searched his face and found sincerity there, though his eyes seemed to be distant as he turned away.

Damian once again found himself at a loss for words, so he thought about what Grayson would do in such a situation. A hug was… out of the question, but- he lay his hand in-between the two of them, palm open. This, he supposed, he could do. Tim took it, surprising them both. Damian’s hand felt almost unbearably warm after the cold of the tile floor.

They sat again, together, in silence. It was more companionable, though still awkward and stilted in ways neither knew how to fix.

“There’s nothing more I can do for this family. There’s nothing I can think of.” The silence stretched before them, and Tim hesitated to put his fear into words.

Finally, he whispered, “ There’s no excuse for me to stay now.”

Damian’s face whipped around to face him. “As usual, you are wrong, Drake.” He scoffed, “Don’t you know you can’t choose who your family is?” pausing, he let go of Tim’s hand and stood up, turning to leave. “You’re stuck with us whether you like it or not.”

Quick but light footsteps sounded out in the hallway.

“Grayson!” Damian called, “Come fix Drake before Father requires his assistance again!” Nodding to Tim he left without another word.

Dick then came skidding around the corner into the bathroom, one socked foot sliding out against the tile. “Tim! Are you ok? What’s wrong? Why are you here of all places?”

Overly warm hands, distant eyes, honest feelings? Tim let out a deep sigh. “You should be more worried about the little gremlin. I think he’s got a fever.”

Dick tensed as if to sprint off again, and Tim held in a sigh of disappointment, knowing that Damian would be the priority, yet again. But instead of running off, Dick simply pulled out his phone and sent off a text, settling down into the spot on the floor that had been recently vacated.

“Bruce is on it.” He glanced out the doorway as if he could still see Damian storming past. “Did he-?” The question of his behavior went unsaid but not uncommunicated.

“No, we had a completely civil conversation. One might even call it a heart-to-heart, by our standards.”

“Therefore, he must be sick?”

“Other signs, too. But yeah.”

The buzz of an incoming message confirmed it, but Dick put his phone away instead of typing out a reply.

“A heart-to-heart, eh? I always knew you guys could get along if you just tried talking.”

“Don’t you dare say I told you so,” Tim shot a glare at Dick who was failing terribly at trying to look affronted at the very thought,  “but it does seem like we are a lot more alike than I realized.”

“Who would’ve known?” Dick teased.

“Never mind, just say I told you so next time.” Tim grumbled. “Anyway, it seemed like he was really trying, and that he wanted to help in some way. I guess I just couldn’t ignore that.”

“Yeah.” Dick had his proud big brother face on. “I'm glad you guys are finally getting along. What did you talk about?”

“Oh, you know, feeling worthless without having something to focus on, questioning our places in people's lives, the usual. “  

“That does seem to be a common theme in our family.”

“He called me family,” Tim murmured. “Or, well, he implied it. But for him, that’s basically saying it.”

“Tim, that’s…” Even Dick looked astounded.

“Unbelievable?”

“No, not unbelievable.” He chided. “But definitely surprising.”

“That’s one way to get me out of a bad mood, I guess. I was so surprised that it jarred me right out of my own downwards spiral.” Tim closed his eyes and took another deep breath. “Most everything still sucks, but that’s a bright spot, at least. My therapist keeps telling me to look for those. I guess I have another one to add to the list.” He turned his head to share a small smile before standing up to stretch. “That and Alfred’s blueberry scones. I sure hope there’s some left.”

Dick matched his smile with a blinding one of his own and reached over to ruffle Tim’s hair.

“You know, if you ever need to talk-“

“I know.” Tim bumped his shoulder into Dick’s. “Thanks, Dick.”

Fly Towards The Calm

“Think fast!” Stephanie’s entrance was about as subtle as a stampede.  She must have been hanging out with Jason lately. As the door behind her swung closed, she tossed a tightly, carefully wrapped package at his face. He caught it with one hand as he finished reading the last paragraph of the proposal he was looking over.

“Evidently I’m the Wayne family errand boy now,” she whined as she jumped up to sit on his desk. “I drove the brat home from school and got enlisted by Alfred to deliver food to your sorry butt.”

“You could have said no.” he muttered. Peeling back the folded wax paper revealed a tuna fish sandwich, exactly how he liked it, though a bit squished from being thrown across a room.

“Refused? Alfred? Are you joking?” she asked, over dramatically taken aback. “Besides, I was rewarded with my own delicious sandwich and not one but two cupcakes.”

“Two?” his eyebrow raised. 

“Well, he only gave me one, but generously allowed me to snatch a second. I didn’t eat yours because I’m nice.” She dropped the rest of his lunch on his now closed laptop.

“Indeed, I shall never be able to repay your kindness,” he said around his own mouthful of sandwich.

“You got that right. Anyway, Cass and I are gonna have a night on the town tonight, wanna come with?”

Tim hummed in agreement.

“Great! I’ll text her. You should probably get a nap first though. Come on, you can eat on the way.” She popped the last bite in her mouth and hopped off the desk.

Gathering his things, he glanced at her in amusement. “Alfred put you up to this, too?”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you even have to ask?”

Looping her arm in his, they headed to the door. He noticed a slight hesitation in her steps and turned to find her looking at him funny. But she just shook her head and let whatever it was, be.

Until they got in the car, of course.

Glancing at him out of the corner of her eye as she sped down the road she asked, with a tone he couldn’t quite decipher , “Did you use my dry shampoo?”

His mind ground to a halt. Of all the questions he thought she’d ask, that was not one of them, and for the life of him, he couldn’t reason out why. They constantly borrowed each others’ things without issue, and for that matter, so did the rest of their mismatched clan. Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe he needed that nap after all.

 It had been a minute, maybe he should answer the question.

“Got my own bottle.” He said carefully, “Seemed useful.”

“Hmm.” God, now she sounded like Bruce. How many odd habits had she picked up from them? 

“Tim…” she sounded soft and hesitant, as if he were fragile. He hated when they did that. “When’s the last time you took a shower? Or ate a full meal?”

He contemplated it with a hum. “Patrol,” he said finally.

Stephanie’s hands tightened on the steering wheel for a moment. “Has it been bad lately?”

“What? …Oh.” Oh. “Not… really? It’s just been numb. Quiet. A bit like the way everything is muffled when you’re underwater.” A bit like drowning, he left unsaid.

She nodded and made a sudden U-turn. When he looked at her in askance, she shrugged. “We’ll patrol together another night. I’ll update Cass when we get to my apartment, but go ahead and text Alfred now. We’re going to have a self-care night with movies and facemasks and whatever other dumb indulgent Pinterest crap I can think of.”

Tim opened his mouth to argue but found he was too tired to care and yawned instead. “Nap first?”

“Shower first. Then nap.”

[BREAK]

He woke the moment she opened the door and turned his head to meet her gaze as she poked her head in with a grin.

“Ca-“ he broke off in a yawn, “Cass!”

With a quick glance behind her, she continued into the room, holding out a steaming mug. Tim sat up in bed, gleefully accepting it as she sat down next to him.

“Coffee,” he sighed in delight.

“Coffee.” She agreed with a solemn nod.

The silence was comforting as they sat there, leaning against each other, Tim soaking in the rare precious moments where he wasn’t rushed, or pulled this way and that. Reaching the bottom of the mug, he set it aside, wrapping his arms around his sister instead.

“You are a blessing upon humanity,” he said, “we don’t deserve you.”

She laughed and tightened the hug. The moment felt just like flying free above the streets of Gotham, and the thought of staying in for the night felt right. Cass pulled away just enough to look at him face to face, an amused twist to her lips.

“You smell like a Steph!” Squeezing him once more, she slipped away and was halfway out the door again when she turned as if she had just remembered something. “Oh!” her smile turned sly, “Decaf!”

“Hey!” He jumped out of the bed to catch up with her, but when he rounded the hall into the living room he was stopped in his tracks.

It seemed that somewhere in between dropping him off at her apartment to take a nap while she met up with Cass and “gathered necessary supplies”, and returning with said supplies, the original objective had been lost.

“It looks like you brought back half the manor’s supply of blankets and robbed a concession stand… and is that the old DVD case? I thought I got rid of that.”

“Yeah. Me and Dick saved it! Having everything digital may be convenient, but having a physical folder of DVDs just feels right!”

Tim suppressed the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and decided to leave the debate of Digital vs. Physical for another day.

“Anyway, you’re up just in time to help us set up the blanket fort!”

An hour later found the living room unrecognizable under the piles of pillows and draped sheets. Tim and Steph stood in the kitchen sorting snacks and discussing the night’s activities.

“-and then there’s this green tea and honey one that’s really great, very soothing-“

“Steph, you don’t have to explain them all to me, you know I’ll always let you test your facial concoctions out on me,” he cut in.

“Of course I know that. I’m not rambling about them for my benefit- I’m rambling about them for yours”

A head tilt was his only reply.

“Ok, let me try to explain this in a different way.” she put down her phone to look at him. “Tonight, Cass and I are going to attempt to teach you how to take care of yourself.”

“I know-” 

“Not in the way that you’ve done or that you know. Your version of taking care of yourself is to fool the cameras, the public, to fool Batman into thinking that you’re at your best.” she shoots him a look. “You’re not. You’re running on fumes and you can’t fool your family.”

“Taking care of yourself is NOT finding the lowest number of hours of sleep that you can ‘function’ on.” She makes quotes in the air with her fingers. “It is not replacing a meal with a power bar, even if the calories are the same! It’s not only taking showers when you have to leave the house, or shutting yourself in to do casework all the time!” her hands fly up in the air and she huffs. 

Taking his hands in hers she looks him square in the eyes before saying more softly, “Self-care is eating full, balanced, Alfred-cooked meals as often as you can. It’s doing your laundry every week and brushing your teeth twice a day. It’s taking naps even when you would literally rather be sorting through the 5-year backup of paperwork in R&D. Or better yet, getting a full 8-10 hours of sleep regularly! It’s looking in the mirror and saying to yourself, everyday, ‘I am good enough. I am worthy of and deserve all the love me friends and family try to give me.’ 

And tonight! Taking care of yourself is having a spa night with Cass and I while we watch anime movies and eat copious amounts of junk food, because we all know that patrol burns an extra 2,000 calories anyway! Plus, we can look at the Affirmations board I have on Pinterest! Cass likes practicing saying them while she beats up bad guys. Says the look on their faces is priceless.”

“Funniest one, I said, ‘I aspire to be a blessing and an inspiration to others.’” Cass recites popping her head out from the mass of blankets, “Guy completely stopped! Then I punched him.”

Night Will Come But Not To Stay

“I cant- I can’t do this anymore! I won’t do this anymore!”

“Promise?”

“…What?” his tears paused for the barest moment, before overflowing again. Bruce was crouched in front of him, tear tracks staining his face.

A moment ago Bruce had been standing with his back to him, untouched by Tim’s words, or perhaps instead, disgusted? 

But perhaps that conclusion was wrong. As Tim searched his face now, it looked more like he was the one in pain and exhausted beyond belief.

His lips were moving, and Tim struggled to catch up.

“What?” he repeated, softly and sniffly, a cord of self-disgust lashing out within him at the pathetic sound of it.

Not just tear tracks, it seemed. Bruce was still shedding tears as he repeated himself.

“Do you promise? That you won’t do this anymore?”

Tim’s mind felt like sludge as he tried to piece together how that request could possibly fit into the context of the last few minutes.

They had been training, not so long ago. Bruce had reached out to Tim first, this time. Offered to train together like they had in the past. Tim had jumped at the chance. He should have known better.

It had been going fine, at first. Great, even.

But his insomnia had been worse than usual this past week, and his other symptoms had been acting up, too. In response to the lack of sleep, maybe, or just the continued pattern he had observed, gradually worsening over time.

Honestly, it was probably a great big mix of things.

But he hadn’t been willing to cancel - not the first thing that he had actually been looking forward to in… too long to think about.

So, he’d shown up anyway, his body begging him to just rest.

They’d warmed up and started sparring.

Well.

It hadn’t even been fifteen minutes of sparring, and his body went from begging to outright rebellion.

He went down and couldn’t get back up.

And for some stupid reason, Bruce had decided to yell at him to get up.

So, he yelled back.

Yelled.

Screamed.

He’s not even sure what all he said, just that this last added bit of disappointment piled atop the ever-building terror of symptoms and lit the fuse that exploded within him and stole the earth from under his feet. It ripped through him and tore out his throat, multiplying as his view was constrained to the back of the man he respected most, seeming to be utterly unmoved by it all.

His obvious confusion and continued silence spurred Bruce to try to explain.

“Promise me that you’ll stop running yourself into the ground. Please.” He tilted his head to try and catch Tim’s eye. “I know you’ve been struggling, and not just lately. Alfred said you’ve seemed like you’ve been having an especially difficult time for quite a while. He said he had been meaning to bring it up to me before… and that he had tried to talk to you while I was gone, but that he couldn’t get you to stay in one place long enough to broach the subject. I know something’s going on. Tell me about it. Let me help.”

“Something’s going-? Help?” his laugh was incredulous and desperate as he dug his fingers into the mats beneath him before forcing them to relax. “No. You can’t- you can’t help me.” He scoffed. “Was this-“ he waved his hand around to try to indicate this situation that he couldn’t find words for, “this, supposed to be helpful?”

“Well,” Bruce looked a bit sheepish, “when you get stressed, I know you tend to internalize all of it. Direct it all at yourself. I thought if you had something outside yourself to direct it at instead… It had worked for-“ he cut himself off. “Well.” He said again, letting it rest a moment before continuing at a different angle. “What do you mean I can’t help you?”

“I mean, you can’t. I- I already researched it. There’s nothing- I mean, I sure had enough time. I had thought, with how tired I am, that maybe it’d help with my insomnia. You’d think so, right? But no. No. I’m still awake, but now I’m lying there, and I can’t do anything. Because I’m too tired! I’m so tired, Bruce. I thought- I thought I knew what tired was.”

“Tim, you’re not making sense. What’s going on? Why are you so tired?” he shifted to sit down and lifted his arms to give Tim a hug but stopped short, holding there, offering.

Tim fell into his arms and Bruce gathered his son as best he could.

“Turns out The Clench has permanent effects that the cure couldn’t reverse. They’re only just beginning to research it, but I’ve been tracking symptoms. Chronic fatigue and pain, nerve damage, migraines- other things they aren’t sure are connected. There isn’t a cure, and it’s gradually been getting worse. I’ve tried the suggestions though it's hardly any change: diet, exercise, rest, the basics. But it’s all just maintenance, and I can’t-“  he went limp as his eyes filled with tears again. “I can’t do the things I used to be able to. I’m barely making patrol- the rest of the day I’m in bed. I can’t do classes. I had intended- I was going to finish High School, or maybe get my GED. But I have to lay down after taking a shower. I can hardly think anymore. I have to drag myself out of bed to go to the bathroom. I used to be able to do everything, and now I can’t do anything! I can’t help you anymore! And you can’t help me.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Bruce pulled him closer to his chest and rested his cheek on his head, rocking them back and forth. “It’ll be ok. We’ll figure it out.”

“No, it won’t! It’ll never be ok again! Can’t you see? I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can’t think! I can’t think, Dad! What use am I now?” his voice broke and Bruce felt his heart break with it.

“Tim,” he gathered Tim’s hands in his own from where they were clutching his shirt, and planted a kiss on his knuckles, smoothing over them with his thumb. “Son, listen to me. You were not born into this world to be useful.” He stopped him before he could interrupt. “I know you like being useful. I like being useful, too. But I need you to listen to me. You are more precious to me than all the stars in the sky. Nothing will change that. When I say, “We’ll figure it out”, I’m not talking about a cure, or some way to make sure you are, quote unquote, “useful”. I mean that we’ll figure out a way for you to live a happy life. A successful life in whatever capacity that it may mean for you. When I say “it’ll be ok”, I don’t mean that I have a fix, I just mean that no matter what, the others and I will be here for you, however you need us. I mean that no matter what happens, you have a place here. You are my son. I love you.” Bruce cradled Tim close again, and their tears mingled where their cheeks pressed together.

“It’s ok. I’m here”

(+1) Fair Winds, Another Tale

Despite still being in the middle of setting things up, the picnic mood was already in full swing. Large blankets were being weighed down by pillows and baskets of assorted snacks. Tables were being laid out to hold the main meal, soon to be a large potluck. No matter how much Alfred insisted on being the one to cook it all, each attendee persisted in bringing something to share. He faintly wondered if they would run out of table space again this time ‘round.

With the majority of the tasks already accomplished, and the remaining tasks hijacked by the ever-enthusiastic young people, Alfred found himself with nothing pressing to do. He made his way over to where Tim sat, transferring water bottles and pop cans from cartons to coolers.

“As much as I appreciate the help, I do so wish they’d stop flinging cutlery across the lawn.”

Tim looked up to watch Steph and Duke and Jason for a moment, trying to suppress his own smirk at the sight of them gleefully tossing said cutlery to each other.

“I mean, it's just plastic, right?”

Alfred sighed as he sat in a camping chair set up next to the coolers. “Yes, but that’s not quite the point. The job is getting done, though, I suppose.”

They sat a moment in pleasant silence, watching as their family milled about, more relaxed than Alfred had seen in years. He hated to break the quiet, but with the entire family around lately and as busy as ever, he had hardly had a decent conversation with any of them. He worried about all of them, of course, and their shared inability to ask for help, but Timothy was an especially quiet lad, when it came to facing problems.

“How are things?”

“Well, all the drinks are already chilled, and we have plenty of ice.”

He shrugged a little at Alfred’s pointed look. “I think they’re ok.” He fiddled a bit with the boxes and tied a fresh garbage bag to the back of a cooler. “Not great, but ok. The weight, the fog… It’s lessened, somehow?”

“Your medication is helping?”

“Yeah, I think that’s a big part of it. But more than that, the way that I think about things now, it’s- I mean, obviously, it’s taken months, and ‘better’ isn’t a word that I’d use- but there’s been progress. And for once? It’s like I can let that progress just, be? I’m not sure how to explain it, really.” He leaned back to stare at the sky. “ I’m still working on things, and putting effort into it, but I guess I’m not expecting things to be fixed completely and immediately.”

Alfred hummed in response encouraging him to continue.

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s still frustrating to no end. Trying to ‘let go’ of perfectionism and the control issues… Sometimes I feel more like I’m chopping off parts of myself with the issues rather than just ‘letting them go’. But I’ve been finding new ways to define myself, and it’s been more manageable lately. I can work with manageable. And when it’s not, I have people who make it bearable.” He looked off to where Bruce was welcoming their first guests. “That’s more than enough for me.”

“Master Timothy,” Alfred waited until Tim met his sincere gaze, “I am so proud of you.”

The small smile Tim shot at him reminded him so much of the shy grins that were common when young Timothy had first entered their lives. Alfred’s heart ached for the many children whose smiles he had seen stolen over the years. The moment was cut short as Jason stormed over demanding,

“Tim, Steph is insisting that the 2005 Pride and Prejudice is better than the 1995 version. You have to tell her she’s wrong.”

Steph came bounding over with Duke. “What's wrong with you? Do you hate Kiera Knightley or something?”

Jason took a dramatic step back with his hand on his heart. “You should know better than to ask that question! But the 1995 version is still the better version. It's more faithful to the books! The delivery is stunning! The banter is unsurpassable! And it has Colin. Firth.”

Duke breaks in, “I mean, he’s got a point. They took the time necessary to keep as many details as possible from the book. Elizabeth’s take down of Darcy is unparalleled. When it comes to banter that’s definitely the one to watch. Also, the 2005 Mr. Bennet is kinda creepy, not gonna lie.”

“See? Duke here is a man of taste.”

“But the aesthetic!”  Stephanie cried, “The finger twitch! Darcy looking like a sad puppy in the rain! Elizabeth kissing Darcy’s hand!!! 2005 is a masterpiece! Tim, you tell them!”

“Don’t look at me, I think they’re both great. Besides, I like Jane Eyre better.” Tim says.

The other three stop and stare.

“You know, that makes sense.” Duke said with an assessing look. “Personally, my favorite is the Count of Monte Cristo.”

Jason threw up his hands in defeat. “You guys aren’t even talking about Jane Austen anymore!” They all turned as another car came up the drive. “Oh thank god, Babs is here! She’ll take my side.”

Their conversation faded into the distance as they paraded back across the lawn, dragging Tim into their argument as they went.

Bruce  watched them fondly out of the corner of his eye as he approached in turn.

“The Kent’s are here, save Clark. Lois says he tried a new recipe and wanted to run it past Martha first. Diana’s running a bit late, but for the most part it seems that everyone else will be here in an hour or so. How are things coming along?”

Alfred knew he was asking about more than just picnic preparations. “All is well, Master Bruce. For once, all is well.”

[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.”

[bigskydreaming]

Im asking this genuinely so pls dont yell at me; when you say that those using trigger warnings dont care about their readers’ mental health and wellbeing, what else are trigger warnings supposed to be for? To make sure people don’t enter fics that have material that would harm them. Just like tv shows that warn about nudity or violence or what have you. Its a rating system, theyre warnings. Tagging for rape or underage ARE the looking-out-for-readers thing. Past that, it is on readers to decide

I try not to yell at anyone engaging in good faith, I know it doesn’t always seem that way, but I would rather be engaged with than ignored...the latter is when my volume goes up, lol.

But in answer to your question, it comes down to the fact that trigger warnings are well established enough in fandom by now, that they exist as a kind of social contract.

In short, its EXPECTED that you provide trigger warnings, and that if you don’t have them, someone will bring that up at some point.

Problem is, this counter-productively works against what trigger warnings are actually FOR.....once we reach a point (which we’ve long since reached)....where a lot of people are only including the trigger warnings because of the social contract that expects them to have them, and not ACTUALLY because they’re prioritizing their readers’ well-being.

Something I see a LOT after trigger warnings is the phrase or sentiment “enter at your own risk”....and the phrasings are so, so key to what I’m talking about. 

Take a small sampling and just look for what I’m describing and I’m fairly certain you won’t have to go far to find an example of a fic where the tone of the author is not one of concern for readers, but preemptive concern for potential backlash from readers.

And these are two very different things.

Like, we all know how to read and interpret tone and nuance. Its genuinely not that hard to tell the difference between a sincere expression of wanting readers to be aware of potentially triggering content, and a faux-expression of that when really, the only thing you’re worried about triggering is a negative reception from people, and you want to get ahead of that by making it clear from the get go that hey, you did your job, you warned readers, and thus nobody has any grounds to say anything about your content itself.

Because also too there’s the fact that trigger warnings are inherently fallible. They rely on the author’s own AWARENESS of their content and everything it might include......but a racist author isn’t going to place a trigger warning for using their characters as mouthpieces for even blatant white supremacist ideology. 

A genuinely predatory author (and yes, they absolutely do exist, and its willful stubbornness that people rely on to pretend that like, for some bizarre reason, only genuinely predatory people don’t partake in this otherwise global hobby of reading and writing fiction, like what even is that, how do you arrive at that conclusion, that like, actual pedophiles are so busy preying on ‘real life’ teenagers in their zip code 24/7 that they just don’t have TIME to go online and cultivate predatory relationships with real life teenagers via social media? That doesn’t make any sense!)

But anyway, a genuinely predatory author, is absolutely NOT going to tag or place trigger warnings for pedophilia, etc....because they don’t WANT the things they write perceived that way.

People trying to normalize incest are not always going to tag for incest because they want to DISTANCE the cute, sweet dynamic between two ‘only sorta brothers’ as other than the kind of incest that destroys families...regardless of the reality that most cases of incest are the LATTER and its the FORMER that’s so rare it barely exists. 

And that sort of thing is how we get terms like dub-con and pseudo-incest and ‘consensual underage sex’ when its describing a relationship between a minor and adult....because this is mitigating, distancing language. Its entire reason for existing is to make unpalatable content seem more palatable.

And especially in Batfandom, we KNOW this.

Because we all, practically universally, give Devin Grayson crap for describing the rape in Nightwing #93 as ‘nonconsensual sex’ and go.....THATS NOT A THING!

And then half of fandom turns around and....acts like that and similar stuff...IS A THING.

That doesn’t work! LOL. It just...doesn’t.

Or another example, because abuse can be just as triggering as rape.....like, for me, personally, I’m a survivor of both, and yes, both CAN be triggering. But not as much as people might think....like, just reading a depiction of these things doesn’t trigger me.

Its, like you were saying at the get go, yes, a matter of surprise.....the kind of thing that CAN be warned for, and prepared for, and its the sheer unexpectedness that’s usually the trigger. 

Like.....I went off a few weeks ago about reading a story that was supposed to be about Dick’s brothers learning the truth about what led him to take the Spyral mission and what happened in Forever Evil. That’s what the summary said, that was it, that was the only thing it led me to expect about the story. So understandably, I go into the story expecting it to be sympathetic to Dick. I’m looking for catharsis from it honestly, a salve for the many fics and canon events that blamed and punished him for something I don’t consider his fault, right?

And then towards the end....I get Jason punching Dick again, before hugging him, because that’s just how he reluctantly shows love or whatever.

This genuinely triggered me, yeah. Its why I got so upset about it. Because I was blindsided, I had no way to prepare for it, because I went in expecting catharsis for a story that bothered me due to its victim blaming, and instead I got the author heaping on more of the same abuse we already saw in canon.....with zero awareness that’s what she was doing. 

So....that’s absolutely something I wrestled with should I message the author and ask them to add a trigger warning or not? Because I genuinely could have used one. It would have helped. I would have avoided that story if I had any notion that might crop up in it, because frankly, that’s not something I had any interest in reading.

But problem is, there’s only really two realistic outcomes there. If she was open to hearing a genuine request for her to be aware that her content contained triggering material for a reader....chances are, she probably would have just edited it and taken that out entirely. It was just one line. Easy enough to do. It certainly didn’t add anything.

Problem is....there’s an equal and opposite likely outcome....that she’d get defensive, call this unsolicited criticism, and double down on the idea that what she had written wasn’t abuse, because obviously she doesn’t condone abuse, so she wouldn’t have written that plain and simple. It has to be acknowledged that a lot of authors ARE innately defensive about social content in their work, and not open to hearing they’ve done something offensive or triggering....because that’s like...literally the basis of the ‘no unsolicited criticism’ movement in fandom, even though being critical of toxic ideology expressed in content is NOT the same as offering criticism of someone’s writing in general. 

So you see what I mean? A trigger warning COULD genuinely help in that situation....but our fandom environment simply flat out is not conducive for readers to be at all confident that they even CAN come forward and alert an author that they delved into an offensive, even harmful take with their content and be well received no matter HOW they phrase it....

For much the same reasons I mentioned in that other post. People are more likely to instinctively jump to the defense of the person WRITING the content that offended or did actual emotional harm....than the person simply trying to say, backed by their own lived experience of....being offended or experiencing emotional harm....hey, this is a problem for me and I would appreciate it being regarded as such....

Otherwise, what is even the POINT of this entire system of trigger warnings in the first place? If a problem for a reader isn’t regarded as worthy of attention in and of itself.....at least, not in comparison to whatever problem that READER’S problem creates for the WRITER.

You see what I’m saying? For this, and a lot of other reasons, trigger warnings are innately fallible. They rely on an honor code system, and the uncomfortable truth is none of us are actually naive enough to believe everyone in fandom is innately honorable enough to honor that....if they were, would we have as much cases of anon hate, spite fics, etc?

But fandom as a whole looked at the trigger warning system and decided well....its good enough. Because its not like I’m proposing a viable alternative, its not like I have a BETTER system in mind, offhand. All I do have is the point that well...no...its NOT good enough as is....because for a ton of reasons, there’s a ton of cases in which there’s a ton of people for which it flat out doesn’t work for or benefit at all.

But when this comes up to any degree, in any capacity whatsoever....and the only thing people fall back on is well, I tagged it, or I used trigger warnings what more do you want, or its good enough for me so that’s what matters, or just....

“I did what I was supposed to per the social contract about trigger warnings, so if anything goes wrong in your reading experience at this point, that’s entirely on you.”

Like, does that make sense?

Basically, there’s a world of difference between:

This is a problem that still needs solving because the solution provided now is not all-encompassing or inclusive....

And....

This is a problem that’s already been solved as far as I’m concerned, and I’m utilizing that solution so any further problems are just in the mind of the reader and have nothing to do with reality, let alone me and my work.

Again, as I said above....its the difference between genuinely engaging with other members of your fandom community with actual concern for THEIR fandom experience.....or faking engagement with other members of your fandom community when your only real concern is YOUR fandom experience, and at most, the experiences of anyone who already is of like minds to you on a subject.

Hopefully that answers your question or clarifies my stance there, anon. And thank you for actually engaging on this. It feels a bit like shouting into the void a lot of the time, lol.

[starker-stories]

The Cold, Chapter 7 - The Messages Series

This chapter on AO3

By @thestarkerisobvious​ and @starker-stories​​

New chapters in the series post every Thursday.

All links are to AO3. You don’t need to be a creator to have an AO3 account. You can have one solely as a reader. But to read anything at all in this series, you can just be an anonymous reader and/or commenter.

The best way to keep up with The Cold is to subscribe to the story on AO3. And the best way to keep up with the Messages Series is also to subscribe to it as well as the individual stories. That way you’ll know when the next book is added.

Tags: Tony Stark Feels, Peter Parker Feels, College Student Peter Parker, Established Relationship, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Tony Stark Still Has Arc Reactor, Arc Reactor Kink, Peter Parker is a Mess, Spider-Man powers, Communication, They Finally Communicate!, And Fuck Of Course Look at Who It’s Written By Of Course They Fuck, Avengers Compound

The entire Messages Series.  All links are to AO3.

Messages Unsent  (complete & posted)

Nothing More Than A Machine  (complete & posted)

Tomorrow  (complete & posted)

My Virgin (Revisited)  (completely & posted) 

The Cold  (completely written) Posts Every Thursday

There’s been a change.

The Cold is the final book in the main line of the Messages series. There is this one and three more chapters until the end (10 chapters total.) The story has been completely finished and is ready to post to schedule.

What were formerly the last two chapters will be written as Messages Interludes and won’t be posted to the same schedule that Messages has been. 

The best way to follow them is to subscribe to the Interludes series link. These stories involve time jumps that make them their own separate thing from the contiguous week that Peter and Tony have been through in Messages.

The Opposite of Cold  ( in progress )

Untitled  ( in progress )

Note: There is some Italian in the chapter. It’s left untranslated until a note at the end of the chapter to put the reader in Peter’s head. If you speak Italian, obviously this little gambit won’t work on you. If you are an Italian speaker and we’ve gotten it wrong, please leave us a comment with the correction and we’ll make it.

Chapter 7:  Faremo L'amore Ogni Notte

She guided him away and they headed to her lab, leaving Tony behind in her office.

Tony agreed that what was discussed between Peter and Helen would remain between them. But it didn’t mean he wasn’t nervous about what was happening. Instead of pacing the courtyard, making a nuisance of himself, he headed to his long-disused personal labs two floors up.

Cleaning the place up, activating and repairing the equipment, it all took time. He checked his watch. Not enough time. Peter was still gone, still downstairs with Helen. He looked up what he’d been working on when he was here last, years ago.

There was little to distract him. Going over his notes on his development of the nanotech for his and Peter’s suits was interesting in a ‘historical record’ sort of way, though the data wouldn’t become part of that until long after it had ceased to be useful to him.

Watch-checking time again. Tony’s inability to keep himself distracted for more than, at most, an hour was annoying. He was sitting in what had been the top lab in the country, and he couldn’t find anything to do. Because his mind was still two floors down. Where he had no idea what was going on. Tony wasn’t sure which was worse. The possibility that something could be wrong or the fact that he couldn’t see it even if there wasn’t anything wrong.

Peter’s texts finally interrupted him.

We’re still talking

Still talking

Hey can you send me that vid of me stopping the car? The first one? Can’t find it.

Can you send me my laser-course stats?

Thanx

Ok headed to the examination room now.

The updates were at least keeping Tony from going completely crazy. But they also kept him from getting involved in anything truly distracting. So their effect was to have him sitting there, doing nothing, staring at his phone, waiting for the next one.

He wanted to text back, to find out more, but he didn’t want to interrupt an exam or a test. He had no idea what was going on before or after the texts. So he just stared at his phone waiting for the next notification.

Omg I haven’t been naked at the doctor since I was 13

This is not a gown this is paper wtf?!

Finally Peter texted him again. The medical exam was over (I get to put on my clothes now) and he and ‘Helen’ were going for a walk.

At that, Tony’s resolve not to spy on Peter broke. He could control things in Helen’s office. He could control things on the entire medical floor. A ‘walk’? Where? Under whose watchful eyes and ears?

Finally, after the cameras showed them heading outside, he gave the monitoring over to FRIDAY. “Track them, turn the surveillance off as they move along the grid, block communication from anyone who sees them and decides to talk about it. I want them in total privacy, from everything and everyone.”

Tony paused. “Even me,” he added, abiding not by the rules Helen gave him, but by the rules he set for himself after their argument.

After an hour, he got another text.

Were on our way back headed to the cafeteria. Im starving

Tony took the elevator down to the atrium level where the cafeteria and the entrance from outside was. He tried not to be, but he was a little terse when he met Peter and Helen at the door. He looked at Helen. “You and I need to have a conversation.”

Helen flashed him a sunny smile, then turned to Peter. “You won’t believe it, but the pizza here is actually good. I’ll see you after?” After Peter was gone, Helen looked back at Tony, but her smile didn’t fade. Most people would have been alarmed to find themselves at the receiving end of a Tony Stark Glare. Helen Cho, of course, was not most people.

“Your office, Doctor?” Tony said, waving his hand in that direction. He was too involved in his own conspiracy theories to notice Helen’s unflappable demeanor. When they arrived, he shut the door behind them. The windows that looked out onto the atrium darkened, the active monitoring lights turned off on the cameras.

“Why the hell did you take him outside into an uncontrolled environment? Are you asking for the spies in the building to know that he had to see you about something? That alone right there is more information than I wanted out about this. So what’s with the doctor/patient confidentiality? That doesn’t apply suddenly?”

Dr. Cho looked mildly surprised at Tony’s accusatory tone, but only shrugged.

“Sorry, it’s now confidential that I met Spider-Man? My bad.”

“Everything about this is confidentential, I thought I made that clear. Fury, New-Cap, no one is supposed to know anything about anything. Just knowing that Peter is talking to you lets them know that something is up with Spider-Man. That will get them curious.

"All anyone knows is that we came here so I could show off the labs to Peter and make sure New-Cap accepts him as an Avenger. Coming here to see you? Getting tested? That was never on the agenda.”

“Good thing you’ve secured my office, then. We’ll go over the details after Peter achieves some caloric intake. I have theories.”

“That’s great. It’s what Peter needs. I want him to have your theories, your conclusions. But I want him to have them. No one else.”

“And you made that clear when you tried to bribe me for my silence, Tony,” Helen said, stepping closer, her patient face hardening a bit. “Peter wanted to go for a walk. He had things he wanted to talk about, and he did. And for the record? I can think of sixteen things we could have been talking about without even trying, and the fact that YOU can’t think of a few is a little telling. Not that he needs an alibi for finding his own personal physician... do you realize he hasn’t had a physical since he was fourteen?” She shook her head in disbelief. “He hasn’t even gotten all his shots! Not that it matters but still… just the idea…

“In any case, Peter is my priority now. If he wants to tell me about the things on his mind in a field, or a laboratory, or an alien spaceship it’s his call. Not yours.”

“He still thinks the Avengers are one big happy family spending nights in pillow forts, watching movies, and eating popcorn. He has no idea of the risk. You can’t trust his ability to know where he should be talking to you. He still… he still fucking trusts people.”

She reached out to touch Tony’s arm briefly. “Well, we know better, don’t we? You were right to call me in on this one.” Helen’s tone was gentler now. “I’m glad he’s got you in his corner on this one, Tony. He may need you. You may be protecting the real next Captain America…”

“Over my dead fucking body,” Tony interrupted hotly.

“…And I’m not sure he’s ready to say ‘no’ to Nick Fury. But I know you. You were born ready.

“I think you two make a good team.”

Tony sighed, a little more relieved. At least Helen saw through some of the smoke and mirrors that surrounded her. “He trusts people. But… he’s the only one… I trust.”

There was silence for a moment. Only when he turned to look at Helen did she speak again.

“I’m glad, Tony. You, more than anyone else on this planet, have earned the right to every single trust issue you own, and then some. But you trust me to an extent, or you wouldn’t have called me. And I’m glad you did. And for the record? I think he’s adorable, and you make a very sweet couple.

“Now shut the fuck up and stop telling me how to do my job,” she said dismisvely, turning back to her desk and pointing at the door. “Go debate the propriety of pineapple on pizza with your boyfriend. I’ll meet you two back here when he’s done eating.”

Tony nodded. He knew he had no objectivity on this issue. Just being here was the last place he wanted to be, which he’d tried to explain… No, he hadn’t tried to explain, just expected Peter to somehow intuit — which wasn’t really fair. Nor was it fair to Helen to blame her for what went on around her.

“Is that even a debate? Of course pineapple belongs on pizza,” Tony said smiling as he left to go find Peter.

Peter had, in fact, already scarfed down his pizza and was on his way to find Tony. He only glanced around for a moment to make sure they were alone before he wrapped his arms around Tony and hugged him fiercely.

“Thank you for this,” he whispered.

Tony smiled and put a kiss on — not the top of Peter’s head anymore! — Peter’s cheek. “Helen says she has ideas. So, I’m glad we were able to come.”

When they entered Helen’s office, she was pulling up a chart on her holoscreen, using her finger to add Peter’s numbers.

“Now, obviously I can’t chart a line based on one point. I’ll need more data. Peter and I may have to talk once year, twice a year ideally. But based on his memory and what data you gave me, I have some theories. Peter’s weight, muscle mass, and BMI put him solidly average, though his height is in the lower 25% until this last growth spurt. Still very average. Nothing anyone can do about that. Now — the jumps in his performance scores look drastic, but not if you take into consideration that the recorded scores from when he was sixteen were inaccurate. According to him he was holding back. But given the stats you calculated in high-adrenaline situations, catching moving vehicles, going hand to hand with the Winter Soldier, I’ve made different estimates. And that gives us a trajectory that looks like this.”

She drew the line with one finger, then hovered over the chart already on the screen.

“The numbers appear extreme, but the math is ultimately the same. A non-enhanced male of Peter’s age, weight and healthy caloric intake, not to mention his daily workout schedule…

“Yes,” she interrupted as Peter tried to correct her. “You swing your bodyweight through over the streets of New York City for hours almost daily, you weren’t taking that into account.”

“So a non-enhanced young adult male’s trajectory would look the same as the one Peter is making now. If my theory holds he’ll peak the same time a non-enhanced male would peak, then begin to decline the same way.” She looked at Peter, as if asking permission to continue.

Peter only nodded and looked at Tony. He was nothing but smiles. He seemed pleased and relieved. When Helen kept looking at him, waiting for that permission to come, Peter decided that it didn’t need to. They were finished talking.

The numbers didn’t matter any longer. They’d discussed them during their walk. What mattered was that he was growing at a normal — for non-normal — rate. It would stop. He’d reach a peak and not just keep growing ridiculously forever. There would come a point where he didn’t have to keep being afraid of his ability. He could just learn how to work within it. He’d learn his limits. Then he wouldn’t hurt anyone else. And he wouldn’t hurt Tony. That was what both of them needed to know.

The meeting ended with cell phones out and schedules compared, Peter and Dr. Cho making plans six months in the future and exchanging numbers. Tony copying the dates in his. Peter hugged Dr. Cho before they left the office, then once again as they said goodbye.

“Did you get the answers you were looking for?” Tony asked as they left Helen’s office, heading to the residence wing.

“Yes, I mean no, but I got some decent theories. Which beat the fuck out of my theories. My theories were just too scary. Helen put it all into perspective. She’s awesome. Thank you, Tony.”

They left the medical wing for the stairs in the lobby, then down them, holding hands.

They had decided to kill the rest of the day by heading to the pool ‘to relax’. Peter’s manic need to perform feats of strength had cooled. They talked, they joked, they made up conversations in between Sam and Bucky who, they assured each other, were watching them at every moment. Peter matched Tony joke for raunchy joke, laughing freely and easily.

Tony smiled, sneaking glances at Peter when the kid wouldn’t notice. He hadn’t seen Peter this relaxed and easy since, well, since his work started to impinge on their lives. Peter’s happiness started to slip away when they’d meet up at different hotels in the city as something fun and different from the penthouse. At first, Peter would get excited and they’d laugh and play around with things in the suite, even bouncing like a kid on the very soft and bouncy beds.

That seemed like a long, long time ago. As Tony drifted away from their life, Peter also drifted away. Now, his Peter was back.

They did laps, at which Peter would’ve beat Tony easily if the kid hadn’t been acting like a dolphin following a ship, diving and ducking underneath him, swerving in patterns, even leaping up and over Tony’s body.

More than once Peter made bets he could hold his breath for ‘this long’, bets he always lost, unable to resist surfacing directly under Tony to grab him and lift him into the air.

The kid was a fish. Their swimming quickly turned into nothing but playing, splashing, dunking. And a lot of teasing. A kiss stolen and then swam away from. An ‘accidental’ brush against somewhere while coming up from a dive.

Tony let himself go. He couldn’t remember when he’d last played around in the water. Or even if he had ever just played around in the water. If the surveillance to the pool room hadn’t been turned off, no one watching would’ve believed that it was Tony Stark down there, laughing and smiling and playing.

“There’s a huge pool at my house in Naples. I’m taking you there. It’ll be just like this for a week. Only better. New-Cap and the Manchurian Candidate won’t be trying to spy on us.”

“Take me to Italy,” Peter said, grinning, swimming into Tony’s arms for another kiss. “Take me somewhere where I don’t know anything, and teach me all of it. Maybe we won’t come back.”

“Andremo in Italia. Nuoteremo in piscina ogni mattina. Faremo l'amore ogni notte.”

“Mmmmm… more. I love being ignorant.”

“I’ll take away your phone and you won’t be able to use ‘translate’,” Tony grinned.

“The less I know the better. I’ll just assume you’re telling me a dirty joke.”

“You’ll have to trust that I’m correctly teaching you what to say. That I’m not having you to insult someone and get us chased out of the restaurant,” Tony clenched his fist and sprayed a squirt of water at Peter’s face.

“Ti comprerò diamanti e quell'orologio e ti rovinerò marcio.”

“I agree! I assume it’s about sex, and I agree.”

“Ti porterò in ogni ristorante di lusso che riesco a trovare. Indosserai scarpe italiane da mille dollari. Ti misurerò per un abito da uomo che costa più di quanto la maggior parte della gente guadagni in una settimana.”

“Yes! I’m unfazeable,” Peter said, laughing. “Whatever it is, I’m in.”

“E quando arriviamo a casa, ti scoperò nel culo così forte che non puoi camminare. Ti lascerò persino toccarmi lì.”

“I’ll assume that means ‘I want to have sex in the pool’,” Peter said, sinking straight down, nuzzling Tony’s cock for a moment before swimming away.

“Voglio fare sesso in piscina,” Tony shouted just before Peter dove again, this time swimming all the way down to the bottom of the deep end.

Peter didn’t spring back up like he’d been doing. A whole minute passed and he was still sitting, cross-legged, at the bottom. Tony frowned and looked down at the distorted image through the water. He counted another ten, fifteen seconds before he dove down. Paddling in front of Peter he looked into the kid’s face. His hair was waving through the water, looking like a mermaid. His eyes were open and he was grinning.

When they had laughed themselves silly and their fingers were getting pruned, Peter and Tony headed to the changing room, showered off and dressed. When they hit the common room, Tony’s hair was slicked back wet, and Peter’s kept falling over his forehead in little ringlets.

Cooking and eating together, they spared only a socially required greeting then ignored any conversation attempts. They were alone in the large room, regardless of who was there around them. Their conversation ranged through the adaptations Tony would be working on for Peter’s suit to the new webbing Peter would create for it. They had no worries about the security of their discussion. No one would understand what they said, even if overheard.

Peter still teased about the pool, his dive, and how it had scared Tony. Tony was still breaking into Italian as he described what he would cook for Peter in Naples and how he would spoil him.

As they sat down to the table, a robot that no one even knew was in the compound came up to them, bringing a bottle of wine from a private cellar that, also, no one knew was in the compound.

By the time dinner was made and finished, they were dry, well fed, and in good humor. They headed to Tony’s suite, leaving behind a befuddled Sam, staring at Tony laughing like he must’ve been an alien left to replace the real Tony Stark.

Italian translations:

The title

Faremo L'amore Ogni Notte - We'll make love all night

Within the text

Andremo in Italia. Nuoteremo in piscina ogni mattina. Faremo l'amore ogni notte. - We will go to Italy. We will swim in the pool every morning. We will make love every night.

Ti comprerò diamanti e quell'orologio e ti rovinerò marcio. - I'll buy you diamonds and that watch and spoil you rotten.

Ti porterò in ogni ristorante di lusso che riesco a trovare. Indosserai scarpe italiane da mille dollari. Ti misurerò per un abito da uomo che costa più di quanto la maggior parte della gente guadagni in una settimana. - I will take you to every luxury restaurant I can find. You will wear Italian thousand dollar shoes. I'll measure you for a men's suit that costs more than most people earn in a week.

E quando arriviamo a casa, ti scoperò nel culo così forte che non puoi camminare. Ti lascerò persino toccarmi lì. - And when we get home, I’ll fuck you in the ass so hard that you can't walk. I'll even let you touch me there.

Voglio fare sesso in piscina. - I want to have sex in the pool.

[trashayfanfiction]

Ao3 Writer tag meme

Tagged by @puella-peanut.  Hi darling <3 Love seeing your comments and likes on things.

AO3 name: TrashAYfanfiction

Fandoms: Mainly Banana Fish, I have dabbled in Star Wars. I love Hydra Trash Party (Captain America) but have a lot of anon fills I have lost track of. I didn’t mean to get into writing Billy/Steve Stranger Things, but it found me. I read a bit of everything. If i have watched the show, i usually dabble in fandom.

Tropes: I’m an emo bitch. I like angst, drama, hurt/comfort. But I also have a hard-on for fluffy friends-to lovers. I yearn for being a young dumb teen having a good time.

Number of fics: 67 but i’ve been at this a while. I don’t feel like i write that often. Banana Fish being made into an anime might have been my main inspiration to write in my adult life, and I don’t know when that will happen again. (I’m particularly emo atm, so....)

Fic I spent the most time on: “Fighting Me” my Stranger Things Billy/Steve fic. It was never meant to be 30k, and i have never wrote that much before, so Im very happy with it. It’s also my first story with a beginning/middle/end conclusion. I didn’t outline it, but I was able to experience their relationship as it naturally evolved. It took me nearly 6 months! But also most of my BF fics take place in my own continuous universe, kinda the same universe as the story but with some of my own liberties. So  guess you could say they are all together one long fic.

Fic I spent the least time on: No idea. I do writing sprints, but now i edit before i upload. My early fics were written in oneshot without editing, and i kinda liked that because it was a raw stream of consciousness and emotions.

Longest fic: Fighting Me Billy/Steve

Shortest fic: One More Night (Ash/Eiji) written all the way back in 2016 (maybe earlier, might have been a re-upload from fanfiction net). 199 words, back then a 500 word fic was avenge for me, now I average about 2k

Most hits: Oh dear..... I’ve never looked at this stat before. Nympho (Anakin/Obiwan) (10115 hits). I’m assuming just because Star Wars is a bigger fandom and prequel/clone wars fans have their own energy? Also this is an older fic. I’m a little embarrassed by this, because it was originally a fill for a kink meme and has a bunch of nasty requests.

Most kudos: Spare Key Ash/Eiji (318) This is another one i’m kinda embarrassed of. I think it was originally called ‘F*ggot” or something like that. And i’ve had the most hate comments from it. I’ve been told i have a homophobia fetish over it, and well, i guess i do. I’m a bi guy and there is something relatable about the vulnerability.

Most comment threads: Fighting Me (45), but probably just because it went on for so long and that ST is a bigger fandom. Second runner up is Loving Ash (38) my Ash/Eiji alternate ending that speculates issues they’d have long term, so the comments were a lot of discussion of how Ash would cope with normal life. I’m still really proud of this fic, even at only 3k words I think it has good pacing and timing. It’s also one of the only fics i’ve ever wrote from Eiji’s pov.

Most bookmarks: Nympho (32)...goddamn i gotta check on this fic, why is this so popular, Fighting Me (30). I love when people leave comments when they bookmark, it makes me smile how they summarize it.

Total word count: No idea. Don’t make me add it up.

Favorite fic I wrote: Loving Ash is probably my fave. I feel it’s sensitive and vulnerable. I also really like Feelings of Loneliness, another alternate end where Ash escapes to the Caribbean with Blanca.

Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: I eventually want to make a part 2 to ‘Stupid Desire”, which is an ash/eiji fic where Ash has impromptu sex with eiji before leaving to seduce kippard. Ash reconciling with is own desires/bodily needs with eiji and trying to differentiate if having sex with Eiji because he wanted to is any different than voluntarily seducing kippard. I still don’t know what Ash’s conclusion is, I’ll need to write it to find out.

Share a bit of a WIP or a story idea you’re planning on:

Sadly I can’t, due to it being naughty. I am working on an Eiji/Yue fic where Yue has our cute boy captured. I was just really feeling femme domme. It’s another dead dove, might involve drugs and mindbreak

......idk who i know here to tag. I guess I’ll share to twitter

[lavishedinjimin]

coffee break -> jhs

↳ pairing: hoseok x reader ↳ genre: mover!hoseok, fluff ↳ word count: 2.1k ↳ warnings: none — synopsis: Just a simple coffee break with the cute mover boy wouldn’t hurt at all -- right? 

a/n: This is a little short oneshot idea that I had for Hobi! I hope you guys like it x

You didn’t know why you would think that moving to a new home was easy.

It wasn’t.

There were huge boxes and loads omnipresent as the moving company that you hired scurried everywhere to get everything done quickly. You had your hair up in a bun so that your hair wouldn’t disturb you as you were double-checking every detail.

“Excuse me miss—” a man carrying two medium-sized boxes say as he tried to move through the hallway.

“O-Oh, sorry,” you quickly move away, letting him pass.

Looking around you, it seems like everything was going smoothly. The house was getting emptier as each hour passes by. At this exact moment, you notice how large the area of your living room was without the huge unnecessary coffee table in the middle. That darn table – which did nothing as it only murdered your poor little toe every once in a while.  

You walked out of the house and observed how they were transferring loads inside a large truck. People were constantly going in and out to get all the remaining items, and you tried to calm yourself down with the number of people around your house. Everything was happening so quickly for you to completely wrap your head around it.

On top of that, it was five in the morning, and you were yawning every three minutes.

“Wait, wait!” you stopped a man carrying a purple box that you intended to put your expensive china tea sets in. He pauses immediately and looks at you with a little smile. 

“Don’t worry, miss Y/n, I know.” He gestures to the bold red letters that you wrote on top of the box – ‘PLEASE BE CAREFUL! THIS IS MORE EXPENSIVE THAN ANY OF OUR LIVES COMBINED’.

You laughed at yourself, slightly embarrassed as you crossed your arms in front of your chest. “Okay, I trust you—” your eyes fly to the name tag attached on his blue shirt, reading his name, “Hoseok.”

The man smiles wide, witnessing how his eyes turn into little crescents. He seemed to be the same age as you, his black hair parted in the middle, dimples appearing on his cheeks as he grins.

You didn’t know what it was, but there was something about his appearance that wanted you to know him better. He just looked like a person that anyone can get along with. You watch him place the box carefully inside the truck, placing it specifically against a corner, other boxes compelling against it so that it wouldn’t move along the ride. He smiles brightly at you once he was done, raising a thumbs up.

“How long have you lived here?” He suddenly asks, joining you as you walked back inside the almost-empty house. You cross your arms in front of your chest as you think. “About four years. I decided to move because this area is so far from my workplace, and I have to drive for a long time."

“Yeah, I understand. And especially with all the traffic and all that,” He speaks and you nod your head. “Mhmm, and I really hate it when I arrive late. But with the new house, the ride is only thirty minutes.”

Hoseok attentively listens. He has now ditched all of his responsibilities and was latched onto you like a fly over a lightbulb. Maybe it was how you looked with your hair up in a messy bun, or how the morning light shone over your face – illuminating it, he just thought that you looked so beautiful. He finds it cute whenever you’d get hassled, or how you’d still feel so sleepy when he catches you yawn every now and then. He was utterly attracted to you the first time he laid his very own eyes on yours.

You and Hoseok didn’t think of anything much about the situation – a little conversation between loads can do no harm, right?

“Oh, do you want some coffee?” You asked him. You had previously prepared your coffee maker earlier this morning for the workers. And by the looks of his reaction, he apparently didn’t know. Hoseok quirks an eyebrow up, “There’s coffee?”

You giggled at his response, grabbing his wrist as you quickly brought him to the kitchen. Hoseok, on the other hand, felt sparks ignite his body when he felt your touch. Sure, other employees were staring at the two of you, but he was too in his feelings to care. He hasn’t felt this way in a long time, and it felt almost new to him. A smile crept up his lips when you led him to the wooden island where a coffee maker stands in the middle.

“I asked almost everyone if they wanted some coffee – but only one person agreed.” Hoseok smirks as he watches you get a new clean mug and prepare his drink.

“Am I that one?” he grins, and something about that smug look on his face made you blush the slightest bit.

You look down, chuckling as you poured the hot liquid. “Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’. His laugh fills the room, and you could’ve sworn that you’ve never heard such a wonderful laugh like his.

Once you were done, he held the mug and carefully bringing it up to his lips, blowing on the hot steaming liquid a little bit. “Thank you, angel.”

Angel? Did he really just called you that?

You watched him as he sipped on his drink casually, as if nothing has happened. Maybe that was a normal thing for him? Nevertheless, your cheeks were painted in a shade of red, getting a bit shy. You immediately looked away in embarrassment once he locked eyes with yours. “Uhh, anyway –”

“Jung Hoseok!” a male voice suddenly calls from the doorway and you both whip your head to his direction. You notice how the man looks at Hoseok, then at the coffee on his hands, then at you and he smirks. “When you’re finished with your coffee can you please lend a hand with Jaeho to carry the last few boxes?”

Hoseok nods once, “Sure, I’ll get to it as soon as possible.”

You watch as the man exits as he carries a large yellow box on his hands. You snort when you remember that those were your books that you still ought to read.

“Umm, Y/n?” Hoseok says to grab your attention and you swiftly look at his eyes. “Yes?”

“If you don’t mind me asking…” he drags his sentence out and you quirk an eyebrow up, “do you have a boyfriend? O-or someone you’re currently into?”

Your eyes widen in surprise, not expecting him to ask you that question. You felt your cheeks redden, a smile forming your lips involuntarily. “Um,” you look down on the floor, trying to hide your blush. “I don’t.”

Hoseok chuckles at your cuteness, taking a sip on his hot drink. He felt relieved on the inside, the question that he was dying to know earlier this morning finally out of his chest. His heart jumped when you looked back up at him, eyes locked together.

“T-that’s great,” he stammered a little bit as he couldn’t hide his smile.

“Great?” You smirked, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

“Yeah.” He stated simply. He had a playful look on his face, and you knew what those eyes mean. But you didn’t want to jump into any more conclusions, though. You didn’t think about it too much.

Soon enough, Hoseok finishes his mug and places it on the sink, turning the faucet on but you were faster to move him away. “Hey, hey,” you giggled, “I’ll do it.”

Hoseok chuckles as he observes you washing the mug. You feel his eyes at the back of your head and you quickly spin around, “Aren’t you supposed to help someone?” you smile up at him.

“Oh, right,” he claps his hand once, making you laugh quietly, “I’ll go ahead.”

You sigh once he’s disappeared from your vision and you continue to wash the mug. Hoseok seemed like a pretty cool guy, and he was nice to be around. The two of you somehow clicked instantly, and it feels like you have known him for a very long time whenever you talk to him. He always has this certain grin whenever he talks, and just thinking about his smile makes you smile.

~

You were a very sentimental person, that’s for sure. You couldn't help but reminisce the past memories that were created in your old house. It was one of the big purchases that you had, and it will always have a place in your heart. 

However, you mentally prepare yourself for the number of boxes and items you have to work with. You only wished that everything can just magically organize themselves in a single snap of your fingers – but that’s not real life, sadly.

You sigh once you parked at the front of your new house, climbing up the white steps and you jiggled the key in the lock. Opening the door, you snort at the sight. The image that you had in your head was clearly the same as it is in front of you. Boxes were piled up – neatly – in the living room, all shapes and colors.

“This will be a long night,” you muttered to yourself.

In an instant, your eyes caught an unfamiliar bright blue box settled in the middle of the kitchen island as you were taking a look around the house. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you didn’t remember packing anything in a blue box like this. Should you ignore it and just place it somewhere else? Or should you look inside?

Your instincts went with option two and carefully opened the box with nimble fingers. Your mind went to the moving company, thinking that someone might’ve left this here because they were the previous ones to enter the house. Could it be a housewarming gift from them? You find yourself chuckling at your own thoughts, shaking your head.

Once you opened the lid, you gasp when you saw the coffee maker that you used yesterday. Memories of you and Hoseok came into mind, and your hand immediately flies to cover your mouth in shock. You spot a piece of paper beside it, and you quickly pick it up and read it.

‘Y/n, I think that you forgot to pack this up, so I did it for you. No worries though, think of this as a reverse housewarming gift! Also, I think we should hang out sometime. 

Here’s my number, __, hit me up whenever you see this ;) 

Hoseok.’ 

You could’ve sworn that you’ve never smiled any brighter than this moment. You grab your phone from your back pocket in excitement, immediately dialing the written numbers. Your hands were sweaty as you waited for him to pick up, your foot tapping on the marble floor in anticipation. You truly felt like a giddy little high school girl at this time. 

“Hello?” his voice spoke through the line, and you felt your heart jump. Your other hand flies up to play with your bottom lip involuntarily. 

“Hey, it’s me, Y/n.” 

Hoseok can hear the smile in your voice, making him chuckle. He runs a hand through his hair, leaning his back on the chair he was sitting on. “You read the note?” 

“Mhmm, I did. Thanks for packing up my coffee maker by the way.” You spoke as you turn your body around to lean against the island. You can hear him laugh over the phone which was music to your ears. “It’s not a problem angel, don’t worry. Have you start unpacking yet?” 

“Absolutely not,” you laughed, shaking your head. “I haven’t even started.” 

“Do you want me to come over and help you if you want? You know you can’t do all of that on your own.” 

“Is that your form of ‘hanging out’?” You playfully said, but you had no problem with it at all. You just wanted to be with him, whatever circumstance it might be. 

“...Well kind of, yeah.” he giggled, “You’re talking to a mover boy, Y/n.”

“Okay, okay,” you said in defeat, “You can come over, Hoseok.” 

“Great, I’ll be there in twenty. See you.” You said your goodbye and he was the first to leave the call. You sighed, clutching your phone to your chest. “Who knew you’d like a mover boy, Y/n,” you spoke to yourself, “all started from those darn teacups.” Speaking of which, your eyes widened as you immediately scurried back to the living room to find the purple box, wanting to see if something happened to your precious China tea set. 

~ 

a/n: I didn’t know how to end this, but oop oh well. Give it a note if you liked it, it will really inspire me to do more <3