#was not prepared for the gotta draw that urge I got after seeing that post

[tteokdoroki]

baby, you’re tiny | k.bakugou.

⇝ pairing: katsuki bakugou x fem!reader.

⇝ word count: 2.3K

⇝ rating: mature, 18+.

⇝ genre: first time!au, smut.

⇝ summary: there were many things katsuki loved about his girlfriend, the main being how tiny she was compared to him; more specifically, how tiny she looked when they were in the bedroom.

⇝ warning(s): please read ! heavy smut, pwp ( characters aged up to 18 ), size!kink, protected sex, fingering ( female recieving ), virginity loss, sub!reader + dom!bakugou,spitting?? y’all idk its just smut ok!! katsuki is soft <33

⇝ author’s note(s): hello hello hello!! it’s been a while since i posted my lastr request so i hope you enjoy this!! this was a request by anon, apologies for the delay. also :( my blog has grown so much so i want to thank you all for 1K, ilysm <3

⇝ masterlist | requests

you were tiny.

and if there was one thing katsuki bakugou loved most about you, his girlfriend, his how tiny you were.

at least compared to him.

most of class A had been shocked when you started dating at the start of second year; since in first year, all katsuki had done was pick on you for your height ( or lack thereof ) and nag you for your quirk— lullaby hadn’t been quite so powerful back then. but your fondness for him grew that summer, having spent time with he and eijirou over the break.

bakugou was sweet when he wanted to be, soft and attentive to you and you only. his teasing gradually let up, turning into sweet gestures or whispered praises and then finally stolen kisses under the night sky.

that’s what lead you both to date, in the end; but everyone supported you nonetheless. it was quite funny to see the great katsuki bakugou help fix your uniform in the morning or make you breakfast in the dorms and even if he yelled at the others for mentioning it— he loved the weight of your barely-there palm in his and the way you pouted up him with faux anger when he rested his elbow on your head.

you were short enough for him to tower over you and twirl you in his arms, small enough to look like you drowning in his hoodies that he gave you. even if he stopped mocking you for your height, over a year ago— even now, in your third year he still loved it.

you were so tiny and he loved it.

he especially loved the way you looked under him right now.

“ka-katsuki-!”

your moan fills his ears, overloading each one of his senses and he thinks it’s the prettiest sound he’s ever heard in his life. pulling his fingers from your slick heat, bakugou’s eyes stay trained on yours as he brings them up to his lips and sucks the remainders of your orgasm away. he lives for the way your face twists with a fresh wave of pleasure and your eyes plead him for more through the dimmed light of his dorm room.

he pinches your thighs, the ones that quiver from your second release of the night, and leans above you to pry your arm away from your heated face. “feel good, sweetheart?” the blonde asks softly, now that he can see you, fingers weaving between your bodies to draw shapes into your swollen clit. you nod once and screw your eyes shut, bare chest arching into katsuki’s at his simple touch. “need another?”

peeking up at him, your boyfriend can see the internal debate dancing in your lust filled eyes. bakugou had fingered you twice to orgasm already and asked if you needed another only to prepare you. for weeks now; you’d both entertained the idea of being one another’s first’s— of course you’d done more than just makeouts and heavy petting but after a year of dating, you finally wanted to be together as one ( bakugou’s words not your own ).

finally, you answer him with a soft ‘no, think i’m ready now,’ and the hot headed boy can barely contain his excitement. he presses a searing kiss to your lips— tongues sliding together while bakugou swallows your helpless whimpers from where you taste yourself on him. your own hand slips between you both now, curling around your boyfriend’s hardening length to palm him.

meanwhile, with a breathless groan, katsuki’s lips slip down to suck love bites into the column of your throat, but only gently. he knows you hate marks but’ll get a kick out of the others fawning over them the next day. the speed of your hand picks up, jerking him off as if for revenge— you knew how easy bakugou could come undone with just your touch and he revels in the way your tiny hands wrap around his thick girth, barely grazing the circumference of it.

just like how you could barely fit his cock in your mouth when you sucked him off—

“baby— fuck,” the blonde’s breath stutters, mind becoming foggy with thoughts of your lips on his girth egging him on.  he should stop you before he cums; stop himself from rutting into your small fingers and the thumb that brushes over the glands on his head. bakugou doesn’t want to cum before he’s got a chance to take you for the first time— even if he’d given you plenty of chances to. “slow down little bear, gotta fuck you before— before i cum…”

you grin at him from behind the warmth beneath your skin. “then get to it, katsu…”

the explosive third year gives you one last pinch to your clit and leans back on his thighs ever so slightly to reach for a condom. he quickly rolls it on, tapping his latex covered length against your dripping entrance as he prepares to make you his. you squirm underneath bakugou, fingers reaching up to weave their way into his blonde glossed hair— yanking him closer to you while he finally makes an effort to push into your needy heat.

crimson gaze fluttering down, katsuki looks to where your bodies begin to become joined, your tiny cunt fluttering around the head of his cock as he slides himself inside of you. he feels thick drool pool on his tongue at the very sight, he’s not even half the way in and your gushing pussy is already struggling to take his cock. “would’ya look at that little one,” his words are slurred around the saliva building up in his mouth. you’re so fucking small it’s driving him insane. you follow your boyfriend’s gaze, spasming at how he begins to stretch you out. “seems like your little pussy’s too tight, too small to take your man’s fat cock, huh?”

a strangled whimper sounds in the back of your throat, making katsuki smirk as he taps your cheek with a freehand. he feels a sense of pride lurch in his, how good it feels to be so big that his pretty little princess can’t take him all but he wants a verbal answer from you, wants to hear you struggle just like your glistening heat does.

“yes, ’s too small…” you sigh, chewing on your bottom lip as you meat his eye again—moving to wrap your thighs around his waist.

“should i fuck you open, baby?” you moan lowly at his words, hips bucking up and pussy clenching around his girth involuntarily. “yeah? your greedy little cunt likes the sounda that…” bakugou tries again, leaning over you as he slowly drives his hips forward to push more of his cock into you.

his head drops to your neck, puffs of his breath warm against your skin while he uses all of his willpower to hold back. katsuki knows he’s big, that he can make you feel good because of it too, but he doesn’t want to hurt you. he never wants to. when his dribbling length is half plunged inside you, the ash blonde’s fingers drop to your clit once more— soothing the burn of his weighty dick to help you suck in more of him.

your head thrashes in the sheets while he whispers praises against your bruised and bitten flesh. “you can take it baby, i know you can…”

and you do.

the pair of you groan in unison once katsuki is fully sheathed inside of you, twitching at the feeling of your soft velvety walls finally engulfing him. you can feel the leaking head of his cock prodding at your cervix, stimulating you without your boyfriend having to even move and sending shivers down your spine.

“p-please, katsuki…move.” you growl hungrily, pulling him down to smack a wet, passionate kiss against his awaiting lips. although your teeth and tongue clash messily in your liplock, bakugou doesn’t need to be told twice, drawing back his hips from the comfort of your warmth to thrust into you. the pace is slow at first, sensual grinds against each other as he stretches you out, moulding your walls into the shape of his cock.

it’s not until bakugou’s hips reach a certain angle, prodding against your sweet spot that things take a turn. a high pitched squeal dances through the room, mingling with the sound of your lover’s harsh thrusts as he claims your insides over and over. he revels in the way you suck him in and squeeze around him, painting his cock with your sweet nectar and earlier releases. “taking me so fucking well little one,” bakugou spits out through gritted teeth, barely hanging onto his last thread of sanity, the way you look right now, so flustered and messy with arousal almost pushing him over the edge. “look at you taking such a big fat cock in this tiny fucking hole, you love how big i am don’t you?”

you can barely form an answer when your eyes are rolling to the back of your head at the sheer amount of pleasure, incoherent babbles filling the little space between you both, only urging katsuki on. he already knows how much you love the size difference between you. outside of the bedroom, bakugou uses his height to tease you— putting things on the top shelf to watch you struggle to reach them but inside; he’s absolutely relentless.

he knows you adore the way he uses his larger size to dominate you, stuff your mouth full of his cock or fingers and he adores the way you take him contentedly no matter what.

“mmf— fuck, right there katsuki, feels so good!” you sigh, eyes still closed but your tongue now lolls out of your mouth— creating the perfect lewd picture that your lover will commit to memory. while his large hands sear bruises into your hips he holds still, a free hand comes up to pull down your bottom lip before he spits sweetly into your open mouth. your eyes slowly open to look at him, locking on his ruby stare as you blissfully smile up at him. katsuki swears he almost creams on the spot. “thank you katsu…”

“that’s fuckin’ right princess, thank me for my spit. thank me for making you feel good.” bakugou’s guttural moans dip into low growls, his pace picking up as your iron hot cunt clamps down on him which causes the head of his cock to drag against the spongy spot inside of you— making you see stars and your hips jump to meet the blonde’s erratic thrusts.

hot slick gushes down the your thighs from the sinful way he moves and absused your tightness, evidence of your arousals shining under the moon that slips through his drawn curtains. you can feel his balls slap feverntly against your ass that katsuki spreads apart to plow into you, latex covered length going as far to brush against your womb. each grind, each thrust has your moans rising an octave to the point where your lover has his hands clamped over your mouth to keep you from being too loud.

bakugou sits back on his haunches, pulling you up into his chest with him. you rest weakly in his lap as the explosive boy angles his thrusts upwards and straight into your oozing heat. a broken whimper breaks free from his lips as katsuki catches sight of the slight tummy bulge his fat cock gives you and you see it too, your own whines mingling with his to form a lovers tune.

he knows you’re close by the way you suddenly become tighter and he fucks into you, deeper, harder, faster.

“close katsu, ‘m getting close…” you slur into his shoulder, biting at his skin to keep control of your hazy, lust filled mind. you paint love bites in shades of blues and indigos across the canvas of his shoulders and neck while katsuki uses his pure strength to lift you up and down onto his cock. he groans every time your heat welcomes him again, drawing you closer and closer to the edge. your nails dig into his back, forming sweet creasent moons and making him moan loudly. “gimme it little one, gimme your fuckin’ cum, gonna cream on my cock? yeah? oh fuck yeah…”

his lewd words are what push you off the edge, the coil of desire that had been building up inside you finally snapping. your third release of the night gushes all over your lover’s thick girth, which he still pushes into you, helping you ride out your high. black spots paint your vision as you cum, cunt clamping down on bakugou while he chases his own release.

“cum for me bakugou, please…” you breath gently against his skin, pressing small kisses over his sore love bites. “love you so much, please…”

that’s all he needs to hear from you before spilling his seed into the condom with a shout, twitching as he collapses onto the soiled sheets of his bed with you. the pair of you lay together, still locked together  while bakugou calms down from his high in slow grinds, fingers searching for yours to intertwine your tiny hands with his. “love you more dumbass,” he says eventually, smile on his face betraying him against the harsh petname.

you smile at him even as he pulls away to throw away the condom, returning with a wash cloth to clean you both up. “not true, katsuki, i love you most!” you exclaim, tail end of your words falling into a stream of giggles as bakugou presses a flurry of kisses to your face. “with every inch of my body!”

“must not be a lotta love then, y’know, since you’re so fuckin’ tiny.” the blonde hums into your hands  when they reach up to cup his face lovingly.

you huff and pinch his cheek after that, calling him a meanie.

but katsuki bakugou doesn’t care, he’ll always love you, no matter how tiny you are.

[carriagelamp]

Since it’s Pride Month, I decided this year I wanted to raid the library for a bunch of different queer books to read. Mostly graphic novels in this case, because I’ve had a hard time settling into much reading lately... thought hopefully now that it’s summer and I finally have my second shot I’ll be able to relax a bit more and dig into some heavier novels again. For now, enjoy some light, queer reads that I indulged in this June.

A Wolf Called Wander

A beautiful novel I had been hearing lots about. This story follows the young wolf Swift, who grows up knowing that he and his pack are the mountains, and the mountains are them. It’s in those mountains that he grows and learns and loves… until disaster strikes and he finds himself viciously torn apart from his family and forced out of the mountains that have always meant home to him. Forced to survive on his own. Swift then begins a gruelling journey that makes him face injury, starvation, and the everpresent danger of humans as he seeks a new place he can call home, and new people with whom he can form a pack.

This is all based on the true story of a tagged wolf known as OR-7, following the unbelievable route he took through Oregon and northern California! It was a very neat read, and I’d definitely recommend it if you enjoy stories told from an animal’s perspective because this book is a master class in it.

Bloom

I decided for June to try to read a handful of different queer books, and this was one of the first graphic novels I picked up. It is a super sweet story and the art is lovely. It’s about Ari, a boy who has just graduated high school and is now desperate to move away from his small town and his family’s struggling bakery, to join his band in the city where they hope to make it big. An agreement is finally reached: Ari’s father will let him leave, if he can find someone who can replace him in the bakery, which is how Ari meets Hector, someone who sees artistry and peace in baking. For anyone that’s read Check, Please, it gives off those types of vibes!

Boule et Bill: Bill est Maboul

Another book of Dupuis comics, because I can’t get enough of them! This one I just stumbled across and ended up reading on a whim but it was very cute. Geared younger than the others I’ve read, but still quite funny. It’s the charming hijinks of a young boy, his dog, and the family they live with. Each page or so is a different stand alone joke, a bit like Calvin and Hobbes except expanded beyond a single strip.

Chicken Run: Chicken Pies for the Soul

This was a ridiculous urge I got and had to follow. I recently rewatched Chicken Run (which is, of course, one of the best movies ever made) and felt the need to see if it had ever been novelized. Well, I found something better than a novelization! This is a chapter book with “advice” and stories written by the various characters, post-movie. It really does a good job with grasping the different characters’ voices and making something simple and funny out of it. It was very cute (and available on The Internet Archive if anyone else feels like reading something ridiculous!)

Doodleville

I picked this up on a whim and honestly, I shouldn’t have bothered. It was not very impressive. Very mediocre, awkward feeling artwork, and a story that only slightly manages to redeem it. The concept was kind of neat, and I did like how the ending came about, the rest was rather… plodding. I did not like the main character at all, her friends felt very Intentionally Quirky Aren’t We Cute :3 in a way that just tries too hard, and… yeah. Meh. It technically gets the “queer graphic novel flag” but it’s so in-passing that it feels rather excessive to give it that.

If you are interested, it’s about a world were doodles actually exist as living creatures that can be drawn into existence (the rather unsettling implications of which is never fully explored). This is all well and good, until the main character draws a monster and takes it with her to her art club... where it begins ravanging not only her doodles, but those of her friends. Together they need to work together to figure out how to stop this menace.

FRNCK v4

Phenomenal. I adore the FRNCK series, and book four wrapped up the first “cycle”, revealing several of the big secrets dogging the series so far, and changing how things are going to be able to run in the future.

If you haven’t seen me talk about it before, FRNCK is a graphic novel (a franco-belgian bande dessinée) about a young orphan, Franck, who’s chafing under the constant parade of uninterested foster parents that visit the orphanage he lives in. Determined to learn about his mysterious abandonment instead, he flees the orphanage… but finds himself tumbling through time, landing among a family of cave-people who rather reluctantly take him in and ensure this modern boy doesn’t die in the strange, dangerous new surroundings he finds himself in. You can get these ones in English as e-books, so if you want a really kickass graphic novel series to read please try these.

Haikyu!!

I’ve heard so much about Haikyu!! that I finally gave in and picked up the first book from the library. And I gotta say, it’s well worth the hype! This series really does capture the best parts of a good sports manga -- which is to say the team is filled with interesting, enjoyable character who all need to learn to pull together, boost each other’s strengths, and cover for each other’s weaknesses. Love me some found family tropes and this series oozes it in the best possible way. And then you also get some very cool action scenes as it makes high school volleyball seem like the most intense thing on earth. I can’t wait to continue it

Queer Eye

I haven’t been keeping up with Queer Eye but I was watching it ravenously when it first came out, and this seemed like a very cathartic book to read… and it really was. It had the same gentle, loving encouragement as the show. It doesn’t expect you to change your entire life, but to learn to embrace who you are, and take small steps to enhance those things. There a segment written (presumably) by each member of the Fab Five, explaining the mentality behind what they do on the show and how you can grow in those areas too. It’s very zen.

Spinning

I got this graphic novel out at the same time as Bloom, but it was the one that interested me less of the two... though that’s just because I have less interest in “real world” slice of life as a genre and this one is meant to be autobiographical. If you’re into that, you’ll probably love this because it really is stunning. Very pretty, and the format and pacing is all really well done. It’s a coming of age story for Tillie as she grows up dealing with a crosscountry move, complicated friendships, a burgeoning attraction to girls, and attending competitive figure skating classes.

This Place: 150 Years Retold

A stunning and heart-wrenching graphic novel told by a collection of different First Nation’s authors/artists, recounting oral histories about the 150 years since the colonialist formation of the country known as “Canada”. In other words, this is a post-apocalypse story, but one that really happened and that entire peoples are still fighting to survive. It’s very eye opening and beautifully told. Very strongly recommend the read, especially if you’re at all interested in history.

Torchwood: Serenity

Whoops, not technically a book. I had thought these were technically audiobooks at first, but rather they’re audio dramas that were played on the radio. Still, I decided to include one because I’ve been listening to them like a person possessed and they’re too fun not to at least mention. Let me indulge in my obsessions.

If you don’t know Torchwood, it’s a BBC series that spins-off from Doctor Who, focusing on the enigmatic and flirtatious Captain Jack Harkness, who is running the covert organization known as Torchwood, which is tasked to protect humanity from and prepare them for alien contact. It’s goofy and campy but also more adult and heavy than Doctor Who tends to get, so it is (in my opinion) a really fascinating series. Though it also has content warnings coming out the wazoo so maybe make sure it’s for you before delving in.

Serenity specifically is possibly one of the best Torchwood stories I’ve ever experienced. The Torchwood team concludes that there’s an undercover alien hiding in the idyllic gated community Serenity Plaza, and so that means it’s up to Jack and Ianto to go undercover as a happily married couple and flush out the alien without being discovered first. Even if it means being sickly sweet together, pretending to care about the local neighbourhood barbecues, and actually caring a bit too much about the Best Front Lawn competition. What is truly magical about this one, is that it manages to make it a Fake Dating AU despite the fact that Jack and Ianto are actually dating in canon. But they’re both used to dating as a pair of alien hunters with insanely dysfunctional lives, and who now need to figure out how to deal with domesticity. It is marvellous.

Wilderlore: The Accidental Apprentice

A middle grade novel that felt a bit like a cross between Harry Potter and Pokemon. It’s about orphan Barclay Thorne who wants nothing more than to be accepted in the rule-bound village of Dullshire, and live up to his apprenticeship as a mushroom farmer. He certainly wants nothing to do with the fearsome Beasts who live beyond the village, deep in the Woods or the sinister Lorekeepers that bond with them. It was, after all, a Beast that had killed his parents all those years ago. But when he finds himself at the very edge of the forest, hunting for an elusive mushroom, he is suddenly unable to avoid any of that. Not when a wild girl and her bonded dragon appear to summon a horrible Beast and end up getting Barclay bonded to it instead. Now, if Barclay ever wants to be welcomed back into his home, he has no choice but to venture into the Woods and find a way to sever the bond imprisoning him to the massive, monstrous wolf now imprinted on his body as a living tattoo.

I honestly can’t decide how I felt about this one. I feel like it’d be a really fun read for maybe a grade 5 to 7 student? I was a bit more meh about it. It was fine, but it was very hard not to draw unfavourable parallels to Harry Potter. But for a kid who’s never read Harry Potter? Or even an adult that has but is looking for something different to scratch that itch, this might be a good book to try. I’ll probably try reading the second book when it comes out.

[satsuma-saturn]

Why Do I Love You? - Asmodeus x Reader

A/N: I’ve been writing this for way too fucking long lmao. I’ve never written smut before, so this isn’t the best, but I tried. It’s also been a hot min since I’ve posted a fic. Hope y’all enjoy. Requests are also still open, if anyone’s interested.

WC: 2215

Warning(s): nsfw content, oral sex (m), angst (ya gotta squint to see it lmao), slightly graphic details of violence (no actual violence), slight description of the feeling of drowning, but no actual drowning.

fic below the cut .3.

Love is a dangerous game, especially the kind of love where you feel as though your lungs are filling with water, your chest being crushed from pressure. Still, love can make you feel alive, reviving and bringing new life to you. Call it a gamble, a game of chance. Many avoid love, not wanting to play a game they’re gonna lose.

Asmodeus has been alive for so long that he doesn’t even remember how long he’s been in existence. Over the course of his long life, he has had many lovers, who have all come and gone at one point or another. Yet, with each and every one of those lovers, it wasn’t love, but lust. The demon is well versed and knowledgeable with the concept of lust, being the Avatar of Lust. It’s all he knows. Of course, he’s okay with it, as he doesn’t need to love anyone to be adored by all. In fact, it’s not something he often thinks about, since he is the Avatar of Lust, not the Avatar of Love. Everyone will love him no matter what he says or does. At least, that’s what he believed. Was it possible for anyone to not grovel at his feet, lusting after him? Often, he finds himself reassuring himself that, no, it was not possible for someone to not love him. He is perfect.

When the human first arrived in the Devildom, of course he was intrigued. New blood, someone he could add to his body count, so to speak. It had been quite a while since he’d been in contact with a human, other than Solomon, the shady sorcerer. Frustration consumed him as he learned that the human isn’t susceptible to his Charm, which is known to charm even the strongest-willed witches and wizards. How can an ordinary human with no magic whatsoever remain unaffected by his Charm? Still, it’s never deterred him. He is known to be persistent, and won’t stop until he can get the human in his bed and gain their affection. The human is realistic, honest with him. Something he isn’t used to. Everyone has always been so quick to shower him with praise, complimenting his face, fashion, body, skills in bed, whatever. They don’t worship him, unlike his partners in the past. Despite that, he always finds himself wanting to hear the human’s thoughts and opinions on everything about him.

Butterflies fill his stomach at the thought of the human, something he isn’t sure he’s felt before. Why should he care about someone who doesn’t think he’s the best creature in existence? When the human disagrees with him, he finds himself getting frustrated, throwing makeup brushes and lotion bottles around his room. When he calms down, he reluctantly picks them up, wanting to keep his room immaculate, but not wanting to actually clean his own mess. Yet, he keeps going back to them, only for them to be swept away by one of his meddling brothers, Mammon in particular? He doesn’t understand why they would want to even be in the presence of that greedy scumbag. Too many times, he’s had to complain to Lucifer about some of his more expensive skin or hair care products going missing.

Placing his hand on the table next to the human, he leans toward them with a small grin on his face. Their eyebrows raise in a question, as if asking what do you want? He’s getting to that. Be patient, human. “So, I went shopping with Mammon the other day and I bought tons of new lotions and oils. I was wondering if you wanted to try them with me? Of course you do, what am I saying? Who wouldn’t want an excuse to hang out with me?” With a small sigh that he chooses to ignore, they stand up to follow him to his room. Excited, he practically skips to his room, the human in tow.

Upon reaching his room, he wraps his fingers around the doorknob and pulls it open, stepping inside to sit on his bed. The human follows, shutting the door behind them. “Oh?~ Naughty human,” he says, a glint of mischief in his eyes. They just sigh and settle on the bed, not too far, but not close enough. That’s okay, he’ll just close the distance. Scooting over, he reaches over to his nightstand, where he had set his lotions in preparation for the human arriving home from Hell’s Kitchen, where they’d gone with Beel.

“You’re annoying,” they say, rolling their eyes at him.

“Ah, but you love it~” He coos, snapping open the lid of one of the many lotions, squeezing a dollop of the cream into his hand. “C’mere.” The demon gestures to the human, rubbing the lotion onto their skin when they oblige. “This lotion will make your skin so soft~ And it makes you smell absolutely delicious~” His voice drips with seduction, tempting the human to let their guard down. To let him in.

“It does smell pretty good,” they admit, watching Asmodeus massage their hands with his slender fingers. A fanged smile appears on the demon’s face as he works, rubbing his thumbs in small circles on their palms. Once he’s finished, he lets go of their hands, reaching for the lotion bottle once more. Maybe it’s some Devildom magic, but the lotion seems to be working immediately, the human notes to themselves, feeling the soft flesh of their hands.

Humming, Asmodeus massages the lotion into his own hands, watching the human out of the corner of his eye. Just watching them, he feels the urge to pounce on them, ‘helping’ them give into their darkest desires. Unfortunately for him, his Charm doesn’t seem to have an effect on them, which is irritating, to say the least. What made them so powerful that they, an ordinary human being, could resist the temptation of the Avatar of Lust? He was curious, really. Curious to crack open their head and discover what’s inside. Amongst the blood and brain matter, he was sure to find something. The source of their power, maybe. Though he would never actually hurt the human, just the thought of the sickening crack of a skull got him excited, his pants becoming a little too tight. No, he could never hurt them. They mean too much to him. Hell, he can even go as far as saying that he loves them.

“Dude, what the fuck?” The human’s voice draws him from his reverie. Their eyes are a little too focused on his growing erection, he notices. “Are you getting hard from putting on lotion?’

“No. I just love you so much~,” he croons, his tone dark, sending a shiver down the human’s spine. Was the shiver from fear from his sudden mood change, or was it lust? His question is soon answered when the human slides off the bed, slipping in between his legs. They look so pretty on their knees, though it isn’t too often that he gets to see them in that position. The sight excites him.

Looking down at the human kneeling between his legs, he runs his fingers through their hair, as they rest their hands on his clothed thighs. His breath catches in his throat as he stares down at them, their eager eyes shining brightly back at him. Pink eyes follow the human’s hands as it inches closer to his crotch. He swallows thickly as their fingers latch onto the zipper of his pants, pulling it down, all while making eye contact with him. Their eyes are darkened with lust. For some reason, he feels a sudden pang of anxiety, but the routine is the same as it always is. The human notices and pauses, their eyes filling with concern.

“Are you okay, Asmo?” They ask, their voice soft, filling him with a new warmth.

Shaking his head, he swallows again and replies, “No, it’s okay. You can keep going.” As an afterthought, he adds another sentence to his reply, “Only if you want to, of course.”

“I want to.” Their eyebrows furrow. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re acting...strange.”

His signature grin creeps onto his face. Is he okay? No. Is he going to pretend that he is? Yes. “Of course, sweetheart. You’re always so concerned about me,” he says, a giggle bubbling from his throat as his manicured fingers brush the human’s cheek. “And I’m not strange! You’re so cruel to me!” A fake pout spread across his lips as he teased the human seated between his legs.

He squeals as the human smacks his inner thigh. “I’m not cruel. You’re just sensitive.” They stick out their tongue at him and he goes to bite it, but they’re quick to reel it back in. “Don’t bite me, you toad.”

“C’mon,” he whines. “Just do what you came here to do and suck me off! I need you right now~” He palms himself through his pants, impatient.

“You’re so whiny,” they remark, smacking his hands away so that they can pull down his pants. He huffs, but doesn’t reply, just closing his eyes instead. Once his pants are down, he feels their hands on him, feeling him through his boxers. A small groan escapes his lips as he opens his eyes to look down at them. They're just a simple human. How could they have enraptured him in the manner that they did? The demon of Lust, pinned under the thumb of a weak, powerless human.

Grinning up at him, they shimmy his boxers down his legs, allowing his hardened cock to spring free from its confinements. A bead of precum oozes from the reddened tip. The human swipes their thumb along the demon’s slit, collecting the precum on the digit. They lick their thumb, looking him in the eyes the whole time. He shudders, the human’s actions exciting him.

Slowly, they lick along his length, starting from the base, slicking it in their saliva. They’ve barely done anything, but he’s putty in their hands, twitching and groaning softly. “You’re so sensitive,” they say, pausing their ministrations to blow on his tip, feeling a shudder wrack through his body. He bucks his hips lightly as they wrap their lips around his tip, giving it a soft suck. Annoyed, they pull away, sitting back on their heels.

“I’m sorry! I’ll be a good boy, I promise!” He whines, trying to slip his cock back between their lips.They’re stubborn, though, and seal their lips shut. “C’mon~ Please?” Seeing that they’re not going to give in so easily, he pulls back, starting to stroke himself, using the human’s drying saliva and his own precum as a lubricant. His hand slides up and down the length of his cock with ease and he can see the human in front of him, watching.

After watching him for a few seconds, they nudge his hand away, replacing it with their own. Asmodeus whimpers softly as their hand glides along his length. The whimpers turn to moans when they start teasing his slit with their tongue. Warmth encases his cock as the human takes him in their mouth, sucking as they slide more of him into their mouth. His hips buck again, and he can feel the human gagging and trying to keep his hips still. Their gagging just turns him on more, making him want to fuck their mouth until he cums. Yet doesn’t, allowing them to keep control of the situation. He’ll be the perfect pillow prince for them. Maybe they’ll even fuck him, if he’s a good boy.

His fingers comb through their hair as they suck him off, gently pulling them further down his cock, feeling their throat clench around the intrusion. They gag again, focusing on breathing through their nostrils. He isn’t going to last long, he can feel it. Their throat is just so warm and tight.

Not too long after, he reaches his breaking point, spilling down their throat without warning. They pull away, wiping saliva and cum off their face. He stares silently at them for a few seconds, before grabbing them and pulling them up towards his bed. His human is so beautiful and he wants to show them how much he loves them, but they pull away, shaking their head.

“No, this isn’t about me. I just wanted to help you out,” they explain, making their way to the door. “This lotion smells really nice, by the way.” The door opens and Asmodeus starts to speak, causing them to pause briefly in the doorway, waiting to hear what he has to say.

“I love you,” he says. His eyes widen as he realizes what he just said, but it’s too late to take it back.

“I love you too, Asmodeus,” they reply, shutting the door behind him. Their response stuns him into silence, though he wants to call them back in.

But why do I love you?, he wonders to himself. Why now? After centuries of only loving himself, why does he love someone else? Loving someone else adds unnecessary complications to his life. For his whole existence, he’s worn his heart on his cheek, not on his sleeve. The bitter taste of defeat lingers in his mouth as he stares at his door that the human had just left through.

[mylovelies-docx]

Kid Krow - Heather

Chapter two is here! I’m going to try and post updates on Mondays, Thursdays, and Sundays until it’s finished!

The angst train is beginning its looooong journey, so be prepared!

Feedback is always appreciated, and my inbox is open for questions or comments.

Trigger warnings for this chapter: angst, pining, jealousy, hurt, sadness, allusions to smexy times, friendship. (Zorii is a good buddy)

Tagging the ones that liked the last post: @lil-lex1��  @star-hoes​ @greendagger15​

Word count: 3k

Link to the song inspo! x

Everyone had been drinking heavily by this point. Poe had his arm slung over your shoulders, drawing you into his heat to ward off the chilly night. Everyone was celebrating the success of your last mission.

It was successful in terms that nobody was injured. The exchange, on the other hand, could have gone better. But when your friends get the urge to party, there really is no stopping them.

You were the pilot of this little group that made up your circle of friends. Poe had taught you everything he knew about flying, and you had the patience that went along with being friends with a very… Poe… type of person. Therefore, you were the best pilot the group had. You could sit in the pilot’s chair all day waiting on the others to come back from their rendezvous with criminals and politicians alike, and be perfectly happy reading stories on your holopad.

You and Poe had been with the Kijimi Spice Runners for more than a few years now, ever since he had turned 16 and pestered you until you went along with his little escape plan. Everyone in your squadron was a decent being – as decent as smugglers and criminals can be, anyway – and you and Zorii were the best of friends when Poe wasn’t busy shoving his tongue down her throat. 

And sometimes even when he was.

It killed whatever was left of your heart every time they wandered away from the group, running off the make out and fuck the adrenaline still thrumming through his veins out after a successful drop. But Zorii wasn’t drawing him away at the moment, so your heart was safe.

For now.

You were gazing up at Poe, enraptured in the way he was telling the story of one of your many adventures before joining up with the Spice runners of Kijimi. Your fellow runners were all laughing boisterously at your expense, as Poe was describing the time you wiped out in a pile of Bantha dung after trying unsuccessfully to tip one over while it slept. 

You were laughing along because it was hilarious in retrospect, but you still shoved at Poe’s chest in defense of your younger self. He laughed harder, bringing himself back towards you and placing you directly against his chest with both arms draped over you, cradling you against him. (x)

His touch was more intoxicating than the Alderaan Ruge Liquor someone had stolen for tonight from the depths of a collector’s cellar.

You shivered at the delicious feeling of Poe surrounding you. You lived for moments like this, where you were both safe and happy and together. Poe’s laughter faded and he glanced down at you, a concerned look on his face.

“Are you cold?” he asks, his hands now rubbing up and down your arms. You blushed, unable to bring yourself to admit that it was more a shiver of pleasure than from the cold.

“Just a little, but I’m alright,” you said, smiling up at him.

“Well, we can’t have that.” Poe released you and started taking some of his layers off. Even with the fire you were all gathered around, multiple layers were necessary.

“Poe, no! Put your clothes back on,” you giggled, pretending to peek through the fingers you had placed over your eyes in mock chastity. Your flush building as he removed one of his sweaters and his undershirt rode up enough to expose a strip of tan skin.

“Nonsense, my princess is cold and I’ve got plenty of clothes to share.” Poe grinned, tugging his freshly removed sweater over your head and smoothing the hair away from your face where his actions had mussed it. “Besides: it looks better on you, anyway.”

You hugged your arms around yourself as you watched Poe zip up his outer layers. Your heart was full to bursting in your chest, and you couldn’t keep the smile off your face.

Once Poe was situated again, you clung back onto him. You wrapped your hands around his arm and tucked them up where his arm met his chest. You gave your fingers a little wiggle and looked up at Poe, a mischievous grin on your lips. Poe’s face was playfully stern.

“Don’t even think about it, (Y/N). You know what will happen,” Poe warned.

“I’m not doin’ anything,'' you shrugged, looking away. Poe didn’t believe you, so he took your hands away from him and gripped them in his own, rubbing them gently to keep them warm.

You were in a great mood, enjoying the evening with friends and getting progressively more intoxicated.

“What a sight for sore eyes!” came Zalos’s bellow from beside you. He was gesturing for Zorii to come closer to the fire and join in on the fun you were all having. She had just come from talking with another group of Spice runners at the party, all of them watching her go and murmuring appreciatively to each other. Whatever deal she had just struck was going to do great things for your little troop.

“No thanks, I think I’m going to head to my quarters; big day and all,” Zorii threw a meaningful look Poe’s way and walked off towards the ship.

You watched his eyes as she walked by. There was a hunger in them that hadn’t been there before. You knew what was coming next.

“I think she’s right; I think I’m going to pack it in for the night, too.” Poe released your hands and gave you a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll see you all in the morning.”

With a small wave and a smile on his face, he rushed after Zorii. Off to offer his warmth to her for the night and well into the morning.

“About time,” Arle muttered, taking another swig of liquor, “they’ve been dancing around each other for weeks now.”

“I wouldn’t call it dancin’ as much as foreplay. It’s always hotter when you’ve gotta work for it,” you said, pretending that your heart wasn’t breaking. “She’s had him mesmerized for a while now. I’m just surprised it took you all this long to find out they were together.” You upended your glass and downed the last of your drink. You stalked over to the bottle for a refill – you’d be needing it tonight. “I thought you three were more observant than that?” you teased.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mille groused.

“Good for them, though. Someone on this team needs a little action,” Arle mentioned, quickly looking to and dropping Mille’s gaze. Looks like Poe and Zorii weren’t the only ones that would be coupling up for the night.

“You’re all weak-willed; sex is the antithesis to rational thought. It drives you all mad with desire and detracts from what’s really important,” Zalos ranted, not for the first time.

“We can’t all be as lucky as you, Zal. Us lesser creatures crave a sweet release every now and again,” you joked. If you could have been as uninterested in relationships as Zalos was, you wouldn’t be in the situation you were now. You could be genuinely happy for Poe and Zorii, your two best friends, for finding joy in each other.

“I’ll teach you anything you want to know, little one. It’s all about meditation,” Zalos supplied, bringing his hands together in an imitation of a meditative position.

You chuckled and took a deep gulp of the Alderaanian liquor, hoping it would provide a deep enough sleep that you wouldn’t hear Poe’s moans through the walls tonight.

_____

“I don’t want to know,” you chuckled. 

You were nursing a killer headache, and the stars shooting by the transparisteel were making you nauseous. Zorii was as composed and pretty as ever, having not taken part in the flowing alcohol last night.

Why would he ever kiss me when I’m not even half as pretty as she is? you wondered to yourself. You turned your neck so that your head was lying against the pilot’s chair, providing an unimpeded view of Zorii in her morning-after glow.

“All I’m saying is that you need to find someone that can do that to you; I promise you won’t regret it.” Zorii looked at you with a devilishly satisfied smile. You rolled your eyes at her antics, having already planned on finding someone to spend a few hours with at the next fuel stop.

“I don’t need to know how good of a lover my best friend is, thank you very much. I’m perfectly content not to know.” Because if you knew how much you were missing out on, you’d feel even worse than you already did.

“Fine; it’s your loss. I’m just trying to give you some new things to try out.” Zorii smiled into her caf, happy that she had made you squirm. She thought that you were anticipating trying out whatever she had been explaining, but you had tuned her out when the thoughts of Poe grinding into you from that angle left you hot and unable to focus on what else she was saying.

“Whatever,” you joked good naturedly, “just try to keep it down next time, yeah? Even in a liquor induced coma, I could hear you guys.” You had woken up to Poe’s groans echoing in your ears; both from the quarters next to yours and from inside your dream.

“Okay, princess. We’ll try not to mess with your beauty sleep,” she grinned.

“That’s all I ask.” 

The conversation ended.

You both sat there staring as the stars passed by. You couldn’t focus on any one thought for long, so you were glad Zorii was tuned in enough to notice your inability to function that morning. She just provided the silent company you craved.

After a while, the quiet was broken when the cockpit door hissed open. Glancing over your shoulder, you saw Poe walking in. You threw him a tired smile and looked back out the windscreen.

Poe sauntered up between the chairs, ruffling your hair and placing a kiss on Zorii’s lips. He squatted down between the two of you.

“So, where are we heading, princess?” he questioned.

“Wherever Mille tells me to go; it’s their turn to pick the destination.” You explained. Mille hadn’t woken up yet, being a notoriously late sleeper. You’re sure it didn’t help that Arle and they had left the fire together last night, either.

“Sounds like a plan.” Poe turned to Zorii, some clothing in hand. “I thought you would be a little cold, so I brought you my sweater,” he said, pulling it open and placing it over her head, much the same as he did for you last night.

You sucked in a quiet breath, trying not to flinch. It was the same sweater you were given last night.

 “And who says I wanted this?” Zorri snarked, hands on her hips and a faux-affronted expression on her face.

“I say you wanted this,” Poe returns. He placed a kiss on her forehead and threw you a wink, then strolled back out of the cockpit with  a smile on his face.

“What a sap,” you commented. You don’t think she noticed the sadness that lingered in your expression after Poe gave her his sweater. You grew colder at the knowledge that Poe cared for her just as much, if not more, than he did for you. 

You definitely knew that he cared about her in a different way than he did you.

“Yeah…” she breathed. She fisted her hands in the sweater and pulled it up to her nose, taking in the smell of Poe.

The sweater he had given you last night had been spread out on your cot, infusing the blankets with his scent. A terrible way of trying to get over your crush, but one of the only ways you could stand not having him there. It’s excruciating that Poe had taken it from you to give to her.

He must like the thoughts of her in his sweater more than he cared about your feelings on the matter. But you had told him you were over it, so over it you pretended to be.

The last time you and Poe had gone off alone together had not gone your way, and you needed to keep the promise you made to him that day.

“When we stop for fuel, do you think you can stall every one for a couple of hours?” you asked Zorii.

“Oh yeah? Did I give you some ideas?” she teased, reaching out her arm to pinch your cheek.

“And so what if you did?” you smacked her hand away and rubbed your cheek. “It’s been a while since I was off the ship and having some fun away from you nerfherders.” Your tone was playful and you threw a knowing look her way.

“You know it’s not me keeping you from having fun; I encourage you as much as I can. I think Poe’s just jealous that when you’re gone you give me control and not him.”

Zorii was right, but it hurt to think that the only reason Poe didn’t want you to be with somebody else was because you didn’t give him the pilot’s chair. It had started out as a joke, you giving Zorii – arguably the worst pilot out of all of you – control while giving Poe your stuck-out tongue. 

You liked when he begged you to stay, begged you to keep everyone up in the air and on the way to the next Spice drop. But you only gave him a cheeky smile and a promise of being back after a few hours. Sometimes you told him about your plans to find someone just to see if he was jealous for a different reason when you got back late.

He never was.

____

You were sat with your feet propped on the console, careful to avoid pressing any buttons. You had a leather bound tome on your lap, enjoying the story’s plot. The main character reminded you of Poe: brave, brash, and beautiful. You were so enthralled that you didn’t hear the chatter of the trade end, so when you resurfaced at the next chapter you were at a loss as to why everyone was laughing amongst themselves.

“Did I miss something?” you asked, hand to the comm link in your ear. “I wanna be in on the joke.”

“It’s nothing, princess; we were just wondering why you zoned out on us,” Poe replied. You could hear the smile in his voice. “Another one of your stories take you away from us?”

“Of course. None of you are heroic enough to prevent an extinction-level event. You’re actually quite boring in comparison,” you said airily, grinning through your lie. They were some of the best people you knew-- illegal activities aside-- and they knew that.

“Okay, little book-worm.” Zorii was chuckling at the exchange. “We’re heading into the next cantina we find; are you going to join us this time?” she asked sarcastically, already knowing your answer.

“And waste what precious little alone time I have? Not a chance, Rii. You guys have fun out there, but I’m staying right here.” You made yourself more comfortable in your chair, preparing for at least a few more hours of immersion. 

They heard you wiggling around, and laughed at your refusal to join them once again.

“It didn’t sound like you wanted to be alone the other night,” Poe said slyly. “We all heard you and that bounty hunter outside of the ship; you seemed to be enjoying their company.” Poe was chuckling to himself. “What was that? The fifth one in the last few weeks?”

Everyone was laughing and joking along, but you were horrified to know that they had all heard you. That Poe had heard you. And that he thought the way in which you had decided to keep your promise was a joke to be laughed at.

“Shut it,” you growled. Everyone was still having fun and chatting back and forth, but Poe went silent.

You heard music in the background, signaling that they had finally made it to a cantina. You were relieved that the conversation was ending and that you had time to calm your anger before they came back. 

You said goodbye to the group and started removing your comm link when Poe’s voice came over the private channel.

“I’m sorry, princess,” he apologized, sighing heavily into the line. “That was uncalled for; I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“No,” you said, rage and hurt evident in your voice, “you shouldn’t have.”

“I know you’re trying to work through some things--” he began, but you cut him off.

“Seriously, Poe: don’t mention it. I’m working through it and making progress, so you don’t have to worry.” Your anger was morphing into a melancholy ache that was burning a hole in the middle of your chest.

“I’m always going to worry about you, (Y/N), that’s what friends do.” Poe was trying so hard to apologize, but everything he said was only making it worse.

“I know,” you choked, “just try not to mention my little indiscretion again, yeah?” 

“Come on, it’s not that bad,” Poe joked, trying to console you.

Poe, please stop laughing at me, you begged internally.

You stared up at the controls above your head, willing the burning behind your eyes to go away. You needed a subject change and to get Poe to leave you alone for right now.

“Hey, could you bring me back some food? I’m not in the mood for anything we have onboard.” 

“Yeah, sure. The usual?” Poe asked, thankfully having taken the hint and backing off.

“You know it.” You forced a neutral tone to your voice, hoping to get him off the line quickly. “But no rush; you guys enjoy yourselves. I’ll just be here.”

“Okay, (Y/N), we’ll see you soon.”

“Okay.” 

You ended the link and tried to go back to your story, but the male lead reminded you too much of Poe again and you had to put it away.

[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.”

[igotthesmellofbooks]

YAY! I used the same ops. That first one that I posted with eva and alex was actually supposed to be this but then I changed the plot

JUST SO YOU KNOW I DIDN’T READ OR EDIT IT ‘COZ I WAS FEELING LAZY

Like  I said before, PLEASE DO NOT USE THIS ANYWHERE SINCE THIS IS PURELY FOR READING PURPOSES:

                                                      CHAPTER 1  

Trekking through the dusty and dark tunnels of underground metro trains were Scarlet and Alex, MMP’s (Ministry of Magical Protection) best. They were both 16, going 17. The Ministry of Magical Artifacts had reported an artifact missing; The Mirror of Memories. It was supposed to be a shield but no-one used it. It showed the opponent’s worst memories, disabling him/her long enough to kill. They got a lead the day before, regarding where the Mirror might be. That day, a blast was reported at the same coordinates. Scarlet and Alex had been walking through the wreckage since dawn stopping only to rest and see to their needs and now it was nightfall with a full moon in the sky.

Scarlet stifled a cough and complained for the sixth time,” Your jokes are so lame! Why can’t you just memorize some from a book and not make them up on your own?”

Alex gave her a wicked grin that told her she wasn’t going to like the answer to that question and said, ”Do you actually mean that?”

She stopped and said,” Kind of.” Then said teasingly,” Do you want me not  to mean it?” He stopped a few feet away and for a split second almost looked flustered.  He hesitated and blurted,” Yeah…”  Scarlet tried not to blush but failed and was thankful that he couldn’t see her in the dim lighting so she said,” Then just keep quiet and try to think of better ways to charm me with your humour.” and averted her eyes. She found him staring at her with a faint smile on his lips. She punched him on the shoulder and he yelped in surprise. He glared at her and she said,” Let’s get going, troublemaker.” Ignoring his glare, she picked her way through the debris until she reached the main site of the blast. She started and Alex came to stand beside her. He exhaled sharply.

There was a circle where no debris had fallen. And in the middle of the circle lay shattered the Mirror.

“You got to be kidding me…Do you know about any defensive spell that could cause a blast?” Scarlet asked, turning to Alex.  “Nope.” “Come on, Alex, be serious.” “Well…. I might have seen one in an advanced spell book, but I don’t remember the book’s name…” “Alex!  You have to remember!” She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. “Unless… There’s something you want from me.” He spread his hands as she glared at him.” Of course. I shouldn’t have expected anything else.” She muttered under her breath as she dug into her backpack and threw him his silver sword. He caught it elegantly by the hilt and grinned as it shrunk into a silver ring. He pocketed it and said,” The book’s name is ‘Advanced Wizard’s Spells- Sequel 2’ spell 253.” Biting her lip, she said, “I didn’t know the Mirror could be destroyed.” Her stomach twisted into a knot and she felt something coil in her gut, a sense of danger.

She slammed into Alex but a second too late. An arrow, meant for his neck, sprouted from her left shoulder as she pushed him to the ground. Scarlet screamed in agony as red-hot pain snaked from her shoulder to her brain. The thing wrapped in shadowy robes tried to approach them but when it  Reaching into her pocket, she took a gun out and fired a red flare into the air to call for help, but the assailant was already gone.

A few minutes later, after their brief and murderous encounter, she was sitting propped up against a wall, when a still shaken Alex, kneeling beside her, said quietly,” Thank you. For saving my life.” She frowned and said,” You would have done the same for me. We still have to find that boo-“ But she was rudely interrupted by Alex clamping a hand over her mouth. ”Whoa, whoa. Take it easy for now, Scarlet. You’re hurt and so you have to rest for a few days. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” Suddenly, the spinning of chopper blades sounded and they looked to the brightening sky. He rose and helped her up. She winced as pain splintered her vision and he caught her grimacing. “Just don’t say ‘told you so’.” She said and he smirked. “Actually, that was just what I was about to say.” he shrugged,” Guess you beat me to it.” They climbed into the chopper and he sat down beside her. In twenty minutes, they were dropped off to the headquarters. Scarlet trudged up the stairs to the medicinal section to get her wound cleaned and bandaged and Alex trailed after her.

                                                                                  Chapter 2

Alex could see Scarlet was trying hard not to scream, the way she bit down on her lip, hard enough to draw blood when the healer snapped the shaft and extracted the rest of the arrow from her shoulder. She caught him staring and stuck out her tongue at him. He grinned sheepishly but wasn’t able to look away. The scraps on his knees and hands had already been taken care of. She winced as the healer tightly wrapped the bandage around her injured shoulder. He fought down the urge to yell,” Treat her gently!”.

Gods, she was beautiful, with her rich dark brown hair, teal green eyes and red lips. She was smart. And funny too. He enjoyed spending time with her.

Snapping out of his thoughts, he felt Scarlet nudging him with her shoe and realised he had been gawking. “What?” he asked.” Did you ask me a question?” Scarlet nodded. ”Uh huh. Dan just told you to get up ‘cause others are waiting for their turn.” She slid off the metal table with feline grace and gestured for him to join her. She strode down the hallway, stopped at a door, opened it, revealing a balcony with a bench, overlooking the mountains, peaked with snow. They closed the door and sat down on the bench. She rubbed her temples and her shoulders slumped. “You okay?” she asked, casting a sidelong glance at him. “I should be asking you that. How’s your shoulder?” he enquired. She sighed.” Getting worse every minute.” She rested her head on his shoulder and he slid an arm around her, mindful of her wound.

They stayed like that for a few moments until she said,” It’s already 2 a.m., so I gotta go now. I need a bath and  nap so, don’t call me before 12 p.m.” She got up and saying good bye, went on her way. Alex was about to get up when he realised she had forgotten her pendant on the bench. He turned to look at her retreating form a last time but she was gone.

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

Alex flopped onto his bed, and set Scarlet’s pendant on his nightstand, before draping the blankets over himself. Tucking his hands under his head, he thought about Scarlet. He liked her. A lot. He paused. What were her feelings? Did she think he was a bit stupid? What did she actually like about him? He sighed. He’ll never know.

He was just drifting off to sleep when he spotted a lithe cloaked figure dropping off onto the balcony just outside his window. He pretended to be asleep as the cloaked figure slid open the window and swung himself inside. He stalked towards Alex’s bed and snatched up Scarlet’s pendent. Alex suddenly swung his fist into the stranger’s stomach and he dropped like a stone. Alex was already there, pinning the stranger’s thighs with his knees and his arms with his hands. “You better start talking now.” He growled.

A low laugh sounded from the hood. ”Oh, gods, Alex. Don’t give me that attitude.” ”Wait… Scarlet?!” “Get off me, Alex. Also, you have a hand of my injury and hurts.” He let go and offered a hand. She knocked it away and got up on her own. “Why are you here?” he asked. She grinned mischievously and said,” Thought you’d be happy to see me.” “I… I am... you know…happy now that you’re here...” he stammered. Oh, why did he always act like an idiot around her? Scarlet’s grin grew. She sat on the bed, removed her shoes and crossed her legs. She patted the space beside her. “Sit down.” She smirked and said,” Don’t worry, I won’t bite.” He gulped and sat. “Do you want to go?” she asked. He frowned and said,” Go where?” She rolled her eyes. ”The Ministry’s Founder, James Bidman, is throwing a charity party tomorrow night because a representative from the Russian branch, called Jason Hoover, asked him to do so as they are in a financial crunch, ” She sighed dramatically, and said,” Unfortunately, people below 17 are not  allowed inside. Fortunately, I can sneak us in.”

Grinning widely, he said, ”Why not? Let’s go!” “Yay!” She gave him a bear hug. He blushed. She said, “You look so cute when you have no idea what to say.” And with that, she put her shoes on, jumped out of the window, mock saluted him and leapt over the low railing of the balcony. She probably thought he was going back to sleep. But he had other things on his mind. He put out the lights, changed and prepared to sneak into Scarlet’s room.                                                                                                                                                                                                           

                                                                                       Chapter 3

Scarlet had known that there was no way Alex would refuse a place where he wasn’t allowed to be. Although she felt bad for playing with him like that, she was more concerned about what she was going to wear for the party. She bounded up the stairs, moving with renewed energy and popped her head into her mom and dad’s room. Dad was already up, changed out of his nightclothes and into his smart pilot’s uniform. His face brightened when he spotted her peering from the door. ”Hey, honey. Already back from the headquarters?” Dad was the only one so far who knew about her double life. She groaned. ”Someone shot me through my shoulder with an arrow.” His eyes narrowed and filled with anger. “Who dared harm my little girl?” But his anger soon melted and gave way to concern. “Did you get your wound cleansed?” “Yeah, Dad. Shouldn’t you get going? You’ll get late.” He kissed the top of her head and said, “I have to go for a test flight today. Then I have to pilot an aeroplane for a 12 hour flight so I won’t be back until the day after tomorrow. Then when I come back,” His lips stretched towards a grin. “We’ll make s’mores and watch movies late into the night!” Dad adjusted the cap on his head and went down the stairs and a few seconds later, she heard the click of the front door shutting quietly.

She heard the whisper of the blankets and knew her mom was awake. She walked towards the bed and found her mom already standing up and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Mom saw her and hugged her good morning. “Just wake your elder brother up, will you?” “We’ll be down for breakfast before you know it.” “Good. I’ll be downstairs.” said Mom, and patting Scarlet’s cheek, headed downstairs to the kitchen. Scarlet threw open the door to the room she shared with her brother and strode inside. The room had two separate beds- hers and Adam’s. It had a window through which some sunlight filtered in. Shrugging off her backpack, she glanced to her brother, Adam, snoring to the fullest with one arm dangling off the side of his bed and a blanket over his head. She wondered how he was breathing.

Nudging him awake, she said in a singsong voice she knew he hated, ”Hey, sleepy head. Early bird gets the pancakes, late bird gets the leftovers…” He didn’t budge. She began shaking him. ”Wake up! Adam! I’m hungry!” After much coaxing, he decided to get up. Or so she thought. No, he only decided to change his position. Suddenly, she ripped the blankets off him and reeled back in surprise. It wasn’t Adam! It was- “Alex?!” “Thought you’d be happy to see me.” She cocked an eyebrow. ”Throwing my own words back at me?” ”Yep.” Get up.” He pouted like a spoilt kid. “B-but I was hoping you would play with me.” “Did you even ask mom and Adam and dad?” He frowned. ”Of course I did.” “Where is my brother?” Adam appeared in the doorway. ”Hey Scarlet.” Scarlet stepped closer saying, ”Mom’s calling you down for breakfast. And you’d better hurry or she’ll scold me.” Adam paused on the first step. ”That would be great.” “Shut up and get your butt downstairs.” Behind her, Alex burst out laughing and almost choked. Not finding anything funny at the moment, she glared at him. He stopped and gulped. “What do you plan on wearing tonight?” she asked, still glowering. “It’s a surprise.” She rolled her eyes at him. “Oh, please. I know you. You have no idea what to wear.” “What are you wearing?” he retorted. She smirked. ”It’s a surprise. I do know what I am going to wear. And I’m giving you what to wear too.” ”What-“started Alex, but she cut him off by saying, ”That is also a surprise.” He sighed through his nose. ”Ugh. Fine. You win. Like always.” “Good to know.” He imitated her voice. “‘Wake up! Adam! I’m hungry!’” He shook his head and grinned. ”Let’s go downstairs, shall we?” She stepped in front of him and pointed at the bed. “Make that unless you want me to lock you in the room and, you had better believe me, I will.” “It’s not fair; Adam told me to do it!” he whined. “Alex, it’s just going to take a minute. Do it.” Rolling his eyes, he straightened the covers and folded the blankets. Neatly. She pretended to be staring at him, wide eyed. “How did you do that?” He straightened. “Do what?” “Not be messy.” She extended her arms skywards and exclaimed, ”Finally! Thank you, God!” He snorted. “Don’t be so dramatic, Scarlet.” “Why not? I enjoy it. Let me remind you, you’re just as dramatic as me.” He took a step towards her. ”Am I?” She felt her cheeks flush. Clearing her throat, and trying not to stammer, she asked, “If you’re done, can we go downstairs?”

                                                                                                  Chapter 4

Alex was enjoying this far too much. Scarlet looked so cute when she was flustered. As they went down the stairs, he saw her cheeks were red. “Good morning, Mrs Courtney.” Scarlet’s mom looked up from the pan where she was making the pancakes and smiled. “Hello, Alex. Could you pass me the maple syrup?” He slid the tall bottle across the marble counter towards her then made himself comfortable on the chair, beside Adam. He looked at Scarlet, who was still standing, frowning at Adam. “You dare not eat too much maple syrup. Last time, you finished the entire bottle in three days.” He stifled a laugh and failed- horribly. Adam thumped him on the back. “You sound like you’re choking, even though you haven’t eaten anything. What happened?” “I don’t think he was choking, Adam. Rather, laughing.” Chuckling herself, she took her seat on his other side. His heart started pounding faster, harder. It was a relief she couldn’t hear it hammering away in his ribcage. Breathing became a tad difficult. Suddenly, she touched his shoulder, a worried look on her face. “Hey, Alex. You okay? You’re looking a bit nauseated.” Okay, maybe it wasn’t his heart pounding, but his head. It probably had to do with a sleepless night. But he didn’t want to ruin the day for her, so he just grinned and shook his head. “Nah, I’m fine.” Although she was still looking suspicious, she pulled her hand away. Then rose from her seat to help her mom in bringing the breakfast to the table. She handed out the plates laden with pancakes. Alex had just dug into his batch when he remembered the maple syrup. He was about to get up but then Adam slid it towards him. He said his thanks and set about drizzling it on the pancakes. Scarlet nudged him with a grin. “Hungry?” Trying not to look too sheepish, he said, “Very.” “You won’t be able to breathe after you eat mom’s pancakes.” Scarlet’s mom mock scolded her. “Now, hush, Scarlet. Otherwise he won’t come anymore. And you know how you miss him.” Scarlet stilled and turned redder and redder. “What?” He asked, leaning forward. She just gave Adam a desperate ‘help me’ look. The colour was still on her cheeks. “Nothing.” Suddenly, it hit him. She liked him too! The thought was so funny that he almost choked on his pancakes. Again  Coughing, he took a sip of water to avoid looking her in the eye. She was not big on eye contact at that point. The rest of the breakfast passed in awkward silence. Finally, when he got up to wash his plate, Scarlet snatched it out of his hand and Adam got the same treatment. She picked up her mom’s plate and stacked the plates neatly. ”Thanks, honey.” Alex was so startled by that, that he started out of his chair and bumped into Scarlet who was carrying the plates to the dishwasher. “Sorry.um….” “Just sit down, Alex. Please.” Shoving the plates into the dishwasher, she stormed up the stairs to her room. He stared after her. “I don’t know what has gotten into her. Whatever it is, I don’t like it.” murmured Adam. “She’s probably tired or something.” Alex said. He wanted to follow her, but something told him that she would want to be alone for now. A few minutes later, he went up the stairs with Adam. He peeked inside but Scarlet was not there. ”She’s probably gone to bathe.” Adam supplied. “Good choice. She was real filthy.” “Look whose talking. You’re so filthy that I can’t even see your skin.” ,said a voice flatly from the hallway. He groaned softly, not loud enough to be heard, before turning. Scarlet had already bathed, brushed and changed into clean clothes. She was wearing an olive green tank top with camo pants and army boots which suited her well. Her dark, chocolate brown hair were pulled into a pony tail.

[apollo-writes-random-shit]

“It’s a full moon tonight. That’s when all the weirdos are out.”

This was actually really fun and like Race, I’m fucking stupid when it comes to telling stories so it was fun to think of some.

Thanks for sending this request in!

“It’s a full moon tonight. That’s when all the weirdos are out.”

"Race...Ya out all the time."

Race huffed, ignoring the littles' giggles as he reached over to slap Albert over the back of the head. "Dumbass, let me talk! I wanna tell a story!"

Jack rolled his eyes, a fond smile on his face as he sketched the scene from the corner of the room. "These kids better be able ta sleep tanight Higgins. I don't wanna be up all night cause you and your stories."

Race huffed, rolling his eyes. There went his plans for talking about a murderer...Time to rethink.

"Alright. Cause Jackie's a spoilsport, I'll change the story." He chuckled, shaking his head as his younger siblings started to complain. "Sorry kids. Gotta listen to the old man. He makes the rules here."

"I'se only a few years older than you!" Faking insult, Jack balled up his ratty blanket and threw it at Race, chuckling as it hit him in the face. "Get on with the story ya nerd!"

"Jesus fine!" Shaking his head, Race grinned, wrapping the blanket around himself. "Right. So the full moon is a magical time but also a dangerous time. While the moon gives us light on the streets, he also brings out mysterious dangers. It is said that if you stand in his light, your mind will be twisted." He grinned, happy to have everyone's eyes on him. "You'll start to feel new urges and will find yaself wanting to do things ya've never heard of before."

"Like what?"

"Well, my dear Kai, I'm glad you asked. Have you ever heard of the sirens?"

"No?"

"Well, it's said that if you stand on the bridge with the full moon shining down, you'll hear ghostly singing which will draw you towards the water. You'll find yourself with one of two urges. Some feel the need to jump into the water to investigate while others feel the urge to sing back. Singing back will help you'se keep ya freedom while following the siren's urges will spell your doom. Some say they're always out at night and will still attack, but will only sing on the full moon. Never go near the water at night, especially on the full moon. Sometimes, they'll be heard singing outside your window, in hopes of getting you to go to the water."

"Wait...You've gone across the bridge at night before! Have you heard them?"

"Why yes, I've had. I'se sang right back at them as I covered my ears 'nd ran. As ya know, 'm probably the fastest runner in 'Hattan so I was able to outrun their voices."

"So humble ain't ya?"

"When have ya beaten me in a race Finch?"

"..."

"Uh-huh. That's what I thought. Anyway. The sirens ain't the only ones that come out in the night. There are the masks as well."

Crutchie fought back a laugh, knowing exactly where this was going. After all, he and Jack were the ones who told Racetrack the story in the first place when the boy was caught attempting to sneak out on a full moon. The story had been passed down from the leader just before Jack who had used it to stop Jack himself from sneaking out

"Masks?"

Race's grin widened at the child's question, planning to add his own twists into the story had been told oh so many years ago. "The masks are creatures that come out on the full moon. They appear to be human yet their faces are not. Their faces are inhuman or if they're strong enough to have a human face, it'll be frozen in one expression no matter what and it'll look fake. It'll appear like it's stuck in time."

"What do they do t-to you?"

"Why if they see you walking the streets, they'll take you away. If the masks getcha, you'll never be seen again until the full moon when you're there ta take people away! What do ya think happened to Dax from Queens? He turned into one of them. Everyone just says that he aged out but I'se has seen him. I looked out the window one-night 'nd BAM! He was right there on the street, starin' up at me wit' a weird ass smile on his face. It was raining 'nd he didn't even blink, just kept on staring. Next second, he was gone. The masks 'ad gotten him."

"You'se just tryin' ta tell us scary stories and not about weirdos!"

"I dunno kid. The masks and sirens are pretty weird 'nd creepy." Race shook his head before letting out a soft insulted shout as Blink shoved him to the side.

"Alright, kids. I'se'll tell ya about the weirdos I've seen at night time."

"How can ya see at night with one eye?"

"Same as I see durin' the day Mike. Anyway, I'se got a few stories." He chuckled, shaking his head. During the time Race was speaking, he had sorted through his own nightly experiences, sorting the stories from each other so he didn't slip up and tell a not so 'kid-friendly' story. He didn't feel like a repeat of last time. As friendly and cheerful he appeared, Crutchie was more than happy to hit someone with his crutch if he felt like someone deserved it. Last time Blink had told a story, the bruise had lasted over a week. Though he had to admit he made a mistake when he decided to tell the kids he had snuck into a bar and managed to steal from a drunk which ended up causing a few of the more daring littles to attempt to go near the bars. Luckily, Jack had expected this and had the more mature kids keep an eye out for anyone wandering towards the bars.

"Once at night on a full moon, I'se was coming home. I had been out a bit late ya know? It was still early enough that 'the masks' hadn't come out yet." The only reason he had mentioned Race's stupid story was that he knew the taller boy would interrupt him in an attempt to draw the attention back onto himself. "And before ya ask, this isn't the same night as the bar incident. Anyway, I was walking home yeah? I think I was only a block away from lodging actually when some really hairy lookin' fella comes stumbling outta the alley. I'm talkin' real hairy. Like hair on 'is hands, neck 'nd stuff like that. He's mumbling ta himself and stuff then he sees me. He starts coming towards me 'nd I think Great here we'se go. but instead o' fightin' me, he throws his arms round me, tells me that God blesses me and starts singin' those song thingys."

"Hymns."

"Right that. Thanks, Jojo. So this guy is singin' and holding onto me and all of a sudden just lets me go and walks off. I watch him go and see that he does the same thing to a lamp post. He didn't even smell like liquor which just added ta the confusion. Pretty sure he kissed the lamp post as well before he just sat down, singin' ta himself." He shook his head, grinning at the laughter that followed his story. Even Jojo was laughing which meant that the risk he had taken hadn't insulted the boy who had grown up, raised by nuns.

Over the next few hours, he and the other older kids kept up their storytelling, entertaining the younger ones with tales of strange things they had seen over their short lives, even allowing Race to tell more of his stupid stories.

Finally deciding to be serious with the topic, Race grinned, cutting off Jack's cowboy story. "We'se heard that story a lot Cowboy 'nd I've seen some pretty weird shit up in Brooklyn if you'se wanted to hear."

Considering he was the only non-Brooklyn newsie who could sell there let alone stay the night meant he instantly drew their interest. After all, whenever the newsies came up with a 'strange' story, they made sure to mention Brooklyn.

"So. One night, the fellas and I were in their kitchen when this knock sounds on the door. Laughin', they all send me to go answer it and what do I get? Some stranger tossin' water in ma face! Apparently, once a week, this lady walks up ta different houses 'nd throws water at people fa no reason. Like who does that? So, I'm standing there, soaked ta the bone wit' all the fellas laughing at me so what do I do fa revenge? I go 'nd grab a bowl maself and toss it all over them 'fore rushing off, runnin all the way back here."

"You've thrown water at me!"

"Albie my dear friend...You kept fucking snoring. What was meant to do?" Grinning, he quickly dodged the punch his best friend through at him. "Anyway. There was this other guy who walked around sayin' he was a god. People were naturally avoidin' him considering he was screamin' at the top o' his lungs, dancing buck naked in the streets. The bulls came ta pick him up and he threw something in their faces, I think it was flour and takes off running, screamin' about lemons and shit." He shook his head, remembering the conversation he had with Spot after that confusing day.

Before Race could keep speaking, Jack clapped his hands. "Alright, guys. It's time fa bed. Moon's getting high and we'se got work tomorrow."

"But I wanna hear more stories!"

"Too bad. Ya gotta go to bed Lijah." Grinning, he watched as the older boys started ushering the younger kids upstairs to get ready for bed, happy to see that there was minimal complaining...Right now at least. He knew some kids would take more time to settle down but he was prepared for that.

He stood up, following the group so he could catch up to Race. "The masks 'nd sirens? Really?"

"What? They'se good stories and you know that! Besides, correct me if I’m wrong but if I remember correctly, you and Crutchie were the ones who told me about the masks, I'm just passing on the knowledge."

Without a comeback, Jack just laughed and shook his head, watching the blond run up the stairs. He had to give it to Race, the kid had a massive imagination and if he filed away the stories to draw later, well...No one needed to know.

[zutaras-where-its-at]

29. “Come over here and make me.” please! Thank you so much!

I’m gonna be honest. This one has absolutely no point except for shameless fluff. Plus, I really just wanted to write Zuko and Katara interacting in a more lighthearted and carefree way.

Set in post season 3 at the Ember Island beachhouse. Let’s just say the Gaang took a much needed vacation after the war (and the k@taang kiss/m@iko reunion never happened lol).

——imstillonmobilesopretendthisisalinebreakagainthx——

It’s an obnoxiously hot day.

The whole group has dispersed across the beach property in an attempt to distract themselves from the beating sun. Katara can hear Toph and Sokka arguing about who gets the last moonpeach somewhere inside the house, and the last time she checked, Aang was sprawled out on the porch with one arm sluggishly bending the air around him to manufacture a breeze.

As for Katara, she’s forgone most of her outer layers of clothing and decides that a swim at the beach is just what she needs.

She crosses paths with Suki on her way down to the shore. The older girl has also stripped to just her bindings, and her fair skin is tinted pink from the sun. Her metal fans, tied together at their handles, are slung over one shoulder.

“Hey, do you know where Sokka is?”

Katara nods and points to the house, too overheated to do anything else. Suki hums in thanks and continues up the hill.

When Katara reaches the beachfront, she can’t help but blink. Zuko’s prone, shirtless body glistens with sweat, his dao swords sprawled on the sand beside him.

“I thought you were taking a nap.”

One golden eye slides open to regard her before shutting again. “I asked Suki to spar. Wanted to see if swords or fans would come out on top.”

Katara grunts as she flops down next to him. She digs her toes into the sand and shields her eyes from the glare of the sun off the ocean waves.

“So?”

“Hm?”

“Which one came out on top?”

“Oh. Neither. It was pretty much a draw.” He exhales and a flickering flame escapes his lips. “Plus, it was too hot to keep it up.”

They sit like that for awhile, the sound of the waves and the parakeet-gulls only serving to emphasize the lazy mood.

But all too soon, Katara begins to feel antsy. Her hair keeps sticking to her sweat-slicked skin, and a thin coat of sand covers most of her body. She looks to her side where Zuko remains spread-eagled on the floor, his sharp features the perfect picture of relaxation.

A strong urge to ruin his peaceful countenance overcomes her.

With a flick of her wrist, a small jet of ocean water hits him on the cheek. She watches him scrunch up his aristocratic nose before he merely turns his face away from her. Another wave of her hand and he can’t help but splutter as a larger jet splashes him again.

He wipes a hand over his face and shoots her a glare.

“Quit it.”

Something playful glints in her eyes and she just splashes him again, this time on his bare chest.

“I’m serious, Katara.” His voice is a low growl, but it lacks his usual bite.

She stands up, a grin beginning to curl her chapped lips.

“Oh, you’re serious. I’m really scared now.”

She starts walking backwards towards the shoreline, flipping her thick hair over her shoulder. He rolls his eyes and lets his head thump back down onto the sand. But Katara can see the tension coiling in his muscles, like they’re preparing to spring, and she knows that she’s got him.

So, she lets a tall wall of water crash over his body.

Finally, he sits up, dark hair plastered to his face and spitting out salt water. By now, she’s already calf-deep in the ocean, her knees bent in anticipation.

Zuko shoots her a dark look. “I said, cut it out.”

“Come over here and make me.”

She won’t lie and say that the way he sizes her up in that moment doesn’t make her stomach flip.

And suddenly, he’s on his feet and charging at her, fists encased in flickering flames.

She’s a little surprised that he immediately goes for a close-combat spar, but mentally shrugs. Less effort this way.

They block and strike and try their damn best to get one over on the other, but the fight remains at a stalemate. Zuko punches out with one fist, but Katara quickly catches it in a block of ice. He swings with his other arm before that too is frozen.

Katara smirks and prepares to deliver the final blow, but Zuko inhales and ducks underwater before she gets the chance.

Her eyes narrow, searching the water for his shadow, but the reflection of the sun off the waves keeps her from locating him. And right as she resolves to go in after him, a strong arm wraps around her stomach and tugs her under.

She yelps and gets a mouthful of seawater before she pushes against the ocean floor and half-kicks, half-bends them both back to the surface.

They burst to the top, Zuko’s arm still caging her back to his front. She coughs and lamely tries to shove her elbow into his head, but she’s laughing too hard and her limbs have all but turned to jello from the exercise.

She hears his chuckle by her ear and twists to catch a glimpse of his rare smile before it disappears.

His bad eye is closed against the water droplets slipping down his forehead, but the other is alight with mirth, and his cheeks are flushed from the exerted effort of their spar.

She laughs again, the tip of her pink tongue pinched between her teeth, and raises her free hand to poke him on the nose.

“Okay, okay, I forfeit.” She almost regrets it when he releases her to float a few feet away. “But you gotta admit that it feels nice to get in the water.”

He scoffs and a little spew of fire carries on his breath until it fizzles out an inch or two away from her face. She sticks her tongue out at him.

“Yeah, whatever. I was already tired from sparring with Suki, and now I’m exhausted.” He relaxes in the water, turning to float on his back.

“Aw, is poor baby Zuko all tuckered out?”

“Yes. Yes, he is. In fact, I think I’m too tired to keep swimming. I’ll just go ahead and blurbaghab—“

A startled laugh escapes her when he lets himself sink underneath the waves, garbling the last of his words. She rolls her eyes and freezes a thick sheet of ice underneath him, effectively lifting his body back up to the surface.

He spreads out on his makeshift raft and rolls his head to the side to look at her, his cheeks puffed out. Zuko purses his lips and water streams out from his mouth, hitting her square on her nose. She ducks under the spray and hoists herself onto the block next to him.

“Gross, you Drama Queen.”

He snorts, and watches her wiggle across the ice into a comfortable position. He has a smug grin on his pale pink lips, a hint of teeth flashing at her. And with his shaggy hair poking out at all angles from the sticky saltwater, and the sun illuminating all the different shades of gold and brown in his irises, it suddenly hits her how boyishly handsome he really is.

Her stomach clenches from more than just the cold ice against her skin. She quickly hides her face in the crook of her elbow, and misses the soft look that he gives her.

Zuko closes his eyes, face turning back towards the still oppressively-hot sun, and let’s himself unwind.

They wake up two hours later when Aang and Sokka sneak under their ice-raft and flip them back into the water.

Needless to say, their evening does not remain peaceful for long.

[milfgritty]

i’ll be good pt. two | j. hughes & t. zegras

❀ ⇢ requested: yes | no ❀ ⇢ word count: 2.1k

having a crush on one person was confusing enough. now throw in one of their teammates and you weren’t sure where that left you anymore.

⇢ posted: 04.16.19 . | . masterlist  . prev. | next.

“I don’t know if I can do this, man.”

Spencer rolled his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. “Come on, we’ve been over this. You’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that,” Trevor protested, eyes wide as the outcomes played out in his head. “What if she says no? Fuck, she’s gonna say no. She’s into Jack, there’s no way she’ll actually agr—”

“Trevor,” Spencer cut him off, gripping his shoulders and turning Trevor to face him. “You’re gonna do great. And if she says no then that’s her loss, bud.”

Trevor sagged against him, all of his worrying exhausting him. “It’s just–” he rubbed his face harshly with one hand –“if Y/N says no then I’m fucking up our friendship. I don’t wanna do that to her, Spence. She doesn’t deserve that just because I can’t keep my feelings to myself.”

Another sigh left Spencer as he grappled for words. Seeing his friend so despondent wasn’t how he envisioned the after game party going and he wasn’t a fan. “Look,” he finally began, “it’s not fair to you if you keep putting this off. I get where you’re coming from, but sometimes you just gotta have faith.”

Trevor shut his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself, nodding along to Spencer’s words. “You’re right,” he swallowed, looking up at him through furrowed brows. “I can do this. I’ve got this.”

“There you go,” Spencer laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. He peered over Trevor’s shoulder with raised brows, a smile gracing his features. “Just in time, too. There’s Y/N now.”

Choking, Trevor spun around. His eyes fell on you as you walked through the door. Spencer and he were in a corner by the other end of the room, a bit out of the way from most others. “Fuck,” he breathed, drinking in the sight of how good you looked tonight.

“Go get her, tiger,” was the last thing he heard from Spencer before he was shoved roughly in your direction. He stumbled over his feet for a few seconds before he righted himself, tossing a glare over his shoulder in the direction of his team’s goalie only to get a thumbs up in response.

Deep breathes, he reminded himself as he fought the urge to run his hand through his hair. There was no need to be nervous. He’s got this.

Working his way through the small crowd that had already gathered, he made his way over to where you were standing. You were staring distracted somewhere off to his sides, he noticed. Curious, he followed your gaze over to—

Of course. Jack.

Shoulders slumping a little, he mustered his confidence back up. This was fine. He’s got this.

Finally reaching your side, he gently put his hand on your shoulder to get your attention before he lost the nerve.

You jumped at the sudden contact, your head tilting back to look at him. His heart skipped a beat when you smiled up at him, though he knew that he still didn’t have your full attention. He wasn’t an idiot; he saw how your gaze drifted over his shoulder to a certain group somewhere behind him.

“Hey, Trev,” you greeted him, having to raise your voice over the music that someone had turned up again since he got there.

Swallowing, he plastered a smile on his face. Not like it was hard, being around you made him feel all light and jittery inside. “Just get here?” he asked, inwardly cringing at the dumb question. Of course you just got here, that’s why you’re still lingering near the door.

You hummed and nodded, eyes already shifting away from him again. Disappointment filled him for a second before he shoved it down. Taking another deep breath, he tried not to let his face redden as he moved closer to you. The goddamn music was seriously starting to be a real pain in the ass.

“Do you want a drink?” he tried again, lifting his eyebrows. Hope blossomed within him when you pulled your eyes back to him. It was crushed once again when your lips turned up in a slight smile as you gave a slight shake of your head before returning your gaze to where it was previously.

“I think I’m good for right now,” you told him over the background noise, still not looking at him anymore. “I’m actually gonna go say hi to the rest of the guys.”

He felt his face drop for a moment and quickly schooled his features. “Oh, cool.” Lie. “You should go do that.”

He wasn’t even done his sentence before you were off, weaving your way through the bodies. He watched you walk away, clenching his teeth shut to distract himself from the painful thuds in his chest.

He really needs another drink.

And with that, he cut a path towards the kitchen. He had to stop his eyes from following your shorter figure, instead focusing on getting to where he wanted as quickly as possible. He arrived at the kitchen in record time for the obstacles he had to dodge on the way through.

But of course, who would be there to greet him but Jack.

Shaking away the bitterness, he tossed an empty grin at the guys before maneuvering around them to fill up a cup. “Hey, Trev,” Cole greeted him, tearing his attention away from their conversation.

“Sup,” he nodded his head, returning to his main goal.

He tuned out their conversation, not caring enough to bother. He pretended to pay attention as he sipped his drink, thinking about where he went wrong with Y/N. What did Jack have that he didn’t?

“Did you see that one chick near the benches?” Case asked the group, laughing as he spoke from something someone a minute ago. “Damn, she was so hot.”

“Hear, hear,” Cam yelled, raising his cup into the air. Other agreements followed suit and he was about to tune them out again when Jack spoke up.

“She slipped me her number after the game,” he told them, a smirk visible before he took a sip.

Groans sounded from the rest of them and Trevor had to fight the urge to laugh. Seriously, he liked his teammates and all, but why did Y/N like Jack over him?

“So,” Cole stretched out the word once they quieted down, “You gonna text her?”

Pausing, he didn’t want to admit that he was actually curious as to if Jack was. Everyone went silent as they waited for Jack to answer, who was clearly drawing out the suspense. Just as Cam was opening his mouth, Jack raised his cup to his mouth.

“Maybe,” he muttered into it, watching them erupt as he drank.

The guys catcalled and whistled while he rolled his eyes, glad they were all too preoccupied to notice him.

“Get it, Hughes!” Cole shouted, bringing more laughter out of the group.

Jack laughed along before calming them down. “Chill, I was just kidding,” he lifted his hands up, facing his palms out.

“So you didn’t get her number?” Case asked, mock offense lacing his voice.

“Oh no, I did,” Jack assured him, chuckling while he did. “But I don’t know. I don’t think I’m gonna do anything about her. She’s not really my type, you know?”

As Jack pulled them back into arguing, he noticed Spencer slip in. He put his cup down, spotting the worried look on his teammate’s face.

“What’s up?” he asked, keeping his voice down in case anyone was actually listening to them.

Spence eyed the room, mouth open in preparation to talk when he turned back to him. “Y/N is leaving. Like right now.”

“Fuck, you’re kidding,” he hissed, pushing himself off the counters.

Spencer shook his head, “You’re gonna have to hurry if you wanna catch her, man.”

“Shit,” he swore, brushing past his friend and hurrying out.

It seemed like there were even more people than earlier, he mused as he pushed his way through them all. He was fairly certain it took him longer to get out of the crowd and to the door but didn’t let himself dwell on it as he made it out of the house.

Cursing himself for not thinking to bring his jacket, he spotted your figure a distance away. Beginning to sprint, he pushed himself to catch up to you. He had finally worked up the nerve to ask you out tonight and he was not putting it off again.

“Y/N!” he shouted to get your attention once he was within range. You spun around at the sound of his voice, once again shocked at his presence. He slowed to a stop in front of you, bending over at the waist to place his hands on his knees. Sucking in deep breaths, he barely heard you question him. Ugh, his cheeks were cold. He was cold. Damn wind.

He was broken out of his inner ramblings by your light and airy giggle. He looked up at you right as you asked him, “What are you doing, Trev?” His chest tightened as he watched you, taking in your rosy cheeks and the way you were holding yourself. He was unable to answer you, couldn’t get his breath from both his sprint and because of how pretty you looked with the street lamps illuminating you from behind. Damn it, you looked like some kind of angel, how wasn’t he supposed to like you the way he did?

“Come on, aren’t you supposed to be an athlete?” you poked fun at him.

His lips curved upwards, a ‘ha ha’ slipping out of him automatically. Finally standing up fully, all of his worries and fears came rushing back.

He couldn’t do this.

“You just got here, you’re leaving already?” he said instead, breaking eye contact and staring down at his feet. They were just so interesting. He couldn’t believe he didn’t notice that before.

He seriously needed help.

“Yea,” you started, shaking your head almost subconsciously, “I’m just not feeling too good.”

He nodded, mumbling out an ‘Oh’ before catching his bottom lip between his teeth. He didn’t know what to say, having lost any and all of his courage from earlier in the night. It seemed you didn’t know either as silence settled over you.

He felt especially bad when a minute later you said, “Seriously, Trev. What is it?”

You just sounded so tired, so exhausted.

He sucked in a breath and decided to hell with it.

“Okay, look,” he started, just barely stopping his hand before it came up to run through his hair, “I was gonna do this later, but since you’re leaving and all I’ll just get it over with now.”

You cut him off quickly with a dry, “That sounds promising.”

A scoff left him on instinct as he rolled his eyes. Catching your gaze, the two of you shared a smile. That was all he needed to push on, that beautiful smile directed at him. Reminding him of why he was doing this in the first place.

He rushed out the words before he could regret them, his face twisting up. “I’ve been meaning to do this for a while, but I just haven’t been able to work up the nerve I guess. Look, what I’m trying to say is that I’ve liked you for a long time and I wanted to know if you maybe wanted to go out with me sometime?”

He waited with his eyes closed, incapable—and more importantly, unwilling—of watching you figure out the easiest way to let him down. He was prepared for this; the whole I’m sorry but I like someone else spiel.

Imagine his surprise when your whisper finally carried over to him.

“Yea, I’d like that.”

Eyes fluttering open, he stared at you with his mouth gaping open in shock. Then your words finally registered and he could feel his lips tugging up in a huge smile, relief and joy flooding through him.

“Yea?” he asked, a disbelieving laugh bubbling up inside of him. And when you let your own laugh loose with a nod his chest constricted in the best way possible. “Great,” he breathed, unable to get rid of this goddamn smile that was starting to hurt. “That’s great. I’ll text you?”

He felt lovesick and high on cloud nine as you backed up, confirming with a bob of your head. “I’ll be waiting for it,” you told him before turning around and making the rest of the way to your car.

“Great,” he whispered to himself quietly as he watched you go.

He was freezing his ass off but it was great.

Because you said yes.

[wheremytwinwatches]

[Where My Twin Watches]: Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood Episode 33

Last time: Some other stuff happened but who cares because WE’VE GOT ANOTHER ARMSTRONG WOOT WOOT. Onwards!

No, wait. I need to calm down, this is a character I haven’t met yet, I can’t just assume that they’ll be good. Even though they’re related to The Mighty Armstrong. Even though they feature prominently in the intro. Even though Uncle apparently spent the outro last episode fanboying over her. Even though Tephi has been subtly eager for me to get to this point, and my coworker Michael has not so subtly demanded that I talk with him about this episode once I’ve finished it. I must not hype. Hype is the mind-killer. Hype is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my hype. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the hype has gone there will be nothing. Only canon will remain. Ok. I’m good now. Onwards. Huh, we’ve got Narrator!Uncle at the start of this episode, talking about how the Elrics are searching for May, while the “Crimson Alchemist” Kimblee is tracking Scar west, until his trail vanishes. Was there a gap between these two episodes? Kimblee’s checking out the twisting railroad in the mountains, trying to figure out if his quarry went north or south. Mooks keep running up with possible Scar sightings to the south and west, but Kimblee notes an “old abandoned logging path” to the north, when he goes to investigate the MPs just chalk up the rubble blocking the road to the rockslides that shut it down in the first place. But Kimblee’s got a hunch, and finds a stone with some clear Transmutation marks on it. Whoops. Looks like Scar didn’t cover his tracks well enough. The chase is back on! Episode 33 - “The Northern Wall of Briggs” Ed’s running through a station in his new cold-weather coat, Al following as the locals clearly wonder what kind of maniac wears full plate armor in this climate. There’s a cute moment when the brothers admire the snow- that quickly sours when Ed slips on the train station’s stairs. See, this is why I want to live as close to the equator as possible - snow and ice may look nice, but in practice they suck.

A bit of younger brother teasing about taking a tumble, some reminiscing about “that one good snow when we were kids” that everyone seems to have, and looking around town for a bite to eat before their Fort Briggs train transitions to Kimblee’s command post where mooks are running about, answering phones and yelling at each other. The hunter’s sulking in a chair until a report comes in of Scar boarding a train towards Fort Briggs (I wonder who’ll get there first, the Elrics, May, or Scar?). Kimblee immediately brushes off the rest of the task force, he’s out to take down Scar and Marcoh personally. Scar and probably!Yoki are hiding out in a train car, Scar tells his companion to try and get some sleep now as he won’t be able to when it gets really cold. Then he hears something? The Ishvalan goes to check outside the car, doesn’t see anything so closes the door and turns- wait no he heard something again and yup it’s a military train on the other track, Kimblee leaning out the side and preparing to jump over. Once there he waves his ride off and marches towards Scar’s car, opens the door… and it’s empty, with the side cargo door wide open. Did Scar jump out the train at full speed? I get he could use Alchemy to soften the landing, but still. Uh oh, if he did jump then he left his cloaked companion behind, Kimblee orders “Marcoh” to stand down. The hood comes off and yup, that’s Yoki. Who apparently was a distraction! Scar was hiding out on the roof of the train car, in the moment that Kimblee is wondering who this guy is and probably about to kill him, Scar swings back in and throws a few kicks while Yoki scrambles away. Scar and Kimblee are facing each other down now, Kimblee snarks about “the murderous Ishvalan he’s heard so much about” when the moon lights up the car and they both have a little “hold up I remember that face!” moment. Well, not so little actually. Scar is furious to see the man who murdered his family, and Kimblee’s got a really happy grin at seeing the one who got away. Glowy eyes of anger! Hand of Doom! Yoki whining about getting away from the monsters fighting and then realising that he can’t get off the train! The smoke clears to show Kimblee just smirking at Scar even after the HoD, the ass talking about seeing another person looking like Scar, only with glasses and a distinct lack of blood. Yikes, come on Scar, keep it together. You’ve got to know that Kimblee’s riling you up, controlling the fight. Oh! But for all Kimblee’s insults, internally he’s worried. He’s only just got out of prison while Scar’s been fighting for years against State Alchemists. He’s physically weaker than- oh. Oh my, that was quick. See, this is why you don’t just stand around and internally monologue during a fight, you leave yourself wide open to a pipe through the gut. Wow. Gotta admit, Kimblee. I expected better from you. Here you were being talked up as the Butcher of Ishval, wielder of a Philosopher’s Stone and the newest weapon of the Goths. And what do you do? You get completely shut down minutes into your first fight with Scar, bleeding from the gut while he just looks down on you. If it wasn’t for Scar wanting to deal his brother’s injuries to Kimblee instead of going straight for the kill, you’d be gone. As it was, Scar has a lapse of judgement, and Kimblee takes the moment to decouple the train car, swearing that they’ll settle things next time they meet.

Yeah, no. I thought Kimblee was a good threat when he first showed up and was looking forwards to his fight with Scar, but this? This was just sad. Dude had better shape up before the next fight, especially if everyone’s going to Briggs and he’ll be facing the Protagonist and the Princess as well. The train driver finally realizes that they dropped a few train cars and stops to see what the heck is going on, and is understandably shocked to see Kimblee bleeding out on the new caboose. Kimblee just snaps at him for stopping the train, ranting about death and destruction. Dude is positively gleeful at the idea of Scar the Worthy Opponent, how being at risk means that he’s alive. Whatever buddy, the sooner you go after the guy who just did this to you the sooner I can stop listening to you. Next day, we’ve got May and Marcoh walking through the snow, talking about how Scar and “Marcoh” were drawing off the military so they could head north. Ouch! I was worried that Marcoh’s face would just be a mess of scars, but it’s still sad to see him look so much older with an apparent blinded eye. Maybe when this is over May can finish patching him up, even if he thinks he deserves this new face. The two stop to look over the Briggs mountain range, Amestris’ border with Drachma. Almost to the place Scar stashed his brother’s research notes? What possessed him to hide them here of all places? Mid-ep pictures of Solf J. Kimblee (get it together, dude) and Olivier Mira Armstrong aaaaaahhhhhhhhhh No! Keep it together!

Damnit stop dropping all the way down south to Rush Valley again we are so close to the new character argh Winry’s calling after the Elric Brothers only to learn they’ve checked out of the hotel and headed north. Ed, you’d better give her a call when you get to the fort, don’t just let her stay worried. Especially when Winry’s boss doesn’t think they’ll be safe. Damnit Ed! Wear a hat for petes sake, I don’t care how thick a coat you have if you don’t keep your head covered of course you’ll catch a cold! The Elrics are dropped off at a road to Fort Briggs, the driver heads off… after asking if Al’s wearing automail, saying he should be ok since it isn’t, and they should stay on the road if they want to live. Um. Yeah, Ed’s appreciation for show is officially gone. The boys are stumbling through a blizzard now, Ed tries to psych them up by talking about Teacher surviving out here for a month, fighting bears (hee, now I’m remembering that video about her meeting Sig)- Gah! Big Man! Big Man from the intro, with the chainsaw/scissor arm! Ed freaks out at seeing him and goes into blade mode. Then the guy nets Al?! Dude what the heck, do you just wander around attacking anyone not clearly military in the area? He insults Ed’s automail arm (somewhere Winry gets the urge to swing a wrench), says he has Combat Automail Model 1913A, “The Crocodile”. [Chainsaw-Man]: “Now surrender peacefully, you miserable Drachman spy, or I’ll show you exactly what this baby can do.” Ah ok that makes more sense. This is military land so seeing someone wandering around not in your own uniform would be suspicious. But how do you get non-military personnel or new people to the fort then? Did the brothers miss a phone in North City they were supposed to call ahead with? Yikes ok Chainsaw-Man is not listening, Ed has to keep dodging until he grasps his shoulder. It hurts? Aw crap, he does have a metal arm attached to his body in the middle of a blizzard. It’s painful enough to grab doorknobs when it’s freezing outside, to have metal constantly touching your bare skin? Ouch.

Uh. Actually, that whole “attached to his body” thing might not be relevant much longer; Chainsaw-Man’s revved up his arm and is trying to cut off Ed’s hand. Quick Ed, return the favor!... I said, return the favor! … Why isn’t his Alchemy working? Did Uncle do another anti-Alchemy pulse? Alright, Al’s untangled himself! A quick helmet toss tangles up the chainsaw, and both brothers are ready to fight again. Hopefully with fewer scratches on the automail this time, it’ll be bad enough explaining the current damage to Winry. Come on dude, stop dissing Ed’s arm. It’s got more uses than yours, at least. I’d like to see you tie your shoelaces! Actually, as a unique character I’m assuming he’s an officer at the fort, he might just order one of the Snowtroopers who are surrounding the Elrics to tie them for him. Oh hey, the snow’s died down and there’s a big wall close to them. They made it to the fort! Alright, fight’s over now, let’s just calm down and explain why you’re here. Hand over the letter and- [HER]: “Buccaneer! Who are they?” she’s here Buccaneer spins around to apologize for the noise, the Elrics look up to see Major-General Olivier Mira Armstrong glaring down at them. Major Armstrong’s older sister. Yesssss What, you don’t see the familial resemblance? I mean, I didn’t at first, either (in retrospect her wearing the blue uniform in the intro should have been a dead giveaway) but just because she isn’t as tall as her little (snrk) brother shouldn’t make you so doubtful. Ed introduces himself as the Fullmetal Alchemist, the General simply orders them to be searched. What, do you have a lot of pipsqueak spies and hollow suits of armor showing up to spy for Drachma? Aha, the letter of introduction! There, read The Mighty Armstrong’s letter, I’m sure that- or you just tear it up unread. I can get making your own opinions of people, but you’re just throwing away a source of information? Oh. Oh wow. The tossed aside letter fragments are being blown up the wall. And up. And up. And up… That’s a big wall. Like, wow. Ok, you’ve gotten permission to enter, head on inside and uh oh. Something to note about General Armstrong - she does not care for fools who A) don’t immediately follow her orders, and B) are so easily impressed by their surroundings. Bunny!Ed cowers from the glare of Bear!Armstrong. [General Armstrong]: “Be warned, I won’t coddle you just because you’re children. This is the Mountain Fortress, Briggs! Here only the strong survive!”

Alright, so it seems that our Protagonist didn’t make the best first impression, and Armstrong the Great has been established as a hardline commander. I am really looking forward to seeing more of this fort, and the person who leads it. Post-credits scene! May and Marcoh have reached a small cabin and dug up a box, holding Scar’s brother’s (does the guy actually have a name?) research notes. Could the combination of Xing Alkahestry and Amestris Alchemy be an alternative to the Philosopher’s Stone? [Marcoh]: “Well… there’s only one way to find out.”

[precuredaily]

Precure Day 134

Episode: Futari wa Precure Splash Star 36 - “What to Make? Mai’s Worries and the Cultural Festival” Date watched: 19 June 2019 Original air date: 15 October 2006 Screenshots: https://imgur.com/a/wZe5V3H Project info and master list of posts: http://tinyurl.com/PCDabout

I showed you my disguise please respond

I really like how this show has slowly been building up to the cultural festival ever since the girls returned to school. The first mention of it I can recall was way back in episode 31 when Kenta was scouting a partner for his manzai act, and it came up again in episode 34, when Saki gave Kazuya advice on his own school’s festival. Now it’s time to get into full swing, as we see the girls of Yuunagi Jr. High preparing for their own. The art club is in charge of designing a monument, while Saki’s class is preparing to put on a haunted house. Additionally, Kenta and Miyasako can be found practicing for their manzai show in their spare moments. Meanwhile in Dark Fall, Kintolesky is getting grilled for his repeated failures, and Akudaikaan tells him he needs to come up with a better strategy than his head-on assaults. He doesn’t like this advice very much, but he sets out to observe the students working and figure out a plan.

There’s a problem with all the prep, though: Mai has artist’s block, because she has trouble drawing to a theme, and there’s also a lot of pressure on her to design a good monument.

With only a week to go until the festival, she’s losing confidence in herself, but Saki cheers her up. A day later, she still doesn’t have anything, and when Saki comes to see her, Mai bursts into tears.

well she is a millennial, it’s very stressful situation

(Okay actually these are tears of joy/relief after Saki tells Mai that she’s always liked the drawings that Mai seemed to enjoy making and she should just draw what she likes for this)

Mai goes home that night and finally has a spark of inspiration. She presents her idea the next day and everyone loves it so she has the art club get to work bringing her vision to life. All the prep is going well and the festival is just a few days away, and Kintolesky continues observing them trying to come up with a strategy. After two days of contemplation he finally decides to set his master plan in motion: he steals Saki’s pumpkin head prop and sneaks up on Mai. Then he reveals himself to her and throws the head away, satisfied that he has accomplished his assignment, but he accidentally throws it right into the still under construction statue, damaging it.

He straight up apologizes for damaging the statue but Mai is still upset, and Saki shows up looking for her pumpkin head, and gets upset that he’s damaged both Mai’s statue and her mask. He urges them to transform so they do, and it’s a Bright and Windy type of day. This time, Kintolesky really ramps up his fighting style. He’s throwing trees, swinging on vines, coming at the girls from every direction. It’s a great battle and the duo are barely holding their own, even with their wind and light attacks. Kin creates an Uzainaa out of a bunch of tools that are lying around but he still does most of the fighting himself. He gets particularly upset when the girls reveal that they were preparing for a cultural festival, because in his view these are a waste of time, and he only values athletic festivals.

This doesn’t sit well with the heroines, who espouse how hard they and all their friends have worked on every aspect of this festival, and with the help of Moop and Foop making their only appearance in this entire episode, they power up with the Spiral Rings and dispel the villains. Kin quips that strategizing really isn’t for him and runs off.

That evening, the art club completes work on the statue and the whole class is admiring it. It really is lovely.

Mai explains that her feeling was that people can fly higher with the help of others than they can on their own, and that’s what she tried to convey with the statue. In particular, she admits that she designed the statue with her and Saki in mind, and you can definitely see how the two figures at the top resemble them. Mai says she feels that she can be the most at ease around Saki, so she can fly the highest when holding Saki’s hand. Saki returns the sentiment, and the two of them pose just like the statue, closing out the episode.

They’re too cute

Okay, there’s an elephant in this room that I need to address. The Art Club basically decided Mai would design the monument without asking her if she wanted to. She didn’t volunteer for it, not even tepidly, she was voluntold. They had a vote and decided she should do it.

LOOK AT HER FACE. She is so uncomfortable with this situation, and who could blame her? This is a tremendous amount of pressure that has just been placed on her shoulders without her consent. This lays the groundwork for the entire episode, and it’s the rare instance in Precure where I find myself actively hating the message they’re pushing, or at least they way they go about it. (off the top of my head, there’s another in Princess Precure where Haruka is losing sleep to make a dress) It doesn’t matter that the outcome was ultimately positive, you cannot just force someone into this situation. If they had at least showed her agreeing to try to design the monument, or being part of a group that was designing it, or shown her being unwilling but then she got encouragement from her friends and then volunteering, I would be fine. But they shoulder her with this burden and the episode plays off her stress without comment. I cannot stand that.

Ignoring that she was pretty much forced to do this, I like that they show her struggling, because seeing the support that her friends give her through her trial is nice, and the spark of inspiration being that very friendship is wonderful. The monument itself is beautifully designed and I would honestly love to see it in real life. Mai has come a long way from just drawing people and objects that catch her attention.

Kintolesky is being peak Kintolesky this go-round and it’s hilarious. After being tasked with coming up with an actual plan rather than just fighting the girls, after all that observation, the best he can do without compromising his morals is to sneak up on Mai. In the fight, he is in top form (sorry Saki), and it’s glorious. He gives the girls a run for their money and they give him one right back. There’s a lot of moving back and forth and striking and blocking, and the Uzainaa is almost pointless but hey, gotta get that miracle drop in. My favorite part is how he accidentally damages Mai’s still under construction statue and, without hesitation, apologizes for it. He was only trying to sneak up on her and declare a fight, he didn’t want to actually break her work. Saki shows up, angry, and he says again that he is sorry and didn’t intend for that to happen. When have you ever heard a villain apologize before in this show? It’s just more reasons why Kintolesky is the best.

Lastly, I like how they show everybody preparing for their roles in the cultural festival. The prep work we got in FW and MH was in the form of the class rehearsing for their play, we didn’t see any haunted houses or statues or maid cafes or whatever other staples of anime cultural festivals you can think of. So showing that effort was a welcome change.

Next time, we get to see what all the hard work was for! Or do we? Look forward to it!

Pink Precure Catchphrase Count: 0 Zekkouchou Nari

Miracle Drop Count: 3

[wilhelmjfink]

The Great Divide - Chapter 14

A/N: Sometimes I look back at the one smut piece that I’ve written and see that it has 300+ notes and then I remember this series and how there’s like 4 of us? Is it even worth it? But hey if I haven’t mentioned it lately, the like handful of you that are here are the fuckin’ best, man. I never ever in a million years would’ve thought I would ever share my fanfics anywhere at aLL EVER SO like that there’s other people that just read it and liked it?? Shit’s fuckin’ wild. Sorry, I’m drunk. Got me right in the feels. This one is LONG!

But forreal. Thanks for reading xoxoxo

“You can’t just waltz through the fuckin’ gates, pick out some random broad and just leave with her...”

Daryl eyed Warner where he sat in the grass, still tied up and unable to move, watching Daryl and his friends begin to load up their vehicles and prepare for the run. At least he was outside and able to get some fresh air. Daryl still had to violently stifle the urge to beat the shit out of him right then and there.

“’n why the hell not?”

Warner developed an attitude as if they were supposed to just know the rules; like it was a waste of his time having to explain it to them. And that was one thing the group noted of him: that he often went from one personality to the other, though there was not necessarily a dramatic difference between the personas inside of him. “Well, for one, they’ll shoot you on sight,” Warner explained flatly. His tone was getting sharper, more snarky -- Daryl was considerably proud of himself for not grabbing him by the neck and strangling the life out of him. It went unmentioned, but the others were as well.

And though Warner had learned well enough now to not poke the bear — Daryl, of course, being the bear — he genuinely offered up all the information he knew without issue, cooperating entirely likely in hopes of being freed from the ropes around his wrists and ankles. “But if you get in there, and you go get to the trade, and you just... instantly pick out the girl, they’re gonna know something’s up — ”

Rick interrupted: “So we’ll play it off -- hang around for a little bit first.”

With a slow shake of his head, Warner disagreed. No... just -- just trust me when I say that she will not last very long there. Ones like her, they -- ”

“Why do they even care?”

Warner narrowed his eyes, clearly irritated at being interrupted yet again. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, if you would let me finish.”

Daryl glared at him and Rick remained silent, a wordless request to continue.

“The big slave trade always comes right after this big event they call The Reaping,” he explained, drawing the attention of the all four that were around within earshot loading the truck. Even before he’d told them what The Reaping was, the name alone sounded bad, and not a single one of them had a good feeling about it. “It’s where they volunteer another slave to fight against one of Asher’s best soldiers.”

Rick and Daryl exchanged glances, having remembered Warner briefly mentioning this earlier, but they’d blown over it at the suggestion of going to the slave trade as it seemed to be the easiest way to get inside The Divide. And Warner seemed to switch personalities, yet again -- this one a bit darker than the others, in the very least. 

“But the thing is,” he continued lowly, as if he was telling a ghost story around a fire, “it’s never as random as they intend it to be. The oldest slave there — some old bag named Hilda or something — she always has to choose someone to fight. And there’s an agreement amongst the slaves: that she always chooses the newest addition.” He looked back and forth between the two men looming over him as they stared down at him with hooded eyes, their expressions vague, waiting impatiently for him to make his point though they undoubtedly knew where he was going.

“Alright,” Rick pushed. “And?”

“And if your girl was the newest capture, then fuckin’... Linda or whatever offered her up to fight.”

“Why are ya just tellin’ us about this now?” Daryl demanded in response, the only reasonable response that made sense inside his head at that moment was anger that he hadn’t been told earlier, as if that would make a difference. 

And he only got angrier when Warner merely shrugged. “Didn’t think about it until just now.”

Fighting the fire inside of his veins, Daryl’s fists clenched at his sides while he  looked over to Rick in search of answers, while also simply refusing to believe that Warner’s words were entirely true. The way that he told it, as if he was narrating a play with the way those other personas rotated who was in charge -- it was almost too practiced. There had to be a way to get into The Divide, especially if they had Warner there with them.

After a moment of silence while they all contemplated his words, Daryl spun back around toward the stranger and took a threatening step closer to him, pulse racing, breath huffing. “Listen: I don’t care if I gotta skin ya and wear ya like a god damn hat to get in. You’re gonna get us where we need to be if it’s the last fuckin’ thing ya ever do. So cut the bullshit and stop dickin’ around!”

“It’s not bullshit,” Warner replied defensively. He would’ve held up his hands in surrender if they weren’t bound together at the wrists.  Every so often, a side of Daryl broke through the composed persona Rick had him putting on for his own good, and it was not very comforting for Warner. “It’s the truth -- it’s all truth.”

“Good. And ya better dig deep inside that head’a yours and figure out every truth ya wanna say to us right here, right now, ‘cause if we get there ‘n ya suddenly remember somethin’ relevant, I’m gonna put ya threw the god damn wringer ‘n y’all are gonna wish you was dead. Are we clear?”

Warner swallowed hard, struggling to remain stoic in response. “I’ve got nothing else for you.”

“For your sake, I hope ya ain’t lyin’.” Daryl clearly didn’t believe him still, but the others weren’t entirely convinced either. But considering it was the only lead they had, they knew they needed to at least take a shot because at that point, something was better than nothing.

Their plan was to go back to the original spot where Riley’d been when she disappeared — in the outskirts of the woods with the dead soldier on display as a checkpoint. They were going to strip him of his clothing and, taking into account the corpses stature and disregarding it’s abnormal, alarming outer appearance, Carol volunteered to dawn herself in the armor and join Warner in returning to the The Divide during the trade with Glenn and Michonne both posted up on adjacent buildings, with their sniper rifles trained on Warner should he decide to pull any subterfuge. Tara, Aaron, Abraham and Michonne would on standby incase things got out of hand. The less obvious it was that Carol was out too of the ordinary, the better.

If Warner was actually correct, and they could make it to witness the fight between the slave and the designated soldier, if it really was Riley, that would be even better. “We’ll leave at sunrise,” Rick said, slamming the doors of the van shut. “We’ll stop at the Hampton, grab the armor, and head north from there.”

“Why so soon?” Warner asked from where he sat on the curb of the road. Not even particularly malicious, either; he sounded genuinely apprehensive. “The trade may not even be that soon. It’s usually a week after the -- ”

“Because, if she really did get chosen for that ‘Reaping’, we wanna be there incase it goes wrong.”

“If it goes wrong, you’re better off staying out of it.” Warner looked between the group above him, finally a look of authentic concern on his features, though Daryl still wouldn’t believe it. It still took every bit of self control he was harboring to not beat him mercilessly right then and  there. “There are one-hundred-and-thirty-six heavily armed Slavemasters at The Divide,” he continued, “and that’s just the main county. And no offense, but the six or seven of you guys won’t win that battle.”

Rick cocked his head in careful consideration before narrowing his eyes, a dark but familiar vengeful expression blanketing his face. “Don’t you worry about that,” he said lowly. “We’ll be just fine. Let us worry about that part.”

The drive was long and uneventful.

Warner’s directions matched the routes on the map and he sat in the back seat of the van, hands tied together still, to which he commented on several times during the trip only to be ignored.

“There’s a long underground tunnel,” he told them, alternating between staring out the window at the blur of trees and derelict buildings and his fallen comrades armor that lay stacked on the leather seat next to him, “like the Lincoln tunnel was went in and out of New York City years ago.”

“Is it clear?” Rick asked.

“Of walkers, yeah. But it’s guarded pretty heavily.”

Him and Daryl exchanged another silent glance. “How heavy is pretty heavy?”

Warner was aloof now, not tuned into the conversation and seemingly uninterested as he shrugged. “That depends on what you think you can handle.”

Rick knew that Daryl was fuming before he even looked over at him, his friend sitting next to him with narrowed eyes and audibly gritting teeth, but wordlessly a look out of the corner of Rick’s eye made him relax. Warner’s game seemed to be just that: offering insight, then shrugging it off and playing dumb. Rick was the one that cracked him in the first place; Daryl knew it was in his best interest to just listen as opposed to act.

Glancing up in the rearview mirror, Rick made sure the second vehicle was still in tow behind him, Rosita, Tara and Abraham keeping up and the third with Michonne, Aaron and Glenn close behind.

When he turned back around, focusing again on the road ahead of them, his foot went robotically to the brak at the sight of a motorcycle gang down the route, throwing a hand outside of his window to signal to the others behind to slow down as well. Ultimately, the gang roared up to them with little consideration to the racket they were making and some even left their bikes idling while they waiting for Rick and his group to exit the vehicles.

The leader was a stocky older man — not the weak and helpless kind of older, either; he had tattoos covering every inch of exposed skin they could see and his silver hair was greased back over his head, the sheen matching the chains that decorated his leather vest. He smiled, showing his yellow-stained teeth, and killed the switch on his bike. Rick had a hunch that they might’ve been related to Warner somehow, but the man spoke up from the backseat without even being prompted to confess.

“Hey!” Warner called out and Daryl stepped out of the van cautiously. “That’s Six — that’s my group — let me outta here, I can talk to them!”

Daryl hesitantly looked to Rick for confirmation and when he gave him a stiff nod in return, Daryl leaned into the back seat and grasped onto Warner’s dirty collar and just about dragged him from the vehicle. He stumbled out onto the pavement below, struggling with his bound limbs, but managed to push himself to his feet clumsily, trying to compose himself infront of his old comrades.

“Well, shit, looky here, boys! It’s fuckin’ Warner!” The man in front howled, eliciting a rumble of laughter and hoots from the gang behind him. “We was so sure that new girl you caught had killed ya, left ya for dead.”

It seemed almost too easy -- they knew instantly he was talking about Riley. It only made sense with how quickly they’d found him after her disappearance, right? Warner’s eyes were wide at the remark, looking like a deer in headlights. Daryl stepped forward, confidence wavering at the sight even though he was sure they were his crowd of people; they were not nice men and if they were anywhere as bad as Warner had been describing them as, he needed to tread lightly.

“That new girl,” he tried to remain stoic as to not show any emotional attachment and weakness though he was sure he’d failed. “She alive?”

“Alive?” Six grinned more to himself as he contemplated an answer and Daryl had to remind himself once again that these were fucked up people and that his answer was more than likely not true, whatever it may be. But he still needed to listen and, for fuck’s sake, be cautious.

Though, he was very happy to hear the answer Six gave. “She’s doin’ just fine. Real nice, actually. Feisty thing. She’s goin’ up in the Reaping tonight in the Pit — man, I can’t wait to see that broad swingin’.”

That confirmed their fears that she was the one selected to fight one of the toughest soldiers in the Divide that night. Daryl’s last few days had seemed like nothing but sadness and the constant struggle to keep a level head. And he’s accepted that they were already outnumbered at that moment, reminding him to remain calm. It was likely the only chance they were going to get. And luckily, Six continued before he could lash out even if he wanted to. “But never mind that — Warner! Where the hell ya been, man? Pit’s been searchin’ everywhere for you!”

His voice was dripping with smarmy sarcasm and he was clearly less than impressed with Warner’s appearance, though the sinister smile still haunted his features. There was nothing behind his face, a shallow mask the only thing that they could see before them.

“Well, uh... I — “

“Oh, ‘n shit, before I forget...” Six reached around his belt, searching for something in particular as he muttered to himself and both Rick and Daryl watched curiously by the sidelines, attentive to his every move in anticipation of what might happen next. “I have a message from Asher for ya...”

Warner’s eyes widened and he through a fleeting glance over his shoulder like he was searching for something or someone, afraid of being watched or tricked. “Asher? For me?” Daryl’s crossbow was tight in his grasp and he was feeling particularly trigger happy.

“Yeah... what was it? Oh, that’s right!” In the blink of an eye he’d unholstered a .357, cocking the hammer back and pulling the trigger in one swift motion that sent a bullet right between Warner’s eyes. He fell like a bag of sand, eyes still opened, blood pouring from the circular wound just above the bridge of his nose.

Silence.

Daryl and Rick both visibly flinched at the sudden action, neither having expected that response out of the strangers and only reinforcing the fear in their bodies and reminding them once more to be abnormally cautious and wary around them. 

Six chuckled. Dary’s blood was boiling beneath his skin. He was furious — he was fucking livid. Even more so because he knew that, for his own safety and the safety of his friends, there wasn’t a mother fucking thing he could do about it but stand there and stare.

The one fucking piece of the puzzle that Daryl had  that held any sort of possibility of leading him to Riley and the one fucking thing that gave him a glimmer of hope that he could reach her again. The one frayed, narrow thread that connected him to his girl that he was grasping onto for dear life... it was laying dead at his fucking feet.

It’s Fallout. Thanks for playing everyone. It’s the Fallout 3 DLC The Pitt. *flips table* 

[cello-warrior]

Chapter 3

Chapter 2

Chapter 4 (Not yet Posted)

I pulled my hair into a tight ponytail at the base of my neck to complete my ensemble for the horrid day that awaited me. I chose black leggings and a black crop top. If I had to go through a long ass bus ride I may as well make myself comfortable.

I walked out of my bathroom and froze as I saw a tall women dressed in a teal shirt and jean shorts laying on my bed and watching tv. She saw me and gestured toward the nightstand, on top of which was a travel mug filled with what I presumed to be coffee. “Took you long enough Scarlett. I was about to drink your share.”

I sighed heavily and shook my head as I picked up the mug “Harper have you ever heard of knocking?” I took a sip. It wasn’t cold, but it definitely wasn’t hot. She must have been in here for a while. Not surprising. Harper would wander into my room at all hours of the day.

Harper smirked. “That’s the thanks that I get for bringing my best friend coffee?”

I frowned. “I wouldn’t call us best friends…” I set the mug back down on my nightstand before opening my dresser. I pulled out the stakeout gear I would need for taking down the drug deal tomorrow.

Harper gasped and put her hand over her heart. “You wound me”

I chuckled. “So sorry about that. Hey, jeans or cargo pants? For a stakeout.” I asked, holding up a pair of black jeans and a pair of black cargo pants.

She frowned, considering “The cargo pants. More room to hold ammo if things go wrong. And snacks if the baddies take forever” I nodded and folded them before putting them in my bright red duffle bag. “Another mission so soon?”

I zipped the duffle bag shut and slung it on my shoulder. “Unfortunately. I have to take the bus with Kim Namjoon to the copper district, sleep in a hotel there, and take out the ringleader of the drug deal Talon is trying to orchestrate with the teens in the foster home there.”

Harper blinked.  “Wait, back up. You're going on a mission with someone?! With the same guy you had to extract last night?”

I nodded.  “Yep. He's an asshole, by the way” I chugged the remainder of the coffee.

Harper seemed skeptical “I don't think Jin would want an asshole in his inner circle”

“You and I both know how forgiving Jin can be. He only takes people out when there's a threat to ARMY”

Harper nodded. “You've got a point”

I put my hands above my head and stretched them backwards. “I gotta get going Harps. I still need to stop by the weapons room to pick up extra ammo”

She waved as I walked out of my room. I didn't try to ask her to get off of my bed. I knew better.

And besides, I'd be willing to bet that she had already fallen asleep.

As I walked into the weapons room, I waved to Wulgi. He’s been a junior ARMY in the mansion’s weapon’s room for almost a year, but now he’s been a senior member since… 3 days ago. He smiled when he saw me.

“Hey Scarlett! Back for more ammo?” I nodded and he went to the ammo drawer.

As Wulgi dug around, I let myself doze off thinking about his promotion from junior to senior member. Instead of the usual mass testing, Jin had approached Wulgi himself and told him he can’t wait to have Wulgi fully join ARMY. It was a great honor, and the closest thing to “graduation” most members of ARMY have ever known. Jin’s grandfather had instituted the initiation method that ARMY used. All members are put through a year-long training. This was to teach them the appropriate skills they would need to go on missions of whatever type they would specialize in, ensure that they could be trusted (at least a little bit), and teach them a valuable lesson: to be humble. Members of ARMY get killed or hurt all the time, and many of those casualties are from recklessness. Jin’s grandfather believed in reinforcing the idea that you and those around you are always vulnerable.

Medic juniors see and treat the horrific wounds that you can get. Combat juniors are never sent on true missions, but some have gotten broken bones during just the training. Service juniors, like Wulgi, choose to do the more menial jobs of keeping the guns up to shape, cleaning, handing out ammo, stitching damaged clothing, whatever. Not as dangerous, but the skills are still considered valuable. After all, taking bloody and/or ripped clothing with bullet holes to the dry cleaners will raise eyebrows.

Wulgi was one whom had switched from combat to service. He always struggled with the more physical aspects of his combat training and felt that he would put his team in danger. One day, while we were both still juniors, he asked me to go to the mansion with him to speak to the boss about the switch. While we were walking towards the boss’s drawing room, (Jin's father at the time), he began feeling weak and collapsed. I hastily got help, and he was rushed to the medical bay.

When Wulgi woke up, Jin's father personally came to his bedside to check up on him and witness the diagnosis. The medics explained that Wulgi had a heart condition where it could go haywire during moments of stress. It was manageable with medicine, but it still meant that he could never be sent into combat. Jin’s father offered Wulgi his condolences and a job as a service junior within the mansion. (Wulgi later joked with me that it wasn't how he thought the meeting would go, but he was glad the outcome was the same) Wulgi agreed and in short order it was decided that he would start his junior training over as an attendant in the mansion.

“Ok, sleepy. Wake the hell up” Wulgi jerked me out of my thoughts and handed the box over to me with that same wide smile on his face. I chuckled. The man will have smile lines the size of canyons.

“Hey, I've got a long, slow bus ride ahead of me. I'm allowed to be sleepy” I carefully put the ammo into my duffel bag and noticed the time. I was late. “Crap, I gotta go. Congrats on the promotion!”

“Thanks Scarlett!“ He chirped as I speed-walked out of the door and towards the front of the mansion.

As I approached the front door of the mansion, I stopped short and barely caught myself before my mouth hung open. Standing near the door was a vision of hotness. He wore a long-sleeve black turtleneck that contrasted vibrantly with his smooth pale skin and hugged every last curve of his muscular arms. He was leaning up against the wall, looking down at his phone and occasionally ran his free hand through his blond hair. I felt the sudden urge to do the same.

I shook my head violently to clear my thoughts of Namjoon. I was going on a mission and couldn’t afford to have my mind clouded by lust. I had to remember that. I would not let a man's attractiveness be the last of me. I'm an assassin, not some love-struck teenager.

I stomped my way over, stood in front of him, and crossed my arms in front of my chest. I huffed and cleared my throat after a few moments of being ignored. He finally looked up at me through his long eyelashes and raised an eyebrow.

“Took you long enough” he said as he locked his phone and put it in his pocket. Without looking at me, he leaned down and grabbed his duffle bag from next to his feet and started to head out the door.

I tsked. “I was just getting prepared” I followed him up the long driveway of ARMY’s mansion.

“Then get prepared faster next time. I was waiting for you for a good 10 minutes” He opened the gate and locked it again once I had walked through.

I rolled my eyes. “Listen, Namjoon, this beauty doesn’t happen magically.”

He slowly swept his eyes over my body with a skeptical look on his face. “What beauty?”

I spluttered. “Excuse me?”

He smirked and tilted his head to the side. “I’m confused. Where is the ‘beauty’ that you’re talking about?”

I gave him a glare fierce enough to melt rock. “You didn’t seem to have trouble finding it yesterday.” I spun around and began walking, not bothering to see if he was following or not.

He caught up to me and walked a few paces behind. We didn’t speak again until we reached the bus stop. It was only about a five minute walk. ARMY’s mansion is in the middle of the suburbs, which are constantly brimming with busses to take people into the city for work. It’s a case of hiding in plain sight; most people don’t even notice that the mansion is there because it’s so well hidden by trees. If you stood on the street and looked toward the mansion, all you would see is a forest.

When we reached the bus stop, we only had to wait a couple of minutes. Namjoon shoved his way in front of me and sat in the very back. I rolled my eyes and sat in the same row but on the opposite side. As I felt the bus start moving painfully slow. I dug out my headphones and started up a podcast, then stared out the window. I cringed. What would take me 10 minutes in my Veyron is about to take 45. I was vaguely aware as the trees and houses gradually turned into bricks and skyscrapers. Letting my eyes glaze over, I started to think about how much ARMY has given to me...

When I was too young to remember, I was orphaned. I broke out of the foster system at 16 because I was sick and tired of being pushed and shoved and hit around. They tried to find me, of course, so I went away from the center of the city and hid in what I thought to be an abandoned building. I later learned that it was an old storage shed on ARMY’s land.

I stole myself a gun and fought to keep myself alive. A couple years later, Jin’s father discovered me in that shed. I don’t know why he was there. To my knowledge, he hadn’t been to or from that shed since. I can only assume he saw me turn on a light or something from afar that night and decided to check it out. But when he startled me and I grabbed my gun, aimed, and fired a warning shot in less than a second, he immediately offered me recruitment into ARMY. No questions asked.

The next year was my junior training in ARMY. I was placed in the assassin and solo opps track and I quickly excelled and shone far above everyone else. And no, I won’t be humble, i’m telling it like it is. I would constantly beat my peers and the instructors in practice combant and on the shooting range. Jin’s father knew this and one time contacted me to tell me that I was a natural and the best assassin junior he’s had in recent memory.  I was overjoyed. Such praise from ARMY’s boss wasn’t common.

When I was two months away from being promoted to senior army, tragedy struck. Everyone was whispering about it, but I ignored them, too focused on my training to care. It was cut short when Jin summoned me to the mansion. It was odd, but I didn’t outwardly question it. Jin had never shown an interest in me before, but trust me when I say don’t question the senior members. When I arrived, I saw a man whom eyes contained the strain that only comes from the pain of great and true pain.

I was shocked when Jin told me that his father had been assassinated and that he was now the boss of ARMY. I nearly fainted when he told me that his father had instructed him to promote me immediately to the position as Jin’s personal bodyguard and special operations assassin. I moved into the mansion immediately, and grew to love and respect Jin and the rest of the inner circle. Every other member of the inner circle is intensely loyal to one another. I would fight and die a hundred times over for ARMY.  

“Hey. You can get your ass up now or I'll leave you here.” Without waiting, Namjoon turned and walked to the front of the bus. I jolted back to awareness, gathered my stuff, and ran off the bus. I sighed in annoyance. We’d never be able to be partners if he didn’t learn how to stop being an ass.

When I finally caught up to him, he was checking his phone. I assumed it was the message from yoongi that contained the address for the hotel and instructions for checking in. When he finally put his phone back, I looked at him expectantly with eyebrows raised and head tilted.

“The hotel is a straight shot down this way…” he pointed behind me. “It’ll be on our left. Let’s go.” He walked past me, nearly bumping into my shoulder. Rude.

I kept my eyes firmly on him. Not only because I didn't know where we were going, but also I didn't entirely trust him not to bolt off in a different direction to where the hotel really is and leave me in the dust. I wouldn’t even be able to text yoongi for the info, because once he sends out that information, he gets rid of it to make it that much more difficult to track our movements.

After a few minutes of walking, my eyes wandered down to appreciate how the sunlight was highlighting every single curve of his damn good ass… I mean assets. I bit my bottom lip as I traced the curves with my eyes.

Suddenly he stopped, dead in his tracks. I went to say something about how he needs to watch it, but something about how he tensed his broad shoulders and stood ramrod straight set off warning bells. I reached into my jeans for my phone, acutely aware of the pistol right beside it, and turned it on. I pretended to write something out as I kept my gaze trained on his hand so I could pick up on any hand gestures. After a few tense moments, he moved his fist to the left two times. Taking the cue, I pocketed my phone and began walking past him toward the alleyway that he had gestured to.

As I was walking by him, he muttered something under his breath.  Before I knew it, he grabbed my hand, dragging me into the alleyway and behind a dumpster so that we were out of sight from the street.

“What the fuck?”  I yanked my hand away from his grip, ignoring the tingling sensation that his touch had given me.

His head snapped toward me as he angrily whispered. “Shut up would you? We aren't out of the woods yet”

I wrinkled my nose at him and silently readied my pistol. I held it in front of me, but lowered, waiting for Namjoon to give me a signal that whatever danger he was seeing had passed. About a minute had passed when he holstered his gun. “Coast is clear”

I holstered mine and glared at him. “And?”

He raised his eyebrows. “And what?”

I rolled my eyes. “You aren’t going to apologize for dragging me, quite suddenly, into an alleyway?”

“Oh for fucks sake. Would you rather we had gotten spotted? Need I remind you that we are in enemy territory? If you couldn’t figure that out yourself, I suggest that you return on the next bus” With every word he took a step closer and I started to notice the scent of a full-bodied ad expensive cologne. At any other moment, the intoxicating scent and fire in his eyes would have drawn me in.

My eyes narrowed to slits as I struggled not to slap him. “Let me remind you, Namjoon, that I am Jin’s personal bodyguard. I am not an idiot and I will not accept you treating me like one or speaking to me in that tone. I am a very dangerous woman and disrespecting me means disrespecting Jin. So knock off the attitude now before I have no choice to punish you.”

Namjoon sighed heavily and backed off a few steps. “I’m sorry, ok? We were almost spotted. I saw a Talon member on the street that would have recognized me. He started to turn around, so I did the only thing I could think of and got us out of sight.”

“Apology accepted. Next time though, Don’t grip my wrist so hard.” I rubbed it as I spoke as  an effort to get rid of the tingles that still lingered after his touch.

He smirked and chuckled before turning back to the main street. “That’s not something i’ve ever heard from a woman”

I scoffed and followed him. I wonder if Jin would believe me if Namjoon just so happened to have a black eye after the mission tomorrow. It would be so satisfying to see mr.handsome beautiful face marred, knowing I was the cause for it. I bet it would wipe that smirk clean off.  

[chezzkaa]

Numb pt 14

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Lumberjack AU Pairing: Ryan Haywood x Reader WC: 2800+

FLUFFY AF. Also angsty. Warnings for death and the likes. Thanks to @trevorcollumns for being here in person to nag me to start posting shit. I’m going to try and schedule everything weekly. October will hopefully be a productive period for Numb writing. 

Date posted: 30 Sept 2018

By the time you’re preparing for the long journey to the airport to collect your lodgemates Trevor and Alfredo, 2 more weeks have already passed.

In the snowy mountains nothing seems affected by time. A world trapped in a white shock of stagnancy. Not that you mind - having rather enjoyed the small pocket of domestic life you’ve found yourself in. The calendar in the kitchen is littered with small blue stars that mark off every storm, every few days seeing another blotch on the corner of a date. There hadn’t been many recently, with everyone in town commenting on the expected silence that comes just before the worst of winter. The world was simply giving Motbury a few days to bunker down before the weather well and truly hits. Sure, snow had fallen, but the wind hadn’t howled.

Still, the date on the calendar stares at you, their names scrawled across the small square. The smile stretching across your face at the thought of having your home filled again follows you out the front door and into the crisp morning, dancing with the sunrays that accompany the well traversed path to Hay Woodworks. The banks smaller than usual and almost free of snow, green grass struggling towards the light.

You’re at the shop every day that Ryan will let you, which is practically whenever you’d like. Each time he greets you with a beam so bright it’s blinding, arms holding you against him in a tight and warm embrace that you never want to leave. Today is no different. He waits for you on the front steps, smile so wide that you can see it as soon as the building comes into view. He’s always there now. Waiting with a cup in one hand and knife in the other, small hunk of wood stable on his knees. A blotch of colour against the crystal white brought in by the occasional heavy night of snow. Every day you wonder just how many plaid shirts he owns.

“Hey there,” Ryan greets, placing his tools down and standing with a groan, “you look happy this morning.”

“Hey,” you smile into his shoulder, slipping comfortably into his arms. As his hand comes to rest on the small of your back, you suppress the urge to sigh. “Am I not allowed to look happy?”

He laughs, the chuckle an easy rumble against the ear pressed to his chest. His other arm winds around you, the cup coming into view. “No one’s this happy in the morning. It’s suspicious.”

You don’t respond, eyes locked on the drink. “Is that cup of tea for me?”

“Maybe,” he toys, letting you go and bringing the cup to his lips. “But maybe I made it for me.”

“Nice try, asshole.” You snatch it away before he can take a sip, grinning and hurriedly disappearing into the shop. “You don’t even like tea.”

“You get back here young lady!”

“No!”

“Y/N!”

You can't help the giggles, joy tumbling from your lips and threatening to trip you with every object and corner you veer around. Not chancing a look back for fear of falling, you abandon the cup where you can, the heavy foot falls still rushing after you. The back room is in sight, an unspoken safe zone that you power towards with more speed than you've mustered in years. It catches him off guard, but a dark chuckle that sends shivers up your back is all you hear before the ground disappears from beneath you.

With your arms crushed to your side, your struggles do absolutely nothing against Ryan's hold. His laugh is warm beside your ear, tickling hairs and sending shots of electricity across your skin while he carries you the rest of the way. “C'mon Ryan,” you wheeze, “this is cheating!”

“This is being?”

He’s smirking, and you can feel it burning into your back as you wriggle.  Your hands can’t find purchase, and every time you think you’ve broken the hold his arms hug you tighter. “This is you using your glorious lumberjack arms to keep me from running rampant.”

“Glorious?” He turns the word over, wandering towards the back room and shifting through the sawdust.

“Rampant,” you repeat over the uncomfortable blush making your flirtatious joke a little more honest than you're willing to admit, the smell of wood filling your lungs. “Rampant through the streets!”

He’s not letting it go, tone more nervous than teasing. “Did you just call your boss glorious?”

"Ryan," you huff, ignoring the flip of your stomach as he draws to a stop and still doesn’t put you down, “You're missing the point. You're clearly cheating and withholding me from my true potential.”

“With my lumberjack arms?”

“Yes.”

“That you think are glorious.”

“What? Y-yes? I guess, but that isn’t important.”

The floor is a shock against your soles, so sudden that your knees bend. Ryan’s languishing in your comment, eyes searching your face once you’re able to look up at him. Though his grip loosens, you don’t step away, lost in the blue lakes that trace across your expression. A breathy laugh sees the corner of his lips quirk upward, but only slightly. “That’s a little inappropriate for the workplace,” he murmurs. His hands have moved to your waist, palms radiating a heat that works its way into the pit of your stomach. “Don’t you think?”

You can’t help leaning into him, palms coming to rest lightly against his chest. His heart thumps in your hands. “Oh no,” you breathe, “you’re not going to report me to head office, are you?”

“I am head office,” he reminds around a thick smile, looking down at you through long lashes. He’s getting closer, forehead inches from perching against yours. You take a step forward, having to rise up on your tiptoes to get your bodies flush together. He closes the gap. “But I’m certain we can come to some kind of disciplinary arrangement.”

“I really hope so,” you manage, hands gliding up his torso and looping behind his neck. “Because I really do love my job.”

“We’re very lucky to have you on the team.”

“You bet your ass you are.”

The words barely get past your lips before Ryan’s pressing his against them, soft and warm. You melt instantly, and at the touch of his thumb against your jaw you’re completely smitten. Your fingers wind a little too roughly into his hair, but rather than a yelp you receive a moan that has your skin tingling. His tongue meets yours enthusiastically, deepening the kiss until you’re both breathing around each other, caught in the moment and surrounded in saw dust.

At first you don’t hear it, but eventually the steady demand of your phone sees you breaking reluctantly away. Smiling apologetically, you quickly slip from his arms, body stinging in the newfound cold as you check the screen. Your stomach drops. Any fire that had been roaring quickly extinguished with the name. Casting a glance back to Ryan, who looks rather unravelled while he busies himself with something, anything, to hide the blush adorning his cheeks, you collect your stuff.

“I’m sorry Rybread, I’ve gotta go.”

“What?” The question is short. Like a pop of surprise as he turns completely to watch you leave. “Are you alright? Did I overstep a boundary-”

“Don’t worry about it,” you call, breaking into a jog and exiting the building before he can ask anything else. “I’ll call you tomorrow!”

-

The station is quiet, building mourning and sorrow slipping through the halls. The stairs have never been so difficult. Each step sees your knees beg to lock or buckle. A palm pushes open the door, and Michael’s grim expression greets the knots in your stomach. He isn’t behind the reception this time, instead leaning against the desk with his arms folded. He’s shaken. Eyes lined red and nose a delicate pink.

You find your voice, but it’s alien in the abandoned cold room. “How long ago did you find the body?”

“A few hours ago,” Michael replies, standing up and coming to stand in front of you. Your feet have rooted themselves to the carpet. He places a careful hand on your shoulder, urging you on. “If that. We haven’t told the family yet. Jeremy wanted to have the coroner check it all out before we went to the parents. And, well…”

“He wanted me to see her, too.”

“Pretty much.” he sighs, a noisy exhale that rattles across the floor. “C’mon, she’s in the back.”

-

“We took a while to dig her up.”

“We’re lucky the snow acted to preserve her,” you reply, looking across the pale, bloated body and toward the man opposite. Jeremy doesn’t meet your gaze, too busy burying himself in his notes. “2 weeks is long enough for a body to degrade past recognition. We’ve really caught a break.”

“Have we?” His tone is a little sharper than you’re used too, but you don’t rise to the challenge you know isn’t there. Jeremy seems to realise his mistake, mumbling an apology in between excuses of exhaustion. “Just, it’s been a rough day.”

“No worries.” You draw closer, hands clammy in the gloves. “We better get started, then.”

“Yup.” He finally puts his files down, looking to the small girl between you two. His grimace is obvious, as are the pangs of sadness playing through his chest. “Okay. So. This is Laura, the one I came to you about a few weeks ago.”

“Where did you find her?”

“Behind your house. Near… hold on.” He checks the papers on the table. “Found in the same vicinity of victims 1, 2 and 4. She was buried pretty deep under a snow bank. But with the storms subsiding for the moment she was easier to find.”

“Okay, so at least we’ve got a pattern. 7, 1, 2 and 4 have been found in the same place, and 3, 5 and 6 are also grouped together. Weird selection of numbers, but at least it’s something to work with. Number 8 will most likely be found with the second grouping? Looks like the killer is a creature of habit, after all.”

He doesn’t look up. “If there’s a number 8.”

You don’t acknowledge the comment. “No sign of the skull, I’m guessing?”

“None.”

“And was she found in the same position as the others? Curled up on her side?” You’re taking the body between your gloved fingers, folding over her hand and peering at her palms.

“Yeah.”

“She didn’t put up a fight.”

This surprises him enough to look at you, eyebrows pulling together. “What makes you say that?”

“Her hands.” You check the other one and it’s as smooth as the first. “There’s no signs of resistance, and nothing under her fingernails.”

“What are these then?” He peers closer, finger tracing shallow grazes adorning her fingers.

You place her hands down, removing a glove and shoving your palm under Jeremy’s watchful eye. “They’re the same as mine. Small grazes from working with material I reckon. Look. Mine are a few days old, too. When the report gets back I’m certain we’ll find that she got them playing with sticks in the backyard. Or...” Your try not to gulp too loudly. “Or at the community garden. I think I remember seeing her there a few times, but I wasn’t around often enough.” You put a fresh glove on. “Besides, fighting against whatever left these gashes would do far more damage than what she’s got.”

“No, no that makes sense.” Jeremy is pacing, circling his side of the medical table with a pen thoughtfully resting against his chin. “Okay, so let’s run with the idea of her not fighting the attacker.”

“Do we know what killed her?”

“No,” he replies hollowly, “we can’t tell for sure without the head. Could be blunt force trauma, or it could be some of the wounds across her torso. That doesn’t really seem possible, though. They likely occurred post death, due to the slow blood flow and lack of struggle or tearing.”

Taking in the large gashes lacing her tiny body, you’re surprised she’s still holding together. Against your better judgement, you get closer, examining the wounds as best you can. Though excessive, they don’t appear very deep. Instead they’re long slashes, as though they were made with quick, repetitive movements. Tracing the line of one that resides against her ribcage, the blackened, curled skin remains hard beneath your touch. “What explanation do we have for the burns?”

“Frost bite,” is his only response. Glancing up, he reluctantly gives in. “Yeah, it doesn’t make sense. The lacerations aren’t swollen, and if it were frostbite the whole area would be black.”

“I see what you mean,” you murmur, voice growing stronger with the next breath. “What did the others die of? The earlier ones, I mean. Didn’t number 1 and 2 have trauma to the skulls, and an attempted removal?”

“Yeah,” he says quickly, returning to the files and flicking through them. “Yeah, they did. They had lacerations on the back on the head.”

“Help me roll her over.”

“What?” He looks sick, paling with your request.

“You heard me. Come here and help me roll her on to her front.”

“We can just look at the pictures-”

“Jeremy.” Reluctantly he takes up a position, helping you ease her over. It’s not difficult, her weight barely anything, but she’s delicate. Like her skin will peel away as soon as you retract your hands. Once completed he stands back, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “J, are you alright?”

He nods stiffly, jaw setting and hands balling into fists. “Why did we turn her over?”

“I want to check something.” You lean in again, this time getting close enough for the subtle smell of damp rotting and spoiled egg to invade your nose. It doesn’t bother you, not once you find what you’re looking for. “It’s the same method.”

“What are you talking about?” He’s interested now, weak stomach settling with his peaking curiosity. Jeremy peers at where you point, taking in the small dip in the back of the body’s neck. Barely noticeable, it looks like a small tear that extends further than any of the other rips around the severing point.  

“See?” You follow the line with a finger, movement too straight to be an unintentional result. “It looks like the incision point on the first 2. Hand me their files? - Yes! Here, look. It’s the same line and it extends to the same area. Do the others have this line, too?”

Jeremy rushes through their case files, locating their photos and lining them up beside the body. “Holy fuck, Y/N,” he practically chokes, a mixture of hope and distress clogging his throat. “You’re right. That means that, if this was the same guy, he’s been killing them the same way every time.”

“Killers don’t stray from their style, simply for comfort and confidence sake,” you respond, smiling despite yourself. “Would it be safe to say that all of the victims could have been killed by blunt force trauma before their skulls were removed? Even if we don’t have some of the skulls?”

“Yes! It explains the incision, and the fact number 7 didn’t fight back. A bludgeon would kill a child instantly with enough force.”

“Especially from behind like the pictures suggest.”

You’re both grinning, the macabre situation not putting a damper on your excitement for a new lead. Jeremy’s scribbling on a pad in an instant, grip on the pen turning his knuckles white.

Shaking yourself free from the moment, a few close up photos are taken on your phone, red lines circling the locations of interest. “Does the lab have any ideas on the murder weapon?”

At this his face falls, chest deflating. “No, the wounds were too messy, especially with the attempted removal of the skull. It’s shifted too much around. All they can tell is that it's a heavy and relatively wide object. Sharp maybe? Does more bludgeoning damage than anything.”

“Have they tried looking at the livestock?” Jeremy’s eyes go wide at your suggestion, and you can almost see him vibrating. “If we’ve still got some of their skulls around we could match the fracture patterns to specific objects.”

“You are a fucking genius. If we can figure it out, we might be able to trace the murder weapon! I’ll have to check with evidence, but I’m certain we’ll have some of the sheep skulls lying around, same with the fragments.”

“And once we know what weapon we’re looking for we can find out who has access to it. You know, I have a sneaking suspicion that the victims know who it was so if we focus locally we might have more luck.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Look at how they’re all lying. They weren't arranged like that, the reports tell us that much. What with the blood found at the scenes, and concentration of lacerations on specific sides. They were comfortable enough to curl in the snow with whoever it was that killed them.”

[tetchtetchy]

wildfire preparation—air quality edition

i'm writing this as of july 2021 which means it is wildfire season for us who live in the dry parts of the northern hemisphere, especially the western united states.

why the u.s. west especially? i'll tell you: diverse microclimates fill the region; climate change leading to wet winters where the diverse fauna grows at an enormous rate and then heatwave, drought ridden summers that kill the expansive growth; and dense populations are the main culprits. Dense populations = more buildings to burn down, more vehicles on the road, more harmful human activity. because let's face it. fires aren't always started by lighting storms. often it's faulty utility infrastructure. or the heat from vehicles setting dry grass on fire. embers from a bbq/cigarette/camp fire. sometimes it's a person throwing sparks from hammering steel on steel (or iron) while working on their ranch.

anyways.

as someone who lives in the western u.s. and works in air quality, i've got some info i'd love to share with you. i truly hope it helps. the summer months of choking on smoke can leave one feeling helpless and bleak. i'm hoping you can feel less helpless.

SHIT TO GET BEFORE A FIRE/FIRE SEASON

n95 masks

MERV-rated filters for your HVAC (heating, venting, air conditioning central unit; you know you have central air con if you've got the big compressor outside/on your roof that has the big fan that throws up air when the AC comes on) system if you have one (check your intake flow to see what rating your system can handle. most new HVACs can handle MERV 16. Anything 13 and above will trap smoke particles)

humidifier and/or kettle depending on what you've got already and what you're willing to spend. get both if you can and don't already have them

an air purifier if you don't have HVAC and can spare the money. ikea's advertising an air purifier for a good price but i have no idea how the quality is. you would probably need to get a few of them and designate flow rate exchange zones (one per room, open concept floor plans would be one per zone function such as where you eat, where you relax, where you sleep)

a mop/wet mop if you don't already have one

some house plants. seriously. don't reference that 1989 nasa study on plants and indoor pollution, it is laughably outdated. just pick plants that you can keep alive and have as much surface area on the plant leaves as you can get. we're not trying to produce oxygen, we want the plants to catch the small, harmful particulates on their leaves and break them down into their basic states in the plant's soil

non-perishable food that doesn't need cooked

optional items include battery powered headlamps in case power goes out, battery banks for phones. i'm recommending battery powered lights in case power goes out and not candles because let's be self-aware. don't create a fire hazard in your home when the power went out due to fire.

WILDFIRE PREP

have a backpack ready to go in case your area gets hit with an evacuation order!

for you backpack you'll need:

original, notarized documents and IDs (birth certificates, civil licenses, housing agreements, passports)

copies of original documents instead if you happen to have a fireproof safe to keep said documents

phone and charger

family heirlooms you'd be devastated to lose (photo albums, jewelry, keepsakes)

a change of clothes if you've got room (socks, underwear, and a fresh shirt can go a long ways)

non-perishable snacks

a filled water bottle

cash (wildfires can threaten electric grids making electronic banking useless)

if you own a vehicle, try to keep as much fuel in the tank as possible in case your area gets evacuated. traffic conditions during an evacuation tend to be majorly congested and you do not want to sit in that with little fuel

check the perimeter of where you live for anything that could catch fire from embers that travel from neighboring fires. remove those dead plants, place seasoning/seasoned firewood further away from you residence. landscaping and drought can make for a catch-22: you need to conserve water but dry plants lead to fuel for fires. go with your gut and common sense as much as your scenario allows.

water your house plants

you may lose power during a wildfire event. fill water bottles, have non-perishable food stocked.

for wildfire season, i just live out of this aforementioned backpack. if i go places and need my phone, wallet, etc then i transfer those things to my pockets and then put them back in my wildfire pack when i get home. this pack becomes your forever home for these items during this time. if a wildfire is somewhat close to my area, then i travel with my pack just in case. a friend of mine had his home burn down while he was out playing tennis. all he had left were the clothes on his back and the five dollars in his pockets.

THINGS TO DO WHILE AN ACTIVE FIRE DECREASES YOUR AIR QUALITY

check your air quality

you can check AQ by sticking your head out your door. haze and smell are the best indicators tbh. if outside looks hazy and smells of smoke, close up everything and stay inside

you can also check AQI (air quality index) at sites like AirNow, PurpleAir, World's Air Pollution

check wind speed and direction

checking wind can tell you if you're going to be hit with smoke, or if you are hit with smoke but there's no fire in your area, you can find out if the wind may be carrying the smoke into your location

i use this wind map and windy.com for my area

run your air purifier and/or HVAC

put in that MERV-13 or above rated filter for your HVAC system and lower the temp for your AC so it comes on (thermostat is usually set to "auto"). your AC is cooling and filtering air already in your residence instead of drawing air from the outside

DO NOT TURN THE FAN TO "ON"

THAT WILL DRAW OUTSIDE AIR

give your AC a break after an hour

air purifiers can run nonstop, don't turn those off

when your air con is off, do the following

fill your humidifier and/or stovetop kettle with water and run them. also turn on the shower/faucets if you're keen. when the smoke in my house is at its worst, i run everything that i can. with the drought so bad this year, i won't be able to be so cavalier with my water :/

ANYWAYS increase the humidity level in your place ASAP

the moisture in the air bonds with the smoke particles and enlarges them. they become heavy and fall to the floor.

DON'T VACCUUM THAT WILL DESSICATE AND RESUSPEND THE PARTICLES

YOU WORKED SO HARD TO MAKE THEM HEAVY AND FALL OUT OF THE BREATHING ZONE

this is where the wet mop comes in

you've humidified the shit out of your home, now mop your floor

don't dry mop

you gotta wet mop

and just use water

resist the urge to also clean other stuff

you do not need to be cleaning with like bleach and stuff when your windows and doors are shut tight. protect your indoor air quality!

now you're done for a bit, give yourself a break

rinse and repeat with AC/humidity/wet mopping

if you go outside, wear an n95 mask ALWAYS

try not to go outside bc that lets in pollutants and n95 masks are kinda one and done type of deal. you'll see a grayness seep into the inside of the mask when you've worn them too long

your clothes also trap particulates, entering the home with you. try to have a place to dump your clothes without polluting the rest of your residence (an entryway, garage, side door)

check on your plants and loved ones

read/write/play games as you wait out the smoke. escape to clean air if you're able to

this is not conclusive and is based on a mix of empirical, anecdotal, and well researched studies. please be safe and stay healthy. i may add/edit this post to better serve this information.

[eurusholmmes]

My Sunshine| Mark Sloan

Obviously song lyrics come from You Are My Sunshine - by Johnny Cash. 

I was rewatching the Season 6 and 8 finale over the past couple of days.. and it just occurred to me again how absolutely phenomenal Marks character development was for the time he was on the show!

Prompt: You and Mark are head over heels in love with each other. but he believes you deserve someone better and you, on the other hand, have never wanted anything more then to call him yours. But time.. you never seem to have enough of it. 

Key: bolded italics are lyrics

Italics are flashbacks

Set during 8x24-9x01

Darkness. All you could see was the darkness, hear the rabid sounds of wild animals that tore into the body of the youngest Grey, taste the blood in the air that seeped through open wounds. It was nearly two in the morning according to your watch, and you were currently standing watch while the rest of the group slept. 

All of them except Mark. 

Your y/e/c eyes fell upon Arizona Robbins and Mark Sloan, who were nestled together in the broken back of the plane. After diagnosing his cardiac tamponade and releasing the excess blood, you’d taken Mark away from Lexie’s body and set to making him as comfortable as you possibly could. 

  ‘’Mark.” You said quietly, leaning against the back of the wing as Cristina heaved his limp body and settled him awkwardly against your chest. His warm breath ghosted your skin as you tenderly wrapped your arms around his torso, careful not to aggravate his injuries any further. He shivered as you inhaled his scent - faint cologne and scotch mixed with the smell of leather. Everything that made him Mark. “I’m sorry.” 

  “She was a good girl, y/n.” He rasped, taking your hand in his own and resting it against his face. “But she was never the one for me.” 

You had spent the next hour and a half trying to understand what he meant. Callie had alluded to Mark having secret feelings for you for years, but he had never made an effort to act on them. Secret glances and late nights, whispered confessions and once in a life time opportunities in the on-call room. 

And everything pointed back to time. No matter how much you wanted to or tried, he was always trying to find his worth in the women he slept with. Altman, Torres, Julia, Lexie.. He had tried so hard to find someone to love him the way he loved, but he never had. And now.. now it had finally hit him that you were the one he wanted. 

But it was too late. 

2007

Mark watched you with Derek from the opposite side of the reception hall. You were dressed in a lavender bridesmaids dress that clung to the curves he’d always admired; not too immodest but also leaving enough to the all seeing eye. He’d always had his eyes on you. You were the most captivating woman he’d ever met.. and he couldn’t find the guts to tell you just how beautiful you were to him. 

  “Dude,” Jackson chided, lightly nudging him in the ribs as he tightened his grip on Marks video camera. “You have got to stop undressing her with your eyes. Just.. you’ve gotta tell her how you feel man.” Jackson watched through the lense as Mark swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in his throat. The only Avery child watched intently as Mark then turned himself towards the camera and flipped the power button off.

He clearly didn’t want his speech on record. 

  “You ever get that pounding feeling in your chest that makes your whole body vibrate, Avery? First time I got it was the day I started at the hospital. Derek had brought y/n with him from New York after his move.. and they started running the Neuro Wing together. The Dream Team.. we called them. I couldn’t explain why my heart pounded, or my stomach clenched, or why I lost the ability to speak every time she was near me. Then, it hits me!” Mark snapped his fingers. “It wasn’t like any relationship I’d been in before. Not for the sex.. or for the raw magnetism.. but I was genuinely interested in getting to know this beautiful, captivating woman who was more concerned about the state of my heart then my charmingly good looks.” Jackson was stunned at the earnest expression on Marks face as he continued. “When you can find yourself a woman who wants all of you exactly as you are..” 

Your eyes met Marks in that moment, your y/e/c lighting up as you beckoned him to you from the other side of the room. 

  “You don’t ever let her go.” 

You were pulled from your trance at the sound of Arizonas weak voice. “Y-Y/n-” She murmured, careful not to wake the others as you padded over to her. “He’s saying your name again.” Grimacing, you pushed your hair out of your face and took her spot nestled in the wing, resting Marks head on top of the pillow in your lap. Arizona yawned and settled her head on your shoulder before she fell back into a fitful sleep. 

  “’M sorry y/n-” Mark said quietly. You allowed your gaze to flicker down to the man in your arms as you slowly began to rake your fingers through his hair. “All this time, I treated you like you never mattered-” 

A knot formed in your throat as tears blurred your vision. “Mark-” 

  “And the thing is, you’ve always mattered the most. And I’m sorry I never made that clear.” He was having trouble speaking, so you made no move to further the conversation - due to your silent sobbing and the fact that the three words you’d been waiting to say for years were right there, but you couldn’t find it in you to say it to him. “Can you do one more thing for me?” 

You nodded fervently. “Anything.” 

  “Remember the first time you sang You Are My Sunshine to me?” He said quietly. You remembered the night well; it was one of those rare times he’d allowed himself to open up and somehow the two of you ended up entangled on the sofa in his apartment. You wiped away hot tears from his cheeks and allowed him to fall against your chest, head tucked beneath your chin as you softly broke into song. “Can you sing it again-n?” 

The other night dear

As I lay sleeping

I dreamed I held you in my arms 

  “Look me in the face,” Derek snapped, drawing you away from guiding your resident through your post-ops to meet the angry blue irises of your best friend. “Look me in the face y/n y/l/n and tell me you are not in love with Mark Sloan!” 

  “Why does it matter?!” You cried angrily, gripping his wrist and pulling him into the nearest on-call room. Derek simply leaned back against the door and prepared himself for one of your very rare angry rants about life and existence and how sometimes things weren’t fair, but that was how it goes. “Mark has slept with Addison, and Julia, and Lexie, and Callie, and Teddy… I’m not just someones prize to be won, Derek. I’m not a toy, and I’m surely not about to give my heart to a man who has-” 

  “No idea where his worth is?” Derek said quietly, to which you found yourself slack jawed. “Mark never had a father to teach him this stuff, y/n. He doesn’t know what love is because he’s never really experienced it. Do you know what I see when he’s around you?” You lightly shook your head and waited for him to continue. “I see a love struck man who would move heaven and earth and everything beyond in order to win favor with the girl he loves. I see a man who looks at you and says, ‘My God, there’s a woman who will love me despite my flaws and imperfections. There is a real woman who will love me for who I am.” 

  “W-What does Mark see when he looks at me?” 

Derek sighed deeply and tilted his head to the right, cerulean irises glowing in the sunlight that was filtering through the blinds on the windows. “Mark looks at you like you’re his ocean.. and he’s begging to drown.”

When I awoke dear

I was mistaken

So I bowed my head and I cried

Four days. 

You stayed awake for nearly four days, eyes vacant and emotionless as you continued repeating the lyrics to You Are My Sunshine. Part of you had believed at one point that it was the only thing currently keeping Mark alive - hearing your voice. You were so dehydrated and so exhausted that it was more of a mantra then a song, but he seemed completely content with it. 

Your only link to the real world was his fingers dancing along the cracked skin of your knuckles. The blues of his eyes when the sun would rise high enough to see them. He was watching you - just as he always was. You counted it an accomplishment that he could even keep his eyes open at all. 

You are my sunshine

My only sunshine

You make me happy

When skies are grey 

The remaining six of you were rescued and transported to Boise. The doctors had diagnosed that the crash had taken the remainder of the hearing you’d lost in your left ear, partially due to the shooting over a year before. You allowed your body to relax for the first time in what felt like an eternity, eyes cast towards the ceiling as the sedation took you into a deep sleep. Your first restful sleep in over a week.

When you woke up, you were inside Seattle Grace and staring into the eyes of Owen Hunt. 

  “Y/n.. before you speak, I need you to listen to me very carefully.” The redhead urged softly. “You’ve been asleep for almost forty eight hours, but you’re still severely dehydrated and still malnourished. You’re getting your fluids through your IV, but I need you not to move too quickly or you could risk passing out. Okay?” You swallowed thickly and glanced around the room. Where was Mark? “They told me you were going to ask about Mark.” 

You immediately assumed the worst as his tone fell, and Owen noticed you reaction the second a weak sob broke past your lips. 

You’ll never know dear

How much I love you 

Please don’t take my sunshine away

  “No, no! Mark is fine.. He’s coming out of his sedation now too. If you want… I can have some room cleared for your beds to be in the same area.” His grin widened as your eyes lit up, nodding quickly enough to convey your confirmation and joy over being able to be near a conscious Mark Sloan for the first time in a week. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.” 

You waited in anticipation for Owens arrival, soon finding yourself being wheeled down the hall to Marks room. Fingers loosely clasped together, you allowed one of the interns to redo your braid as Owen and Alex maneuvered you through the main door of Marks room. “There she is-” A familiar voice rasped. “There’s my favorite girl.” 

Your eyes snapped upward and met the striking blues of the man you loved so deeply. 

The next few days were the happiest you’d been in years. Mark didn’t fail to make you feel as if you were the most priceless human being to exist, listening to your stories about your experiences together in med school, listening to him talk about all he’d learned since the day he’d arrived in Seattle. 

But what he really wanted to tell you came the night before he slipped back into the coma. 

I’ve always loved you 

And made you happy

And nothing else could come between

  “I’m sure you’ve figured out by now,” Mark whispered. It was nearly midnight and most of the staff had gone home, albeit the on-call residents and attendings which left you and Mark to the silence in your conjoined room. “It’s been a long time coming for me to say this, but there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by where I didn’t love you more then I was capable.” 

  ‘But what about-” 

  “All the other women?” He laughed bitterly under his breath and lightly shook his head as his arms tightened around you. “I didn’t know how to begin to tell you how I felt.. because you’re the only woman who’s ever been interested in me that didn’t want me for just sex and y/n.. it’s the first time I’ve ever felt truly worthy to be in a committed relationship, and I was freaking terrified of falling in love with you because of it. You.. you are someone who deserves more then this man whore. Someone who deserves a pure and honest man- Someone who hasn’t been trampled and broken to pieces.” 

You stopped his sentence short by gripping his chin with your thumb and index finger, lips just inches away from your own as you brought yourself to your knees. “No woman can have a perfect man. I didn’t. I still don’t.” You whispered. “For years, I’ve wanted all of you. The man who walks into this hospital every morning- but with battle scars and insecurities revealed underneath that thick coat of armor you call charm. I didn’t want the Mark Sloan that everyone else sees because a part of me has always known that you crave something more then just the physical intimacy. You crave a home for your aching heart, and I’m telling you that right here, in this moment in our own corner of this hospital where people can heal.. that I want to be your home.”  

Mark cut your speech short by capturing your lips in his own.

  “I love you.” 

  “I love you too.”

But now you’ve left me

To love another

You have shattered all of my dreams

Time was never on your side. 

A week passed, followed by a few more, and finally it had been a month. Thirty days. Thirty freaking days since he had slipped into sleep and never woke up. Derek had found you that morning his directive was to be put in place crying into the mattress, a broken side table in shambles beside the door and your knuckles throbbing from where you’d continuously pounded your hands into the wall. 

It shouldn’t have ever been him. 

You are my sunshine

My only sunshine 

You make me happy when skies are grey

You couldn’t bring yourself to leave his bed. Not when Derek decided to go for his first solo surgery since the crash, not when Meredith had booked it for the airport and left you alone, not when the other fellows and attendings had gathered outside of Marks room. 

It had been an hour since he’d been extubated. Now you were just waiting for the dreaded monotone flatline that would tell you that his heart had stopped beating. That his heart was no longer keeping him alive. 

  “Mark-” You blubbered, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand as you cradled his limp hand against your cheek. “I know I didn’t say it sooner, and I’m so sorry for not telling you how much you meant to me. I.. I have loved you and will never stop loving you. Meeting you.. this incredible, compassion driven, man with a golden heart was the greatest gift a girl like myself could receive. I’m sorry I allowed fear to rule how I felt for you.. and I’m sorry we never got to have our forever.” 

You’ll never know dear

How much I love you

The only sound in that wing of the hospital was the heart broken screams of Mark Sloans name as you collapsed in Derek Shepherds arms, eyes cast on the steady line now running across the monitor. Here you were.. in this world living the life he would’ve thrived in; and the love of your life was waiting for you patiently on the other side. 

Please don’t take my sunshine away

  “I can’t br-eathe-e,” You rasped, chest constricting as you fumbled for a hold on Dereks lab coat. Your other partner in crime pulled you into a warm embrace against his chest, his own tears barely held at a bay as he gently swayed from side to side. 

  “Remember that even if you’re not with the ocean, your ocean still lives on right here.” Derek whispered as he flashed a weak smile, his large hand poised directly over your heart. “Take pleasure in drowning in the forever you had together.” 

So that night, you sat quietly on your bed and ventured through your favorite book of all; a photo album.

A Story of a Love That Almost Was & A Relationship That Always Will Be

Reaching into the pocket of your coat, you pulled out the most recent picture and note and gently slid it into the plastic sheet on the very last page. The two of you had taken it on the plane just as you’d boarded under Marks insistence that your upcoming surgery be photographed as it was one to remember.

The note was nearly twelve pages long and contained the words of a story; one Mark had taken careful time to formulate when you were being taken for tests on your ears and other injuries from the crash. He wanted you to live on without him knowing that deep down you’d always be his.. and he’d always be yours, but that it was alright to move on from him.

That it was alright to live.

And with a watery smile, you took a black Sharpie and wrote the words The End in large print at the bottom of the page.