#and calling the album a 'creative death'....... lmao

[crave-mp3]

still thinking about that unreal unearth review that said it was "about as thoughtful as bullet points on a freshman year Great Books syllabus [, which] scan as a naked ploy for depth" and complaining about allusions to the atlas myth on icarian (bc apparently the quota is One mythological imagery per song),,,,, while deriding the line "you were frozen like an angel to me"--a reference to an actual scene in the Inferno (lucifer the fallen angel being trapped in a pit of ice)--as "an incoherent mix of metaphors". congrats on failing to recognize that reference dude. maybe you should have read a little further than that Great Books syllabus

#its just very funny to me #also the fact that the author condemns the snapping in all things end as being 'so mechanically regular it sounds like he forgot to turn off #the metronome' like hooo boy bud do i have some news for you. big budget artists do tend to have extremely cleaned-up and mechanically #regular backing‚ yes. metronomes are used for a reason #he kinda doesn't recognize that the lyrics of all things end aren't 'defeatist' so much as accepting the natural pain of #relationships‚ lives ect ending‚ either. which. low key annoying but not as actively embarrassing for him lol #and calling the album a 'creative death'....... lmao #oh and at one point seemed to complain about the sunlight on the mississippi line bc i guess albums can be about 1 thing and 1 thing only #anyway. anything but rights i think thats actually becoming one of my favorites off the album #vic.txt #hozier #unreal unearth

[sendmyresignation]

if you wanna indulge me, id love to hear your opinions on sing (all of mine are detractory which i know isnt the complete view of the song)

omg id love too!! sorry this took me a sec to formulate post-work haha. i know we don't agree about sing but honestly that's the beauty of music opinions- I feel like it becomes easier to define what I like about things when faced with legit measured criticism anyway

for me, i want to start with the structure and instrumental since it's usually not mentioned (most of the criticisms of sing are exclusively lyrical or intention-focused). it's so cool. and evocative. and full of tension!! my favorite use of synth on danger days, plus the keys and the drums (man i love the dd studio musician drums lmao), really emphasizes sing as a suspended moment both in the album (necessary bridge, tonally, between bulletproof and planetary imo) and in the track itself- its alllll building up to that bridge and final chorus. but there's all these little pieces- the backing vocals, there's so many hidden guitar parts that riff just under all the noise, that opening like, tambourine. sorry for not having a quote on hand but Ray's said he really loved writing sing and it's so totally obvious to me. especially live- part of the reason I was soooooo excited for sing swarm tour edition is that even during dd ray was like absolutely shredding for sing after the bridge. and everytime time it's so good. part of the reason the lyrics don't bother me is sing could stand alone instrumentally and I'd still want to listen to it. (sing also reminds me of Ray's solo music- the sentiment is more significant that the lyrics and the music is itself a vehicle for storytelling)

also though, i think there's a lot of intention with sing (it's up to the listener to determine if that paid off obv) but within the context of dd the record as a pirate radio station, sing has always read as a trojan horse song. making it a single too, like once a song takes on a life of its own outside the record there's new meaning and circumstance. so both within and outside the killjoy universe sing is a vehicle for not just the bridge but the overall sentiment of dd (how fucking excited was gerard when glenn beck took the glee bait) like, yes, i do agree they could've benefited from another pass over the lyrics (i will always defend keeping "sing it till your nuts" bc its sounds like sing it to your nuts though) but I don't personally get the criticism that sing isn't "specific enough" about what exactly it's against or is too optimistic about "sing it for the world"-- i think there are songs on the album (notably planetary right after it!) which do that job just fine. dd is gerard in arguably top lyrical form so theres a lot of meat in the rest of the record like. sing it for the world is a purposely simplistic art is the weapon. like those are the same sentiments rendered very differently!

also like. i do think there was a very directed target at the younger part of their fan base here (girl/boy) which is sweet. to me. like i did hear sing first when i was a young teen (one of the few dd songs i was familiar with) and it did feel huge and empowering at that moment. my chem are their best when they are navigating the dualities of their specific fame, which includes simultaneously making very serious, adult rock music which is concerned with violence death grief and sex, as well as being a role model for younger people and taking them seriously and neither of these are in rhetorical conflict with each other. so like whatever sing is a little juvenile. but it's still filled with passion! taken as a legitimate project with a creative instrumental and a narratively-driven music video. I like that aspect, it works for me. I'll never call it my favorite my chem song but its certainly not the worst when you add in the bridge (i wanted to prove my point without the bridge but like. damn!! it's a good bridge!!!). that's my spiel.

#god this is long but thank you for the ask it made me think :) #like at the end of the day a great instrumental with subpar lyrics is going to beat out #a song with incredible lyrics and a bothersome instrumental bc that effects tone and meaning and listenability and impact #so i think sing is v easy for me to appreciate #my posts #angstics #igottheanswer

[blysse-and-blunder]

in lieu of a break

10pm, sept 25, 2022

the title is a lie, today and yesterday have both been breaks in their own ways! but the days do start coming and they really don't stop coming, do they. kay @girlfriendsofthegalaxy did a really nice couple of posts not long ago explaining the Theory of her tuesdayposts, to which i have only to add that-- i think for me these are turning into a steam valve, where i let out whatever is happening in my head that has built up over the past little while; they are analytical or creative endeavors in their own way, sometimes, but i mainly write them for myself and my own recall (so that i can go back and check out what i wrote about first watching the untamed, for example, please see iclb 2 or 3 from way back), and to keep track of my days. which is going to mean they aren't Reviews or really Criticism, though i may dabble in both, and any enjoyment or enlightenment anyone else gets out of reading these is incidental. for this one, it's a real head empty no thoughts list of titles, so hold on to your butts let's go.

reading the big mention here is that i just finished susanna clarke's piranesi, which i didn't know how to feel about until like 30% of the way in, and then began to enjoy quite a bit as the whole conceit became clearer, and then found...melancholy but beautiful by the end. honorable mentions over the past mumblemumble weeks to (checks storygraph): squire by tamora pierce (reread), ancillary justice by ann leckie (also a reread); the raven tower (not a reread, also by ann leckie--though i still haven't finished it); and the duchess romance which i did finish mostly out of morbid curiosity.

watching strangely this will be the largest section for once! the escapism has been strong lately-- and there have been many excellent movie and tv show friendship opportunities. in reverse order, i have now seen two episodes of the new netflix bee and puppycat and find it delightful if inscrutable; i have now seen two episodes of the second season of fate: a winx saga also on netflix which i found less delightful, even more inscrutable (since i hadn't seen the first season or the previous show, lmao) but extremely funny to watch alongside more deeply invested jammies; i have now seen the first three episodes of andor and found diego luna as charming as ever; i have now seen the prestige (2006) and it did lodge in my brain in the way only very rare movies do; i have now seen the newest three (?) episodes of star trek: lower decks and did think the most recent one with the recruiting booth and the rutherford memories plotline to be incredible star trek and some of the best lower deck stuff yet; i did make my housemates watch a double-feature of the princess diaries (2001) and the princess diaries 2: royal engagement (2004), which were extremely fun and also wild opportunities for early- oughts media criticism and an in-depth examination of the portrayal of hereditary monarchy (and on the heels of qe 2's death, no less);

i FINALLY took advantage of living where i do to get to a festival screening of a film during the actual festival and have now seen catherine called birdy (2022) on the big screen (it'll be out on prime soon) which i genuinely enjoyed as a huge fan of the book and despite my feelings abt lenaham herself-- bella ramsey was perfect, andrew scott and billie piper didn't disappoint, and i could go into excessive detail about what i liked and didn't like as a medievalist but the takeaway here was 'way better than i expected, yes even that part'; *breath* AND i have now seen true grit (2010) and had some more thoughts about tragedy/catharsis/the fragility of human life. i have, as they say, the range.

huh--that's an interesting commonality i hadn't considered before, the number of 14-year-old girl protagonists in this list-- can you even imagine maddie true grit, mia from the first diaries film, and catherine birdy in a room together.

listening checked out rina sawayama's new album hold the girl (2022) and will drop in the video for the title track here. as with her other stuff, i really like her voice, her timber/range/etc seems really rich and pleasing to me, and then there'll be just...something about a song's production or whatever that turns me off of it. in this particular song, the lyrics are what got me to listen, and then the melody and her delivery next-- but i continue to be irritated by whatever spice girls pop production beat-track kicks in at like 0:27ish. this is the part of me that prefers rock to hip hop i guess, like! just commit to a drumbeat and channel the power / grandiosity from everywhere else in the song into its rhythm! is this a genre thing? is this because she's aiming for 'dance' music? ugh.

playing mostly stardew, but not as much as over the summer, now that i'm back in term time. i think i have noticed a pattern, which is that i feel the same way about trying to complete a timed errand or request in stardew that i do about trying to finish a libby ebook on time; in both cases, the deadline helps me prioritize but doesn't help me plan ahead really, and the consistent feeling of struggle just to fall short (missed gus's omelette by one egg because i didn't THINK and of course had already given him 23 other eggs so those were all forfeit) at the last minute is. hm. disappointing. keeps me coming back to try again and see if i can get it the next time though, that it does.

making made some drop-biscuits yesterday which were rich and pretty good despite not having any attempt at layers; did some mending on wednesday during dnd which was mostly not successful but did keep my hands busy (and will be the groundwork for Actually patching those leggings when i can get the sewing machine); and have now helped my housemates do some seriously refreshing furniture-and-clutter rearranging. also i opened a word doc and now have a few dozen words of creative fiction? which i keep thinking about even as getting back into it seems more and more daunting? it turns out writing for no one but yourself can be fun, wacky and wild huh.

working on this week was a turning point, in that i found reason (and was given permission) to basically abandon the direction i'd been going in all summer, in favor of working on my second chapter and coming back to the other stuff when things are a little clearer. this feels like the right call, and i hope i don't waste the reset it offers me. it does mean that i am i think officially in violation of the pact i made with @witcheryen this summer, since the writing i'd pledged to do is now...going to happen in the spring maybe? please let me know when and if you'd like to exact the agreed-upon penalties, eek. headed to a conference in a little more than a week (!), just finished coming up with a vague direction and pitch for the talk i'm giving to my on-campus research community in exactly a month (!!), and won't see my supervisor in person again until june probably. this does all explain the manic tv / movie watching up above, doesn't it. apparently i need to work on having an 'all or nothing' approach to my days, thank you @ therapist dana.

#in lieu of a commonplace book #ilcb #weekly roundup #again-- probably monthly roundup is more suitable for this one #i should...get back into paper journaling #the pressure valve benefit of this leads me to believe that would be even more helpful

[thevividgreenmoss]

My grandfather was awake and lucid for a longish while between late Friday night and Saturday morning apparently first time since this past Sunday when we all thought that was It and crammed ourselves seven people in one sedan that got a flat on the way over of course (as we were leaving the handle of the screen door came off in my hand as I was closing it behind me so the vibe was very on the nose things farcically falling apart that whole goddamn day lol) but then when we made it he was smiling and laughing and talking to and teasing everyone that was there, albeit with much more effort than it would have taken him even just a week earlier when he was already in a really frail state because of his hip surgery. My sister happened to be up later than she usually ever is and got to video call and chat with him for a bit I wanted terribly for my cousin in Colorado to be able to also but by the time he could get through my grandpa's blood pressure had suddenly spiked or something and he'd drifted back into that borderline unconscious state so they didn't get a chance to talk which makes me want to claw my fucking skin off of my face but who knows maybe another opportunity will present itself hopefully it does like he suddenly became really talkative and energized the other day after not having said more than maybe a couple sentences over the few previous days like I was there with him for several hours on Thursday and the entire time he didn't say a word and only opened his eyes once for like half a second and even that I might have been imagining after sitting there sleep-deprived and holding his hand trying not to cry because then my mom would start crying and then my aunt and on and on and if he's conscious at that point he'll start to get worried and his heart rate will destabilize but after that for this one stretch without anyone expecting it he was really talkative and alert and joking around with the nurses and doctors and all that for a while but then later yesterday afternoon he started to get disoriented and drift in and out of the present in between dreaming and waking again at one point apparently he kept saying 'look at my shoes' to my mom and her sisters and they thought it was just just the medication/pain-induced delirium talking but he kept insisting and eventually said 'you're not taking me seriously' and I guess gave up? Or said it a few more times I'm not clear on the course of events I only heard all this secondhand when my younger aunt, who also got diagnosed with cancer late last year but thankfully is more or less in the clear now, got back home last night and she and I went into his room and took all the shoes out of the cabinet he keeps them in and like looked inside and turned over and examined the soles of every pair, took the cushion insert things out of the ones that had them, checked for scooby doo-esque hidden doors, all that but there was nothing there just shoes. Her kids flew back out yesterday morning, the older one's tentatively returning to Toronto in the next week or so she had a painfully rough time in some ways her first couple of years and then abruptly had to be uprooted and leave because of covid then everything with her mom and in time honored eldest daughter tradition bearing the brunt of the familial frustration and insanity associated with that and now everything with our grandpa I really really want her senior year to go smoothly and be enjoyable and memorable in a manner opposite to how this past year+ has been I'm so worried about her and her little sister's starting freshman year there in the fall and I'm terribly worried about her in a whole different way like she's still really attached to her parents in this innocent way that still strongly resembles like a baby's adoring my mom hung the moon type attachment and it can be especially hard being away for the first time ever when that's the case...like she's hyper hypersensitive even by my family's standards lmao but she does have this sort of self-possession and inner groundedness that no one can quite pin down but it's

definitely there and maybe that

could carry her through I really hope so...they were saying to come up to visit them in the fall hopefully I can find a job soon after returning to Texas and like be able to afford to do that and also like keep paying the bills and shit lol in either case I hope so so badly that they'll be okay like I think they will be the women in my family are all really strong but they've also had to be because of various fucked circumstances and I don't want that to keep having to be the case...my grandpa's a Strong Woman in a certain way also honestly lmao like my mom's aunts have always been like your father raised you in a way beyond even most mothers which like who fucking receives let alone genuinely deserves that kind of praise from their in-laws lmao let alone a man from a notoriously patriarchal culture of a generation when fathers from any culture barely had any involvement in their children's upbringing at all which I mean most still don't but even more so back then and like literally everyone we've been hearing from or seeing drop by at the hospital has a story of how at one point or another my grandpa was there for them when no one else was like distant cousins variously removed and loose family friends all with something about how he comforted me when no one else could, I remember word for word what he said to me when I suffered some loss of my own, he's the strongest man in our family, the best times we ever had were when he was near us, when he'd take us out, his youngest brother's children saying he cared for and spoiled them as if their were his own after their dad died suddenly when they were just kids, my mom's third cousin whose own father was with her till a late age saying that he was even more of a father to me than my own father, his other brother's son who was ostracized for decades by his immediate family on some straight up racist ass bullshit on the part of his mom and older brother because he married a black woman but my grandpa stayed in touch and made sure my mom and uncle did as well and made sure we all got together when he'd came to the states, like even now lying there on what very well might be his literal deathbed when he can barely talk he was telling my uncle he's worried about him and he needs to go home and rest, asking who's taking care of the house, are the kids all okay even at this point his thoughts are for others. After I put his shoes back in the cabinet I closed it and opened the one beside just in case I guess just in case what I don't know but it was just like standard cabinet stuff clothes a shaving kit and a couple of what I assume are photo albums that I didn't feel like I should open for some reason and a few old books, a collection of Ghalib's which I can't really read very easily if at all because it's in Urdu lol, a history of government college of Lahore where his father was teaching at the time of his death and the two philosophy textbooks my great grandfather had written himself, Inductive & Deductive Reasoning, and inside the latter I found a handful of yellowed pages torn out of an old notebook upon which mostly seem to be translations of french poems and I think maybe a song or two? I guess old coursework or just for funsies I'm not sure whether written by my grandfather or his own father. My khala was mentioning just the other day that she'd kept one of my grandpa's old notebooks marked as having been designated for biology but inside it were no actual notes just urdu poetry which she wasn't sure whether it was his own original tossed off work or something the lifelong frustrated creative transcribed while bored in class. The night I got here I was looking through his bookshelves after everyone had gone to bed and then a couple of weeks ago I was sitting in the living room by myself watching archer when my cousin came and sat down next to me upset and unable to sleep on her own first night here and I held her and tried not to cry and then went through the same bookshelves again, this time with my cousin who we came to Pakistan for the first time after moving to the US

to see being born who turned three

the day we arrived on what until this current trip was the last time I was here her little sister having just been born earlier that same year (whose life I may or may not have saved when I caught her after she was dropped by the person holding her (the fact that (parentheticals within parentheticals!) I may or may not have been the one who dropped her in the first place is immaterial imo not that I'm the one on trial here but what's important is that I caught her and if anything this would be an even more athletically impressive and frankly heroic incident if I'd been the one that was holding her to begin with since I was 8/9 years old at the time and there wasn't much of a distance for her to fall and yet I kept her from hitting the ground like talk about reflexes like that's what's important and what's more important than even that @ my year older cousin (whose younger sister was the first baby in the family after myself whose arrival in this world when I was three had me positively giddy in the way that young children get when witnessing the miracle of even younger children, who's the only other one of the cousins that's been here during all this, just me and the three I got to see as darling little babies) who was the only other person in the room with me at the time, is that we take this to our fucking graves no one can hear a word of this least of all any adults in the house who like not that they're the ones on trial here either but like who allowed for this scenario to transpire in the first place where two children and an infant are in a room by themselves unsupervised in retrospect that's somewhat irresponsible not that I'd ever hold it against them or even mention it because then they might get mad and not let me hold my little cousin anymore and I do love holding my little baby cousin and carrying her around everywhere, mostly without incident)) neither of whom I'd see in person again until we visited them in Canada the summer after I graduated college the trip during which I finished the last of the Neapolitan novels the day after landing and turned 22 the day after their mother, my younger khala, turned 43, looking through my nana's bookshelves with my baby cousin no longer a baby but a U of T classics major entering her senior year, noting the overlaps with our own, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, George Eliot, the same exact copies of Cheever and Kafka's collected shorts, Umberto Eco, Proust, wondering what the various titles meant to him or what they might say about him, wondering how much of even the version of him that can be hypothesized based off his library I'm missing now that I'm limited to the much reduced version of what had been in his old home in Lahore (when he visited us after my junior year of hs and my mom was trying to convince him to downsize and move in with my other aunt with whom he's been living the past several years, the one who most resembles my grandfather the only one that has his cheekbones my khala whose eyes have sunken all the way into her skull before my eyes with exhaustion and grief over the past two weeks, when my mom was like what's the point of just hanging onto a bunch of books that you've already read: I look at them [dramatic pause], and I feel happy [my mom sighing equally dramatically in.exasperation, me cracking up in the background]) the city I was born in the house where I spent the first almost five years of my life before we moved to the US to join my dad who'd moved back shortly after my mom became pregnant with what turned out to be me, abu nana's house with the garden we'd walk through every morning holding his hand and following along as he puttered around with his plants in the garden in the house in the city he had to leave to move into my khala's house in Islamabad where I've been the past almost a month now where two weeks ago he suddenly came down with pneumonia and had to be dragged to a hospital in Rawalpindi where he's been since, not in his house, my nana's house, with the garden in the city I haven't seen since the last time I was in this country the

summer I

turned nine the day after my khala turned 30 the day before my other khala turned 32(?) the summer I first remember obsessive compulsive disorder becoming an overwhelming aspect of my consciousness although it was there before, the first summer of the Iraq war and being terrified watching the Iraq war unfold on the BBC evening news my nana would turn on

at dinner time and hearing for the first time or maybe just the first time I remember the night we left the phrase 'the rich will get richer and the poor will get poorer' from my younger khala talking to her sisters and some family friends that had come over to see us off feeling terrified and cold then embarrassed because she noticed my face visibly fall from across the room and told my mom and I was like godammit everyone knows I'm scared now smhead then crying the entire flight back home because I missed everyone and maybe had a little kid premonition that I wouldn't return to my nana's house and I would be years and years till I saw any of them again some I still haven't or maybe there was nothing premonitory about it but in either case that's the way it turned out. I do feel grateful I got to see him again at all, when he last came to the US late 2016-early 2017 I was sure it would be the last time we would be in the same room. I'd make breakfast for us every morning and we'd eat together and the entire day I'd sit next to him inhaling secondhand smoke and talking and reading. I was in the midst of my initial aborted attempt to read Swann's way when he arrived. I'd gotten to Guermantes way last summer but I couldn't find a secondhand copy so I had to read it via ebook and that didn't feel right so I abandoned it until now I've been reading a copy pulled from his bookshelf. Last he visited was the first time I learned we were both Garcia Marquez-heads which I'd kind of assumed before and I showed him Mad Men which he heavily fucked with and also every John Le Carre adaptation I could track down online. From the first time I read one hundred years of solitude the summer after freshman year of college the passage describing Colonel Aureliano Buendia's death already absolutely and unbearably heartwrenching enough immediately brought thoughts of my grandfather, aching aching sorrow over the solitude that he himself existed within in all the fucking pain his life has been inordinately filled with grief over the knowledge of this inevitable final separation from him after so many years and so much distance already having separated him from the people he loved and cared for and he loved and cared for so many people so deeply with such sincerity and beauty and endless endless warmth and compassion and humor when Gabo wrote of the colonel trying to reach back through to his memories and being unable to after previously recalling that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice even years later, as he faced the firing squad, at the moment of his death like a 'baby chick' my poor frail beautiful grandfather appearing exactly the same way when he'd take off his dentures and curl over to the side to sleep, then when awake but still half asleep hearing your voice having brought his apple cider vinegar and garlic concoction or a cup of tea or just coming by to hold his hand or play with his beard the way all of his grandchildren have at one point or another and smiling with his eyes still closed smiling bright and wide the expression of a precious little cat purring as you scratch under its chin always the most beautiful smile and even as his hair turned white and his body withered and wrinkled and shrunk his cheekbones while still not bad long ago ceased being the way they were in that picture from his wedding day back when he he looked like young Robert De Niro's much much prettier Kashmiri cousin from then until now always that same radiance and those same quick-witted and kind and bright bright bright sparkling eyes. The past month and a half I've been feeling like I'm seeing my own mother dying before my eyes along with her father, my adorable beloved abu nana, I can't even begin to comprehend how she must be feeling right now I feel like I'm witnessing her death in advance through all of this and losing the part of her that is him even though I know that's not actually the case. Things have been so fucking painful and complicated between us but the one thing we've shared that's never

been painful is our love for him. When he left after his last visit four years ago I spent the next two days barely able to even talk. Compliments or like any positive comments directed in my directions have almost always caused me this reflexive discomfort and uneasiness but whenever he or anyone else would say that I'm his favorite grandchild I'd want to hold on to that as closely as i possibly can. I don't want him to leave us and more than that I want for whatever happens to at least happen with him back at home but neither of those things seem likely right now although who the fuck knows. I hope his last thoughts can be of flowers, like Kafka's, and Lispector's, or of love, wherever he is I hope it's not asking too much to hope for that at least. For someone that spent his life so deeply immersed within that Garciamarquesian solitude he never made those around him feel any way other than at home, safe and warm and loved and adored and adorable and lovable and at home not because of a place not even the garden at the house in Lahore but with him always always I've never felt more at home than during the times I spent near him, and his love and his flowers

[monkberries]

Wait what's wrong with the AKOM How Do You Sleep episode? I remember it being fine but its been ages since i listened to it so if you've got any thoughts I'd love to hear them :)

Be aware, this is only about the first episode, not about the George-focused episode. If they resolve any of the issues I have with the first episode in the second episode, then I sincerely apologize.

First, there are some things they talk about that I agree with! Near the end of the episode, they discuss the dynamic between John and the people around him in a really insightful way, and in a way I’ve often thought about it; both John and the people around him were all kind of in this mindset of “oh, Paul rejected us? Well, we didn’t want him ANYWAY! So THERE!” They also discuss the fact that John was very easily manipulated, and nearly his entire support system (minus Ringo, and shame on them for not mentioning that) basically egged his anger and viciousness on. And they also play/read some interviews with John about the song and tangential subjects, and it’s always nice to hear primary sources.

However, much like their post about Lewisohn, I find a lot of this episode excessive, overtorqued, and generally far too exaggerated. They perceive an imbalance in narratives (which I do think is there, just not to the extent they say) and overcorrect, imho.

First, I want to get my opinion on the song itself out of the way: I listen to it a lot. It’s on my Fall 2020 playlist. I enjoy the musicality, the style; the mood it evokes is extremely strong to me. Sometimes it’s fun to indulge in feeling evil or mean without having to actually be evil or mean! Plus, I love playing it right before Jealous Guy, or Steel and Glass, or I Know (I Know), just to get that maximum John Lennon Mood Whiplash effect. I think George’s solo is vicious and perfect for the mood as well. However, the lyrics are pretty horrendous in terms of their effect on Paul and his feelings; they’re also horrendous in that they’re just not well-written lyrics. IMHO you can tell it was written by three different people all throwing insults at the wall to see what would stick and rhyme. Half of the digs don’t even make sense. “So Sgt. Pepper took you by surprise/You better see right through that mother’s eyes” Wut? “The one mistake you made was in your head” ??? The hell do these things even mean lmao

Anyway. Onto the episode itself.

Around 1 minute in, they say that there’s not a lot of check and balance in the Beatles fandom w/r/t this song, and that much of the fandom espouses that HDYS was “deserved” and “honest”. They reiterate this sentiment over in different ways throughout the episode, and I just do not see that kind of thing being a majority opinion in Beatles fandom spaces at all. Perhaps they are occupying different fandom spaces than I occupy (tumblr/Hey Dullblog/beatlebioreview), and it is true where they are? (In which case, my goodness, find some better blogs to follow, babes!) They talk about how they’ve never seen anyone pick it apart before, and that the discussion around it has not changed, that people have been saying Paul deserved it since it came out. Again, this is does not jive with my experience in the Beatles fandom.

From Shout!, a book with a well known anti-McCartney streak, published in 1981: “John’s Imagine album - despite the plea for universal peace and brotherhood in the title track - launched a thermo-nuclear strike back at Paul with ‘How Do You Sleep?’ a title suggesting crimes almost in the realm of first-degree murder. The McCartney references were unmistakable, and, often, cruelly unjust: ‘The freaks was right when they said you was dead... The only thing you done was Yesterday...’ There was even a two-fingered gesture of contempt for Paul’s new outdoor life with Linda on their Scottish farm.” Also, the RS review spends two paragraphs talking specifically about how heinous and unjustifiable HDYS is. You can definitely say that rock journalism takes some of the attitude of HDYS and runs with them, such as Paul’s music sounding like muzak - that sentiment certainly persisted. But I would argue that most of the shit journos are reacting to and buying into comes from Lennon Remembers primarily, where John says all the same crap and more, and worse, rather than HDYS itself, which they seem to balk at.

They make the claim as well that the Imagine LP has been elevated to some kind of untouchable, un-criticizeable status. In the years after his death, I think there is probably some truth to that, although again, untouchable is an extreme word. Even in 2003, the LP was number 80 on Rolling Stone’s top 500 albums of all time. However, it was 227 on NME’s list in 2013 and dropped to 223 on Rolling Stone’s new 2020 list, suggesting a waning in popularity over time and a willingness to look more objectively at the quality of it.

The thing that really bothered me about this episode is like... They talk about the need for nuanced discussion of the song, right? And that’s all fine and good, and I agree, nuance in any Beatles discussion is essential if you want to get close to any actual truth. However, they then go on to say, quite adamantly, that if you say the music of the song is good, even if you think the lyrics are awful, then they wouldn’t even bother having a conversation with you. It’s very “We want nuance! NO NOT LIKE THAT! YOU’RE DOING NUANCE WRONG!” Like, I’m sorry, the music is good, in my opinion! John is very good at evoking a mood! The fact that I think George’s solo is incredible, or that the keyboard riff gives me chills, or that I think the bass goes super hard, doesn’t mean I don’t understand how rough the lyrics are or the effect they had on Paul. In fact, imho, I think it’s important that we discuss how quality the music is because it underscores the calculated cruelty John exhibited. He worked hard on this song. He wanted to create a very specific feeling out of it, and he succeeded in spades. I think if it had been crappy musically, people would have been much more contemptuous of it than they already are. As I said earlier, some of the digs don’t even make sense; I think they’re bolstered and propped up specifically because the music underneath them is so good. Also, it’s not fucking wrong to enjoy a groove.

I also take some issue with them saying that HDYS was easily among the worst things John ever did. Like... equivalent or worse than going on anti-Semitic, homophobic rants? Yikes.

There are many instances in this episode where they will go “I often read things like...” or “Jean Jackets will say...” or “I see this a lot...” and then never actually talk about where they see these things or quote directly from them. One instance goes “I often read things like, ‘John Lennon is expressing years of pent-up resentment over creative differences’, as if John is some kind of, like, drunk art teacher doling out free advice to Paul on his music.” I’ve read a lot about HDYS and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that. Just about every discussion of the song I’ve seen says very clearly that it was an unjustified, deeply personal attack. I realize there is an aversion to publicly Naming Names when you’re calling out people who perpetuate a bad narrative. But I want to know where this stuff comes from. I want to actually see what it is they’re upset about.

Lastly, they talk near the end about music innovation and experimentation, and this is where I think things go much too far in overcorrecting a narrative. The well-known narrative for many years post breakup was that Paul was a boring square who wrote granny music. That is true; he was much maligned in the press about that. However, I think post-Hertsgaard, post-Revolution In The Head, post-Complete Recording Sessions, and post-Many Years From Now, that attitude has changed quite a bit. Most serious Beatles fans know now that Paul was the first one to really get into Avant-Garde stuff; most fans know about the fact that he made McCartney 1 basically alone in a homemade studio. Most fans have probably heard or at least heard of Temporary Secretary, lmao.

But it feels like these women are still living in the past where Paul was still being maligned for being a square, so instead they go way far to the other end and say “Paul was the musical innovator, not John.” And that is just flat out NOT true. They were BOTH musical innovators. The fact that Paul was the first to get into avant-garde art does not exclude John from also being incredibly innovative and experimental in his own way. Perhaps he wasn’t doing that on Imagine; they are right that Imagine is a collection of really good but fairly commercial songs. But they utterly discount the fact that he did Strawberry Fields Forever, and I Want You (She’s So Heavy), popularized backmasking, was one of the first if not the first to use amp feedback in a song in I Feel Fine, experimented with recording his voice differently with Tomorrow Never Knows and Revolution, and also the entirety of Plastic Ono Band!!! You don’t have to downplay or erase John’s experimental contributions to music in order to elevate Paul’s. You can elevate both of them. It’s fine.

Also, this is the episode where they say Lewisohn’s book is exactly the same as all the other Jean Jackets books except thicker, and I have a viscerally bad reaction to that for many reasons I have already outlined on this blog. Suffice to say, it is demonstrably untrue (not least because Lewisohn hasn’t published anything in his Tune In series that goes beyond 1962) and unfair to someone who has done an unbelievable amount of legwork to back up his writing. They also compare Lewisohn to Goldman (???????) and call them John and Yoko’s “fuckin bitch boys saying the same shit over and over again.” I have to imagine Goldman was a misspeak and she meant someone else, but still that jarred me lmfao

#about the blogger #Anonymous #podcast blues

[imacrowcawcaw]

Hi I come with a rather silly question, but I was curious, according to your perception how would you describe the personality of every girl in the GVF fandom here at tumblr

That's not a silly question at all, I think it's great and actually quite creative!!!

It seems to me that there are a couple types, which is normal cause there's a lot of us lol. We're not all the same, even if we have some interests in common!

Types of Greta Van Fleet Fans on Tumblr as Observed By Me

Type 1: The Casual Fan

She knows their music, but it's not her favorite. She might reblog a few photos or funny things about the boys on occasion, but her blog is no where near dedicated to Greta and they probably aren't even one of her hyper-obsessions, just another artist in her library. She's more on the outs of the fandom; it's rare that she's tagged or mentioned in anything because not many of us know her. Greta Van Fleet is, most likely, an outlier in her music taste: either heavier than she's used to, or more classic rock when she's a straight up metalhead. All of this is absolutely okay! This girl is generally chill and sweet when she does get to interact, although if she ends up liking GVF more and wants to get "in" on the fandom it can be frustrating to make herself seen.

Type 2: The Die Hard Groupies

I feel kinda bad calling them this but, if given the chance, these chicks would become groupies in an instant. They love the band with their whole heart, and want to live a life of peace, sex, drugs, and rock n roll with their idols. But since they are contained to Tumblr at the moment, these ladies contend themselves with thirst tagging, sending various friends like @satans-helper and @dreams-madeof-strawberrylemonade naughty fanfiction requests and confessions, reblogging pictures of their favorite groupies from rock history, and, of course, listening to Greta Van Fleet (cause they do like the music, I want to make it clear it's not all about sex). It's a toss up whether this girl is open to any and all of the boys, or has a lane she will die in. Jake seems to be the most common.

Type 3: The Accuser

This can girl is much, much more common on Instagram, but I've seen a few here too... The Accuser takes "cancel culture" to the extreme and is canceling a person for something every single day (and encouraging others to do the same) despite the fact that she still likes them apparently (you'll see that she still posts about this person who is "awful")? She thinks the boys are abusing their fame by not promoting social justice very publicly at all times, she has problems with all their girlfriends, she thinks the album is taking too long and that they're being lazy; she goes on rants about symbolism in the songs, makes every conversation about social justice no matter the relevance, and picks fights about the most ridiculous things. (Again, this was on Instagram, but I had two girls fighting over which twin had the larger gay following and things got INTENSE). This girl is quick to anger and accuse, wants everyone to be on her side and thinks even minor disagreements are Literal Death, and still proclaims to love the band despite finding fault in everything they do. High probability she excludes Danny or hates him the most. Yikes.

Note: If you're mad at "The Accuser" one cause, hey, sometimes there are problems that need to be addressed, keep reading.

Type 4: The Defender

While I prefer this girl over The Accuser, she is also... not perfect. The Defender, in contrast to The Accuser (and probably fighting directly against her in a reblog chain no one else bothers to read cause ugh this again), thinks that the GVF boys are literal angels on earth who can do no wrong. She agrees and backs up every decision they and their management make, and always jump to their defense whether it’s music, looks, actions, or online activity being criticized. She is probably a pacifist, heavily dislikes fighting, and wholeheartedly believes in “peace love and unity”. I wouldn’t say that she is naive or irresponsible entirely, but she tends to ignore anything that she dislikes or else immediately jumps to the defense. Think One Direction fangirls circa the early 2010s. 

Type 5: The Happy Hippie Medium

This girl is what I, personally, would consider an enthusiastic yet responsible fan. She generally stays outside of the drama because it has nothing to do with her, she thinks it’s too silly to argue about, or she just values her sanity and peace. She does, occasionally, chime in on matters that she thinks are too important to be ignored, whether it’s the wait time for the album or their social media presence, and she’s always respectful about stating her opinion. She loves Greta and posts quite a bit about them, including original content, but she also has other interests that she blogs about. It could be other bands, aesthetic photos, astrology, artwork, tv shows, activism, it doesn’t really matter, but you’ll find that her blog is an interesting and utterly disorganized haven of herself. Gives great recommendations on all manner of things, and has probably been to a concert and had the time of her life.

Type 6: The Obsession Blog

This is the girl - or, rather, the blog - that is 100% about Greta Van Fleet. Every bit of content that comes in or out is GVF related; she’s the one you go to if you want a certain picture or an ear to hear your fantasies. Even more so if her blog has a specific topic, such as a Sam Kiszka blog! (Or @gretavanfleetconfessions lmao shameless self plug). She probably also has one or more side blogs where she has other content she is interested in, as well as personal information. I am surprised at how often I follow both blogs without knowing it’s the same person!!!

-----

So, I think that those 6 types covers pretty much all the types of fans of GVF on Tumblr, or maybe more accurately their attitudes and content. I admit that I probably walk the line between “Happy Hippie ” and “The Defender”; I try to keep a healthy balance between my obsessions and a healthy amount of affection to GVF, sometimes that means ignoring stuff! 

I have also noticed that there are things that a LOT of GVF fangirls have in common that aren’t band related, but make this fandom more vibrant and close nonetheless. Many of us:

are musicians

are writers 

are artists (plugging @sphoox cause she’s my favorite but seriously all the artists rock)

generally like to be creative, whether it’s crochet or cooking or making moodboards

have other shared bands, such as: Led Zeppelin, Fleetwood Mac, Motley Crue, Guns n Roses, Nick Cave, Hanson, Harry Styles, Lana Del Ray, Twenty One Pilots, David Bowie, Pearl Jam, Metallica...

have other shared tv shows and movies, such as: Avatar the Last Airbender, The Witcher, Killing Eve, Mad Men, The Office, Parks and Rec, Labyrinth, Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure, The Adams Family, Pirates of the Carribean...

are interested in astrology and star signs

are interested in history

are interested in fashion

love to read and learn (not necessarily in school) and have all manner of knowledge

are in the LGBT+ community

are women of color, in and outside the U.S.!

are neurodivergent 

love nature and being active outdoors

love and share various aesthetics, whether it’s cottage core or ‘67 hippy or 80s rocker vibes

I love this fandom community and hope I can remain a part of it for a long time! There are things that diversify us and things that bring us closer together, plus, of course, the four wonderful (and sexy) musicians that brought us all together in the first place. What type of fan do you consider yourself to be? Was I accurate (enough), are there more types? I hope I haven’t wildly offended too many people lol....

#greta van fleet #gvf #lulucrowproductions #my writing #gvf fandom #peaceful army #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #sam kiszka #danny wagner

[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.”

#namjoon fanfiction #rm fanfiction #bts fanfiction #namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon angst #rm smut #reader insert #rm angst #rm x reader #namjoon fanfic #rm fanfic #bts fanfic #love yourself collab #ghost reader #clumsy namjoon #unspecified gender reader #bts angst #major character death #fic: forever rain #ddaenggtan

[seasurfacefullofclouds1]

To harries who are stalking your blog and sending you asks with hate - go listen to your favorite fruit songs. People can have different opinions than you, unless they don’t spread hate. Calling others flops and rats, like it’s the only words you know is the most childish thing in the world. Grow up and maybe waste your time filling Harry’s Gucci purse, so you get a chance to interact with him (sorry I couldn’t resist lmao).

I’m going to respond with the words of a mutual, not mine:

Sometimes I wonder if Louis is loyal to a fault (plus anyone in the inner circle who know about Louis’ situation are probably kept close). J* and Jessie seem mediocre but Louis will keep them around. But, at the end of the day, I admire loyalty. It is the opposite of Harry’s character. I saw The Wanted/Louis twitter exchange going around again today. TBF that was all very immature. And years later I don’t put all the blame on Ash London for that Twitter disaster given @Louis’ tweet back at her (either Louis or LTHQ). However, they do show the general difference bw Louis and Harry. Louis protected Harry and went after folks insulting him, more than once. He put himself in the public eye, even after The Wanted’s homophobic insults, and did what he thought was right for someone he loved. Harry not only continued to work with Ash - which I do understand - but texted her and became friendly with her after she and her cohosts insulted Louis. That’s the difference. Loyalty. Eating with Stringer, having drinks with Liam G with fans knowing in advance, sending expensive fish in exchange for album praise, taking photos with a restaurant staff, being photographed at the gym for the DM - all within 4 days of Fizzy’s death. No loyalty whatever to his partner or even ex-bandmate. Total focus on himself and his career. That is Harry to a tee.

To Harries (or closet Harrie Larries) who can only use slurs against Harry’s critics, your lack of creativity is reflective of your fav, the use power to bully others is reflective of your fav, hiding behind people more powerful than you is reflective of your fav, turning a blind eye to the suffering of your mates— maybe even causing it in order to elevate yourselves— is reflective of your fav. Congrats on choosing the correct alignment. At least you know how you’ll conduct the rest of your life.

#11 march 2020

[distantsuns-archive]

i have to sit down and make a proper discography for james’ band (which is gonna be based on c/rowded h/ouse cos i’m not creative enough to invent a whole discography sorry lmao) but i really love the idea of their second album, called into temptation, being a concept album about james wrestling with his newfound fame. he only writes songs in a first-person point of view, and for him, songwriting is a way to exorcise his demons. he will not go and see a therapist (like he should do, honestly) or talk about his issues with the people close to him, but he has no problem putting them into a song that’s going to be heard by millions of people. james claims this gives him plausible deniability, and indeed in his videos and stage performances he puts on this character that puts a veil between him and the issues discussed in his songs. but conversely, one of the reasons why his songs are so good is because they’re so deeply heartfelt and personal. “ghost cars on the freeway, like friends that you thought you had / one by one, they are disappearing.” --- one of the side effects of fame is all the hangers-on and the “fake” people that james has to deal with. he’s not sure who’s a true friend any more and who just wants to use his fame and wealth. “you laugh at yourself while you’re bleeding to death / with somebody else always breathing down your neck / laugh at yourself while he’s hanging over your head”  --- a reference to the overbearing record company. yes, their expectations are a little unrealistic but james also like. does not behave himself at all so i think there’s fault on both sides here lol.  “i’ve been feeling so much older, frame me and hang me on the wall.” --- another reference to suddenly being idolized by millions of teenagers all over the world. it’s strange for him to think of how many people have adorned their bedroom walls with pictures of him. a common theme for james is feeling like a fraud for selling this manufactured image of himself to all these people who don’t really know the real him, and he feels like if they knew who he really was, they’d hate him. because he hates himself, why wouldn’t everyone else?

#i have like.... More Thoughts to share on this but this is already a long post so #oops sorry i love to write my 10 paragraph headcanons #( HEADCANONS ┋‘ I AM A MAN WHO NO ONE KNOWS. ’ )

[emoshishi]

Bibingka // A Short Story About Celebrating Christmas

Quite Unedited

Word Count: I don't know how to copy everything since it would only let me copy one paragraph and I'm too lazy copy and pasting every thing so I could see the word count so....

a/n: this was supposed to be my entry in the creative writing contest our school held weeks ago before we had our sembreak. i haven't got the chance to join because i was too hesitant and a shy bitch. i wrote this originally in Filipino language and in my wattpad account. this is too late to post since christmas was days ago, but oh well. i hope you enjoy this piece of shit lmao.

Some other notes to take:

Lola - A Filipino word which means "Grandma" in English

Pancit - A Filipino dish

Bibingka is a rice cake that came from Indonesia and Philippines

Apo - A Filipino word which means "Grandchild" in English

Ate - Pronounced as 'a-te', a Filipino word which means "Sister" in English. Ate is like "Eonnie" and "Noona" in Korean language. The difference is anyone can use it, to address older women, usually your older sister.

Noche Buena - Filipino Christmas Eve. When it's December 24, and the clock strikes to 12, it means that it's automatically December 25, families celebrate it with having a feast. We also open presents at that time.

Simbang Gabi - Night Mass or Night Worship in English.

The soft sounds of a Christmas song coming from the radio can be heard through the whole living room. While I was arranging the table, Lola Ising come out from the kitchen with a pot of pancit.

With a wide smile plastered on her face, she walked towards me and helped me set up the table.

"Merry Christmas, apo."

I returned her smile and greetings. My grandma's attitude isn't so unusual at all. She's always so lively and energetic despite her age. There's not a time that you will see her angelic smile turn into a frown.

"I wasn't able to see bibingka at any store earlier. I'm sorry if I was unable to buy one." She apologized.

With a soft laugh, I insisted her that it's fine.

She didn't answer me and just smiled again before returning to the kitchen while I continued to work with the table and dishes. These are already enough for us three-- my grandma and I, and my younger sibling, Pao.

My mom passed away several years ago. My father, an ofw, works abroad just to send us money every month. He left a week after my mother was buried. Since then, I didn't see him anymore.

In all honesty, I never felt any rage at him when he left. I was actually sad at first, but I know that he was doing it for my sibling and I. I know that my mother's death caused him so much pain, and I knew he needed time for himself. I understood that, and I am hoping that Pao would, too.

My thoughts were interrupted when grandma placed her hand on my shoulder, asking me to fetch my brother upstairs.

Like what she said, I called Pao and told him we're going to eat. The clock's hands were pointing at 12 A.M. already, signalling that it's already Noche Buena. He cheered gleefully and as we go down, he quickly run towards Lola Ising, and he was enveloped with her comforting arms.

They spend more time together, if I'm going to be honest. Pao was unable to feel my mother's love and care. She died even before she can see and hold him.

That's why I can see why grandma and him click so much. He was taken care of by my grandma that he never even felt once with my mother. It's a pity that they never saw. each other

I catched up with them and prayed before we eat.

Like what I said, our food is only enough for us three. We are scared that the food might turn into waste if we had leftovers. Other than that, we want to make the feast simple.

While eating, my eyes went to observe what's happening outside. The street was almost empty and I couldn't see anyone passing by. From my position, I could see people in their respective houses.

It's sad that having people around is very impossible to do in celebrating the holiday. However, no one wanted this to happen in the first place. All I wish for is for the pandemic to stop.

We finished eating few moments later and cleaned up the table. I was about to wash the dishes but my grandma insisted that she can do it and that I should spend my time with my brother. I couldn't do anything, knowing that she wouldn't let me help her even if I ask too many times, so I followed what she asked me to do.

I went in the balcony and took a seat beside Pao. There, we sat in silence, until he rushed to go inside. I watched him stumble in the stairs a bit and I laughed at his clumsiness. When he go down, I saw him holding a something that is wrapped with a Christmas-themed gift wrapper.

With amusement, I asked him. "What's this?",

He became silent. I frowned and stare at the gift he lend to me. From the way it was wrapped, I can tell that the object was in a square shape. I couldn't exactly tell what it is, since it could be anything.

I ripped the wrapper slowly, making sure that I was careful enough not to rip it entirely because it can still be used for next year. My eyes widened when I saw the familiar album cover of one of my favorite band's album.

"I would notice you stare at it for too long every time we would stop by at the local music store. I figured that it would be a perfect gift for you this Christmas, so I would keep my extra money and save it to buy that."

I smiled so wide that my lips could rip apart, but I was very happy. I wasn't expecting him to buy me one, knowing that he would always gushed something about a toy. It's embarrassing that I didn't even bought a gift.

I pulled him in a very tight hug as tears brimmed my eyes. "Thank you, sweetheart. I'm sorry that I didn't even bought something for you."

He pats my back as he pulled back and I held back my tears that were threatening to fall. "You're the best gift I could ever ask for, ate."

With that, I began to cry. He reached over and wiped away the tears for me. I feel like dying just by letting my brother seeing me cry, thinking that he would think of me as weak. But now, that doesn't really matter.

We just sat there as I calm myself. Once I finally stopped crying, he stood up and gave me one last hug as he scolded me. "I'll go to sleep now. You too, hm? Don't sleep to late!"

I laughed at him and simply nodded.

With my mask on and a sanitizer on my hand, I walked in the street, trying to breathe fresh air. I carefully observed everything as I walk. The streets that were used to be filled up with little kids running and playing around as the night passes by every Christmas eve now are so empty and sad. Families that would host little games and give away presents and monies were now locked up inside their houses. People who would stay up until morning just to talk to their loved ones, drink with their friends and family, are now fast asleep. It feels like the spirit of Christmas isn't there anymore. But what did really change in all these years? Is it the people? Or Christmas itself?

Without noticing, I was already in front of the church. Only few attended the mass because of the virus' threat, and they were already going outside. I could hear them chatter, but the noise died down immediately. Some looks gloomy, while some stayed cheerful. I guess celebrating this occasion really depends on people's perspective. Some may think that it's not fun, some may think that it still is, but I guess that's fine. Besides, we can't really blame people about how they feel.

I decided to stand still there and look at the church. I was just watching the light decorations flicker into different colors. Erasing my negative thoughts, I decided to smile. Regardless of the uncertainty of it being fake or real, I pulled of one. I closed my eyes and breathe deeply,

Everything will be okay, it will be.

Once I opened my eyes, I immediately heard someone calling my name. I looked around and saw a man. Despite of having a mask on his face, I recognize his features, knowing who's behind it. Waving at me, he slowly showed me a plastic bag, mouthing "Bibingka?"-----

It was my dad.

#christmas #short story #filipino tradition

[art-by-rozzai]

band au headcannons? more likely than u think

tbh i just love found family tropes and band tropes and platonic lamp is the shit

SO

HERE WE GO FOLKS

it’s the schools fault really. it starts as some stupid music theory project where virgil is forced to make friends once again, and do all of the work yet get none of the credit. the requirements seem simple enough-find three-four different instruments and write a song about something you all have felt before

when patton hart, the one of the only kids who’s ever made an attempt to talk to him, asks virgil to join his group of three, virgil decides he’s got nothing to lose and agrees.

virgil plays keyboard/piano and sings. his voice is really good, sounds a lot like tyler joseph from twenty øne piløts. (remember that lmao) his keyboard is his life-the only thing that’s able to help him through his anxiety is music. it’s a lifeline for him. virgil’s keyboard is plain black when the band starts, but when they start to become more mainstream, logan and roman buy virgil a purple piano and paint on a lightning theme. he loves it.

patton plays drums. he started playing because of his fidgeting-he was always tapping his fingers on something and decide to make the best of it!! his drums are a light blue set. (later, clouds are painted on them by roman and virge). playing music is one of his favorite things, but he wishes he had people to play with. his solo group is missing something-so, he starts by asking logan croft, straight a student, validictorian and the band’s best bassist. lo says he might as well, and types his number into patton’s phone before offering a small smile and heading to his next class. then, he talks to roman prince-an incredible gutairist and singer, the lead in almost ever school musical.

logan plays bass. (and cello, but that’s not as important for the story lmao) he likes bass because while it doesn’t stand out the most, it’s crucial to carrying the melody of the song. his bass is decorated completely in a space theme-stars and galaxies line up the sides and the strings have been replaced from black to white. roman and patton worked together to create it and gave it to him for his 15th birthday present. it’s the only gift he’s cried over receiving

roman plays gutair/uke. he also sings a lot, but doesn’t like it as much unless it’s for the school play, where he isn’t worrying about playing an instrument at the same time. the double tasking can screw up his playing a lot. he learned uke first, after obsessing over dodie clark videos. he plays a tenor uke that he decorated with disney stickers, usually on covers because it’s sounds really good with his voice. he plays acoustic and electric gutair, but he seriously prefers acoustic. he decorated his light wood gutair with hand drawn roses in different shades of red. it’s his prized possession.

so now these three friends and one acquaintance are partners! (yay!!) patton sends them all a text to meet at his house on friday, and bring instruments and a smile. virgil shows up ten minutes late (not enough to be rude but enough to not seem too excited) and carries in his keyboard. he takes a seat next to logan, who is sprawled across the couch scribbling into a notebook.

after a few games of never have i ever to get to know one and other more (patton insisted) the four began to work. they discuss topics to write about and suddenly find themselves having a really deep conversation about life and death and feeling meaningless

and they relaize that maybe they have more in common then they thought.

so they start writing. and playing. and writing. and playing. it takes three sessions before they write their first song-it’s called taxi cab. (listen to the tøp song bcuz it’s that but add in bass and a bit of uke)

when the project is turned in, they get an a, and virgil is surprisingly upset he won’t see these friends again. until patton starts inviting him to hang out with them more. and suddenly he feels like he didn’t have a life before patton, logan and roman. everything is going great-he gets to bake and laugh with patton, read and stargaze with logan and watch movies and complain about drama with roman. life is perfect.

until roman suggests they put the song on his yt channel and things start to get crazy. after much arguing, virgil agrees on one condition-they’re faces must be blocked out. romans cool with it, deciding to create a cool thumbnail and simply play the audio. they decide to name the band “sander’s sides” after their highschool, sanders high and the fact they’re all different sides that all come together in the end. the video goes viral overnight.

virgil is panicking. this was just supposed to be some easy project that was over immdiatly and now he’s on the trending page??? this is insane roman i swear to god-

virgil’s not the only one freaking out-logan is terrified. people have never seen him in this way-vunerable and showing a side of himself he doesn’t like that much. if anyone finds out one of the members is him-logan doesn’t know what he’d do. still, the comments are flooded with love for all four members. people are obsessed with this group.

so after some convincing from patton, the group starts writing together more often. they post frequently on youtube, constantly creating more and hanging out together. then they drop their first album, simply called “sander’s sides”, which the fans nickname “self titled”

the album gets insanely popular very quickly. part of the hype is the mystery of who the band mates were-only the friend’s family members and the schools band teacher know. it’s the middle of lunch when lo gets the call from his mother to turn on the radio and he nearly faints. they’re on the radio!!! people everywhere are listening to them!!!

everyone is talking about who the sides could be. fans have started to call themselves the “fanders”

patton lovesssss fan interaction-so he suggests they start responding to fanart/mail! they each are allowed to run one account-patt starts a band snapchat, logan takes twitter, roman creates a band insta and virgil sets up the tumblr account. they all enjoy responding to fan work, especially answering questions that the fans have.

most noteably-w h a t a r e u r n a m e s ?

but logan and virgil insist they dont tell anyone-what if people they know in real life find out that they’re in the secret famous band

that’s when fans decide to use nicknames-

whoever is running the tumblr account constantly makes self deprecating jokes and complains about mental health? anxiety!

the insta runner is very proud of his aesthetic and ability to create stunning pictures of each member without revealing their identity? creativity!

the snapchat runner is the biggest sweetheart ever and constantly send fans inspiring messages and reminders to drink water? morality! (most of the fanders end up just calling him dad tho.)

the twitter runner is the most responsible, is always up to date on politics and sends helpful advice to fanders who need help being adults? logic!!

i’m gonna finish this tmrw but enjoy for now lmao lmao

(check out that kinda similar band idea that idk the name of but can b found when u search “sanders sides lamp headcannons”)

#mywriting #thomas sanders and friends #thomas sanders ss #sanders sides headcannons #sanders sides #patton sanders #ts patton #ts sides #ts roman #ts logan #ts virgil #virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #logicality #prinxiety #headcannons #lol #enjoy this #band au

[beaniegender]

I have been TRIPLE TAGGED for the covid internet census. thanks @jmenfoot @2pcb and @jordan-rossiter! sorry for getting drunk last night and dicking around reblogging stuff instead of responding to the first two tags lol <3

Are you staying home from work/school?

yes indeed. it’s been about 3-4 weeks.

If you’re staying home, who’s there with you?

my roommate! we’re both pretty solitary so it’s not like i’m not spending all my time with her, but I’m glad I’m not alone.

Are you a homebody?

yes lol. I hate that it’s no longer a choice I get to make cause I like it, but in general I love staying in for a few days/a weekend/whatever and just getting to do my own thing without anyone needing anything from me.

What movies have you watched recently? What shows are you watching?

gd I don’t think it’s really been ANYTHING besides lord of the rings and its appendices since this started. I watched the first 20 minutes or so of At Eternity’s Gate and got sidetracked from it but I wanna watch that! I also wanna watch Tiger King (lmao) and I think rewatch Community.

An event that you were looking forward to that got cancelled?

going to New Mexico with my cousin :/ ...also new mcr concerts, I wanted to see new pictures and video :(

What music are you listening to?

umm lord of the rings soundtracks.... also doing a deeper dive into death cab for cutie’s discography, I think there was 2 or 3 of their albums that I had never heard any of. beyond that nothing new/out of the ordinary.

What are you reading?

I just started re-reading Catch-22, because a friend is reading it and we’re gonna do a book club of two. I’m also slowly going through an anthology of Yehuda Amichai poetry but I’ve been doing that for literal YEARS at this point!

What are you doing for self-care?

I’ve been video calling with friends and family really often - talking to some people who are dear to me much more than I do on a regular basis, which is very nice. but the flipside of that has been minimizing talking with family members who are news-obsessed and stressing me out (sorry mom).

I’ve also been doing creative stuff! playing guitar, messing around with a sketchbook, and working on painting/stenciling a shirt. I’m also feeling the urge right now to pull out my violin after not playing it for weeks/months, so maybe I’ll do that after finishing this. I feel so much better at the end of the day if I’ve gotten to work on a personal creative project.

also I keep cutting my hair lol.

a ton of people in my circles have done this already but I will tag @jonathanrichmans @pomprincesse @laughingthelaughiest @tikkunolamorgtfo @sefarad and @eyvenger (to lure her back to tumblr/say hello!).

#ask meme #coronablogging

[gcldveins]

HELLOOOOOO everyone !!!!!!!! i just wanna say .. thank you SO MUCH for joining misty hollow with jin and i , you have no idea how happy it made us to see so many people interested and join and like .. just clearly so in love w their own muses so like i just wanna say i love u all with my whole freaking heart !!!! ok enough w the sappy stuff let me introduce to u all literally the worst muse i have ever created .. malcolm o’sullivan. but he goes by sully bc he was ur og e-boy who goes “ oh ? my favourite band ? you wouldn’t have heard of it .. they’re called the rolling stones uwu ” and i rlly do hate him for that... it’s okay tho i punish him accordingly :~)

overview

✎⌠paul rudd. cismale. he/him⌡❝ — well, look who’s just arrived ! if it isn’t the one and only malcolm o'sullivan. though, around here they’re known as the harlequin. don’t tell ‘em i said this but the forty-seven year old owner of o'sullivan’s books kinda has a reputation of being stubborn and irresponsible. but y’know, they can be creative and analytical too. typical aquarius. anyways, welcome home and stay safe sully ! ❞

statistics

full name: malcolm eamon o’sullivan

nickname(s): sully, anything else and he twitches ..

date of birth: february 2nd, 1973

hometown: misty hollow, connecticut.

gender identity: cis gender 

preferred pronouns: he/him

sexual orientation: bisexual

hogwarts house: ravenclaw

aesthetic: an old leather jacket thrown over a wrinkled t-shirt, dog-eared pages, the smell of alcohol and cigarettes, untied laces, the soft rumbling of a motorcycle engine, messy handwriting, calloused fingertips

distinguishable characteristics: is looking homeless a distinguishable characteristic..

pinterest board: here.

their song from the sigh no more album bc i love this album and it makes me Sad™ : little lion man 

background ( murder tw )

— born in the town of dingle, a small port town in ireland, malcolm and his family immigrated to america when he was ten years old. they moved into misty hollow after his father opened up his own bookshop and the o’sullivan’s have been there ever since. 

— always having been a rebellious child, malcolm ( slowly gaining the nickname sully in school ) seemed to have a knack for doing anything that pissed his father off. his greatest act ? moving out as soon as he graduated without so much as a goodbye.

— malcolm was only a wee lad when the misty hollow murders were happening. his older brother, his only brother, was unfortunately one of the victims, being eight at the time. he’s not too torn up about it, he was only two years old. but his father reminded him everyday growing up, how much smarter and accomplished and just overall better his brother was than him.

— the only thing that sully was grateful for about his father was the love for books he had ingrained into him. growing up, he developed a knack for writing and he ended up going to the university of pennsylvania for journalism. after that, sully moved out to new york where he worked as a journalist for the new york times and wrote articles on political updates and reports. 

— he met his wife in new york and they had three children together, two girls and one boy. sully was living the classic american dream. until, of course, it was all ruined in a single camping trip. 

— it was just sully and the three kids, except the trip was cut short and he had to come home with two kids instead of three. sully’s youngest, nancy, was taken at the campgrounds and evidence of her murder was found in a nearby cabin.

— this tore sully’s family apart. the tragedy forced him towards a downwards spiral, an endless cycle of destructive habits. it got to the point where his wife decided to divorce him and to take the kids with her. 

— sully eventually, reluctantly, made the decision to return to misty hollow. there, he stayed with his parents for a bit until he got a job at o’sullivan’s books and was able to take a couple months to get back on his feet. 

— his parents initially pushed him towards trying to work at the mystic herald but sully hasn’t written a single sentence since his daughter died. now, his father has essentially left him to run the bookshop for him, which sully doesn’t mind. it’s quiet work that doesn’t require too much effort.

personality

— to sum it up in one sentence .. sully has essentially has regressed into a man-child in the more recent years of his life, but the inferiority complex is a tried and true constant. 

— he hasn’t really properly dealt with his daughter’s death ( even though it’s been over a decade.. ), just lives in a constant cycle of whenever he does try to think about it, he feels like shit and just thinks about all the things he could’ve done differently so he stops immediately. 

— sully always wanted to be a dad, to prove that he could be a better one than his own father. so he feels like he really failed in that retrospect. he’s like a human pity party. though he does that classic thing where he glosses over his sad feelings with destructive behaviour and inappropriate humour.

— very self-indulgent, does whatever he wants, whenever he wants. as long as it makes him feel better, even just for a moment, he’ll do it. doesn’t take anything very seriously, just kinda jokes around all the time. is one of those people that just give off.. kinda pathetic vibes you know? like you look at him and you’re like ?? what are you doing with your life dude ?? and he’s like idk

— but, on the bright side, this makes him pretty easy-going and down-to-earth. definitely a roll-with-the-punches and no bullshit type of guy, isn’t discouraged by much and doesn’t care a whole lot about what others think of him. it’s easy for him to engage in conversation and be all charismatic when he feels like it. 

— despite all .. of that, sully actually comes across as a relatively okay guy. he can be friendly and crack a few jokes while he’s at it, he’s one of those people that, as long as thinks you’re chill, treats you like you guys have been friends forever. but he can be pretty crude / vulgar at times, sooo how others react to that is kind of a gamble !

wanted connections

his one true bro <3 just someone that’ll be a complete idiot with him and they are definitely a bad influence on each other. this person probably hangs around the bookshop alot and they just spend all day with each other doing and saying stupid shit. like you know that gif set of seth rogen and joseph gordon-levitt where one’s like “ i’d fuck you ” and the other goes “ thanks :3 ” that’s it.. those are the vibes..

drinking buddies ! these two just get really drunk off their ass together and probably don’t even know each other that well despite of like.. several years of sort of friendship. one night they’re probably five drinks in and sully goes “ when i was married — ” and they’re just like “ wayment .. what the fuck . ” and ! maybe if your muse has something to get emo about ! maybe they can get drunk AND emo together <3

casual relationships ? he could have one or two of these ! sully.. does not date. tried being in a serious relationship once after his divorce and it ended... terribly. like imagine asking your adult boyfriend if he wants to move in together and his response is essentially just “ ... yeah i’m ok thanks tho. ” and you never hear from him again ndijgnk

that being said... if anyone wants that plot alluded to above .... let me know......

for the younger muses out there ! anyone that he’s kind of ? taken under his wing. pseudo-children essentially. i can’t promise that he’ll be a good influence.. he’s probably not even aware that he’s done this lmao but deep down, sully’s still a dad. he’ll probably be protective over the youngins but shows it in the form of tough love, y’know ? probably tells your muse to stop being a shithead all the time, cute stuff like that.

and some more casual connection ideas that we can further flesh out through some plotting / brainstorming:

old friends from misty hollow

regular customers

co-workers

an unrequited crush ( either on sully’s end or your muse’s )

a good influence on him .. please... i’m begging you

someone that can nerd out over books with him !

friends !!! everyone needs friends and lucky for sully, he’s pretty good at making them !! in a pushy and annoying way..

enemies / frenemies pls ... these are always so much fun

anything and everything else !! if we can’t figure out a plot between sully and your muse, we can always just do it old school and throw them at each other in a random thread and see what happens !!

#misty.intro #this is a whole ass novel im sorry nfidjmfsdl

[jenmyeons]

tag game

tagged by one of my faves @pastel-kpop ✨💖

how are you feeling today?

good! think i’m catching a cold though...

what is the best thing that happened in 2019 so far?

probably a tie between moving to my own apartment and my friendcation to paris with my bestie

fave song at the moment?

mr. e by red velvet has been on constant repeat the past week

last movie you watched in the cinema?

i don’t even remember the last time i went to the cinema lmao but i think the last one was yesterday which i saw this summer🤔

fave movie?

mamma mia or high school musical (the whole damn trilogy tbh)

fave tv show?

grey’s anatomy although it sadly hasn’t really been the same the last two seasons :((

game of thrones is another favorite but they ruined years of good character arcs in one season and i will forever be petty over it

tv show you’re watching currently?

mostly into kdramas recently so i don’t really keep up with any of my other shows these days

fave season?

summer!

dream job?

bold of you to assume i actually know what i want to do with my life jekrhg

...but i think i want to work with something leaning on the creative side but that could change next week and tbh i just want to be the wife of kim juncotton and call it a day lmao 

fave anime?

i have never watched an anime in my life🤭

fave color?

pink! but i usually stick to grey, white, black in terms of clothing

what languages do you speak?

swedish, english, spanish 

what languages do you want to learn?

korean for kind of obvious reasons but i really haven’t thought much of which languages i would like to learn, there are countless cool languages out there

dream vacation?

i’m a hoe for tropical vacations so i would love to go somewhere like the maldives or costa rica but i don’t have a specific place or country right now since i just visited paris which was like the one city i was dying to visit and would love to go back to i fell hard for paris during my trip there

if you could listen to one album for the rest of your life, which one would it be?

the one that comes to mind is april and a flower. kim jongdae did that™ ladies and gents

what song got you into kpop?

i have to say either blackpink’s whistle or playing with fire, i’d stray listened to like one bts song but fell in love with the genre through those two

are you watching kdramas? what was your last kdrama?

i totally have the kdrama bug! love (and hate) that we get one season and that’s it, i can move on and they can’t milk the show til it’s death like many of the western shows i watch

currently watching search www and enjoying it so far!

your ultimate kpop party song that brightens up your mood always?

russian roulette by red velvet is such a mood lifter and call me baby is another one of those songs feel good songs

last song you listened to?

eclipse by kim lip (loona)

sidenote: damn what a bop this song is i am never getting over it gaaah

what is the one thing you have most in common with your bias?

i find that both junmyeon and i have a strong sense of responsibility and always give the best we can based on our abilities and whatever the current condition may be. he’s a dork at heart, so am i and i think we both have a strong need to feel loved and liked by others. we share the same bad humor too. his linkin park joke was (still is) funny and y’all can try to fight me on this one ok🤠 but i won’t change my mind he’s a comedian at heart sdkfsgjk

no idea who to tag for this but uhm i’ll bother @mayrubyy @chogi-wae @guitaristbfjae @ohsehundipity @cbxtual and @kyungseokie along with anyone else who wants to do this💗

#thanks for the tag! #as always no pressure to do this #like at all #i'm just an oversharing hooman at heat lol #tag games #about me

[purplesurveys]

642

If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be? My obvious choices would be Beyoncé and Hayley Williams. But to change it up a bit, I would love to meet Meghan Markle. What's the first line of the nearest book you can reach? It’s the preface, and it says, “The MSA Simulated College Admission Test Modules are written for the potential college freshmen who need to prepare for college entrance tests given by the country’s finest universities and colleges.” Hah, it’s a college entrance test reviewer. Gabie’s sister is part of the next batch who will be taking the exams, so I’m passing on my old reviewers and modules to her which explains why this is the book nearest to me right now. What does the last text message on your phone say? “Let’s talk on fbc” If you could be any colour of crayon, what would you be? Burgundy or maroon. I like bold colors. If you could be anywhere in the universe right now, where would you be? I woulddddd like to be at the farthest tip of the universe, just so we can finally learn just how big it all is.

Do you have a strange talent? If so, what is it? I can recite the entire screenplays of Titanic, The Proposal, and Breakfast at Tiffany’s, which makes me an awful companion for these movies. If you discovered a new species of animal, what would you call it? I’d leave it up to the scientists to name it tbh because I might probably give it an awful name without meaning to. What's the weirdest name for a phobia? Most of them already sound pretty weird to me lmao. For instance I’d never expect acrophobia to refer to a fear of heights, because it just sounds like a fear of acrobats :(( And triskaidekophobia sounds nothing like a fear of the number 13. If you ever had the chance, would you eat a frog? Yes. I’ve already eaten frog legs as it is. They taste just like chicken. Do you prefer being indoors or outdoors? Depends on where I am when it comes to either. I can enjoy both. When you're indoors, what will you most likely be doing? Indoors can mean a lot of things dude. I can be strolling around, eating, going through my phone, playing bowling, watching a movie, etc. Are you good at lying? I can lie if I have to, but I hate doing it. What was the last lie you told? I didn’t technically lie but like I had to act fake last Friday around a guy I don’t particularly like, but had to hang out with because he’s Angela and Hans’s friend. I kinda had to lie through my personality and show him that everything was okay, which I think counts? Hahaha. I can’t remember the last verbal lie I had to tell. The next song that comes up is a new emotion: I don’t have anything playing on my Spotify. What's your favourite food? Burgers, for sure. What is your greatest weakness? Chewy chocolate chip cookies. What's the weirdest thing you've said whilst drunk? I don’t remember half the shit I say when I’m drunk, but I bet those bits that I forget are the weird ones. Do you collect anything obscene or unusual? If yes, what do you collect? Nope, no weird collections in my room. Finish the sentence: What if... Everybody hates what ifs, there’s no need to trigger right now. What's your favourite smell? I like food smells, basically. I like the smell of chicken being fried, curry being cooked, cookies being baked, the smell of bakeries and coffee shops, my order getting placed in front of me... I just love food aahhhh. If you were ever granted one single wish, what would you wish for? To have all the money that I would ever need and want. You're given the chance to name a newly found city. What do you call it? I’d probably have to borrow an ethnic word for this, because the Filipino language is pretty badass. What do you like about your favourite band? Their songs are always intensely personal and relatable, they aren’t afraid to switch music styles, they keep going back to the Philippines heheheh, and they ALWAYS insist that they’re a band – it’s seen in how Hayley always wants to be credited as ‘Hayley Williams from Paramore’ in all her gigs, and never just as Hayley Williams. Are you creative? I wouldn’t say that. But now you got me all spooked because this was the theme of the first episode of the Don’t Hug Me I’m Scared videos D: What is the meaning of life to you? I never go on Tumblr for deep questions like this, so pass. What do you consider yourself a number one fan of? That’s a bold statement, but I’d like to think that’s me with Audrey Hepburnnnn. What's the luckiest thing that's ever happened to you? One time I was driving a little fast when the car in front of me suddenly stopped to take a turn. I didn’t know if I was going to be able to hit the brakes and if my car could slow down enough not to hit them; and at the time I was already thinking about either crashing to my death or dealing with an angry driver (even though they were the dumbass for suddenly stopping). I didn’t hit the car, but there was a literal centimeter of space left between my car and theirs; my car also got shaken up from its brakes getting floored that the engine made a weird sound for a few seonds. I was left overwhelmed and with so much adrenaline so I ended up crying for like a full hour after. Imagine you've just started a band. What would the band be called? I’m terrible with names so I hope this is the last question asking me to come up with a name for something. The name of your first album: BOY AM I WRONG. The name of your first single: You write your autobiography, the title is: What's your biggest pet peeve? Gotta be a tie between freeloaders and arriving late. What do you wish the weather could be like right now? I’m always wishing it were raining and that it could always be a little colder. What's the weirdest pet name you've ever heard? Recently I saw someone I know have the pet name ‘bubbap’ for their bf, which was new to me. What were you doing this time last year? Ooh, luckily I had a 2019-themed Instagram where I tried to take one photo every day for the year 2019 and it covers January 14! My photo for that day was my wrist covered in lipstick swatches, which I now remember as the day Kate, Jo, Aya, Laurice, and I went to UPTC, snacked at a milk tea place and browsed through makeup. I don’t remember the rest of the stuff that we did, though. What will you be doing this time NEXT year? I’m guessing I will be asleep because I have to wake up early for my job, whatever it is. If you were a superhero, what would your magic power be? Time travel. What's your biggest secret? This Tumblr. What makes a great relationship? It’s such a cliche answer but communication really makes everything better. Also, knowing one another’s love languages. What goes through your mind when you see 'that awkward moment when' posts? Nothing, I just internally hope that the rest of the sentence pertains to an actual awkward moment and not just a completely normal situation, which seems to be the case for most of those posts. How do you win over people's hearts? I’m a listener, so I just whip that weapon out and let them talk while I nod along and ask questions every now and then to let them know I’m paying attention. What's your biggest obsession? Food. What's the worst decision you've ever made in life? I don’t know. I don’t dwell on bad decisions so I’ve most likely forgotten the ones I did make in the past. What do you want written on your gravestone? I’m not yet sure. Something witty, for sure. Your favourite quote is? It’s 12:17 AM and I’m all outta energy to think of quotes that I like. What is a weird habit you have? Playing with, and sometimes pulling at, my eyebrows and eyelashes. It mostly happens when I have bouts of anxiety. If you were on a plane beside your favorite celebrity, what would you do? Say hi, tell them I’m a fan, and get on with my business so that I look all cool :((( I don’t know if I can pull that off with Kristen but that’s definitely my plan. Describe yourself with a song title? That I’m So Tired song by Lauv and Troye Sivan. Why would someone use an umbrella? Because rain? Or sunlight? If you could see into the future, what would you do? I’d look into it, because I hate uncertainty. Why is shampoo clear and conditioner not? Idk about yours, but mine both aren’t. You've created your own recipe. What do you name it? U g h. Do you have lots of floor space in your bedroom? No, not really. This room was meant for my youngest sibling so it’s been small from the get-go. For some reason I called dibs on it when I was 10 because my parents meant to have me share a room with my sister and I was NOT a fan of that – simply put, I called dibs on my current bedroom because it was a solo bedroom (my brother was 4 at the time and didn’t want to stay in a room all by himself, so it was technically up for grabs). I have the smallest room now, but honestly it’s ok. I don’t need a lot of space and besides, I’m moving out very soon hahaha. What time do you like to stay awake until? It’s different every night. Are you a dedicated person? To causes or responsibilities I’m passionate about, yes. What happened in the last dream you had? Not sure. I forget most of them. What's your favourite day of the week and why? Friday, because weekeeeeeeeeeeeeeeend. If you're at the beach, what are you most likely doing? I’m always doing either of these: sunbathing, or swimming in the sea, just relaxing. The name of your favourite movie: Two for the Road and Good Will Hunting. It’s always been a tie. What's your favourite thing about Christmas? All the food.

Are you stubborn? Yes. If you could forget about one memory that you have, what would it be? Embarrassing ones. I won’t delve into them because the whole point is to forget them, lmao. If you were made out of paper, what would you do? Google what just happened lol. Do you act differently to certain people? Yeah. You have to sometimes. How I am with my college friends isn’t 100% the same as how I am with my high school friends (I switch to a different sense of humor, but otherwise it’s still all me), and both these personalities are so not how I act around family. What's your favourite sport? Pro wrestling. Your favourite tweet ever made by your favourite celebrity? The first time Punk and AJ ever tweeted each other. They were talking about human doodles and human poodles. It was WILLLLLLDDDD experiencing that as it happened haha. Did you enjoy this quiz? Sure! It was random enough for me. The name generator questions just scared me a bit. If you were on the titanic, would you be a survivor? I guess, because I’m a woman and they had that women and children rule. Where would be the weirdest place to randomly start dancing at? A bank? I dunno. What do you do when you can't sleep at night? I turn to Reddit or YouTube. 101% effective, every single night. Do you trust people easily? Yes. I can also take away that trust easily. If you could tell the whole world anything right now, what would you say? Please donate whatever you can to help out the animals in the areas affected by the Taal eruption. I wish it were this easy to yell it out to the world. Your opinion on the royals: I’m proud of Meghan and Harry, y’alls. GO DITCH ‘EM. Don’t get me wrong, I love the royal family, but what Meghan and Harry did was pretty fucking awesome, too. Why is your favourite TV show your favourite TV show? It’s not deep, it’s funny and I can rewatch every episode as many times as I want and still laugh at the same punchlines, it’s relatable, and it’s helped me through some dark times. Would you rather be the leader or the follower? Leader for tasks I know I’ll succeed in, follower for responsibilities that I know are way too big and pressing for my capabilities. What's your favourite pastime? Netflix, and my newest hobby, painting :)

#survey #surveys

[asongofbirdsandhounds]

sansan prompt list - MBD edition

This is just a little personal thing to throw down some ideas I have for creative endeavors based around SanSan using themes/lyrics from my favorite band Murder By Death. Normally I would just write this type of thing down in my idea journal but I also thought that others might be interested in some of the themes/ideas these songs inspire. I will always talk up this band to friends in the hopes they’ll enjoy and support them, and there are a few songs in particular that give me major SanSan feels. I guess technically, more songs give me Sandor feels, but I wouldn’t have those feels without SanSan, so here we are! There are even a song or two that match Sandor and Arya’s dynamic (not included, but one is called Piece by Piece, and it’s a Rly Good Song). I’ll put the rest under a read more, as I’m about to get incredibly rambly. and also song lyrics take up a lot of space. Feel free to get creative using any of these prompts too, if you so desire!

Before the song/lyric/prompt list, let me just explain you a MBD thing since they’re a huge creative inspiration and influence to me, as well as amazing musicians and story tellers through their music. Plus I’ve had the pleasure of seeing ‘em a bunch of times, and they’re some really rad down to earth individuals. (this is not a sponsored post I just really love this band wow.)

💀Murder By Death, or MBD as we’ll call them from here on, is a five piece “American Indie Rock Band” out of Bloomington, IN. However, my favorite musical genre description for them is “Gothic Folk Brooding Americana” ;3 Their sound is difficult to narrow down to a mere description, so I won’t get too into it, but what I want to focus on here is the song writing. At least a few of their albums are concept albums with coherent storylines or themes. Their second studio album *Who Will Survive, and What Will Be Left of Them? released in 2003, and was their first concept album however I am omitting it from this list as the themes aren’t really as relevant for this list, and their sound/style was not quite found yet at this point. It’s a really cool album though.*lmao had to make an edit here cuz i mixed up the title

In Bocca Al Lupo

A concept album with the themes of sin, punishment, guilt, and redemption. (HMMMMMMM SOUNDS SUSPICIOUSLY FAMILIAR...) Despite those Very Relevant Themes, I won’t be using too many of these songs for my list, but there are definite Sandor feels throughout this album.

In the first song, Boy Decide ;

Some men crave women and some men crave gold Some folks die too young and some die too old Some just want to pass life with liquor and cards Some work to the top and well some don't get far Boy, Decide Boy, Decide You're too old to fuck around and too young to die Time to try life on for size Cause you're pissin' into the wind Squandering the life you were given Now what will you do? You're wasting away your life Digging a hole you can dive into When you get tired of fighting

There are other songs that could definitely fit as well, but honestly my main feel with this album is just the title itself. In Bocca Al Lupo is an Italian phrase that literally translates to “into the mouth of the wolf” and is used as a kind of “good luck”. It is most fortunate our dear Sandor has found himself in the mouth(s?) of wolves, I think. ;3

Red of Tooth and Claw

I don’t think this album is technically considered one of their concept albums, but it is the album that gives me the most SanSan feels, so I’m voting it in as an honorary. It’s also one of my favorites so the bias is there. I could probably just literally post entire songs and it could be an entire theme itself, but I’m going to try and keep it shorter and only post the lyrics that really get my creative juices goin’ (ew)

Steal Away

Well your momma and your papa, they don't like me too much. I've got a dark streak in my ways. But you and me will stick together. We're two birds of a feather; together 'til the end of days.

Fuego!

The heat floats on top of our skin. Like an ice cube in a glass of gin. I can't even hear the words you say. I need to leave, but I want to stay. Baby, it's been so long that even the roses hips are turning me on. Baby, it's been so long.

I want you. I want you. I get the feeling if I stay with you, you'll never let me go. I want you.Feel like a ship on dry land. Or an island in the sand. Your kiss is cool, despite the heat. You've got my senses beat. If I stay, I won't last long. You've got a hold on me so strong. I hear your song. All I hear is your song.

Good Morning, Magpie

Ok, so technically only a couple of the songs off this album give me the feels, but since my blog title is taken directly from a song title on this album, I’m gonna go ahead and include it too. This one’s a treat though, as the album has a song with the same title that is actually... nearly perfect. I did omit some of the lyrics only to try and streamline the post a bit.

My wings are dusted With frost and cold For a little thing like you I'm too heavy a load You'll struggle and falter Amble around Just follow some other storm Cause I'll only weigh you down You carry me home My love Still you carry me home Little dove You carry me home My love Still you carry me home Little dove You'll ride towards the sun As it guides you home But don't be afraid, little bird (!!!) You aren't alone A hoard of friends Will keep darkness at bay You're the needle In the hay You carry me home My love Still you carry me home Little dove Still you carry me home My love Still you carry me home Little dove Hear it approaching The shuffle of feet The clamor of metal And hounds in heat (!!!!!!) We'll steal away To the glen in the east Where the path is clear

For you and me.

I MEAAANNNN. I don’t even have to say anything more on that... 

I could probably go on... and on. But I’m tired now and this got a little convoluted lmao. But since I have a little idea/pet project in mind, I just wanted to get the songs/themes that really stand out to me down. If anyone else is inspired, then that’s even better!

#sansan #sansan feels #sansan mbd edition #i included good morning magpie because that one just #gets to me #clutches my gotdamn fuckin chest so hard #sandor feels #hound feels #maybe ill add to this one day when i'm not about to fall asleep