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akechicrimes · 4 years

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Prompt 37? Futaba and Akechi platonic/Futago siblings?

37. “Follow me. It’s okay, just hold my hand.”

after akira leaves tokyo, futaba does just fine without her key item, except for when she doesnt.

(one of them AUs were goro survives the engine room and rejoins the phantom thieves. no i will not explain. persona 5 canon AND persona 5 royal do not interact. for reference in this universe futaba and akechi are half siblings but only akechi knows that)

“Next time you see me, I’ll be a whole new person,” Futaba tells Akira excitedly on his second-to-last day in Tokyo. “I’m going back to school, I’m out and about by myself—oh! Oh! Did I tell you I said yes to Kosei? I told Kosei I wanted to go to Shujin and they offered me scholarship! And I went to the subway station by myself yesterday!”

They’re crammed into Akira’s Leblanc attic, sitting around a cake that literally none of them were capable of baking themselves, so they’d bought the thing from a bakery and decorated it with little black and red hearts. Ryuji is passing around his gross soda, while Ann is recounting some story that doesn’t matter with incredible enthusiasm. Makoto looks like she’s determined to enjoy herself and will hear no argument.

The whole thing is incredibly morbid, if you ask Futaba. It feels less like they’re waiting for Akira to leave Tokyo and more like they’re attending Akira’s funeral. Akechi in particular looks like he’s regretting attending, which honestly tickles Futaba more than it should, that the most dishonest Phantom Thief seems to be the only one looking as honestly put-off by the entire affair as everyone else is determined not to be.

That’s everyone else’s problem. Futaba might not be happy Akira has to leave, but she’s proud. She’s sad that Akira has to leave, but also she promised Akira that by the time that he had to leave, she’d be able to get around on her own, without clinging to him for support. And she is able. She kept her promise.

Tomorrow might be the day that Akira has to go, but today is the day that Futaba is Officially Recovered.

Akira does that annoying thing he does where he puts his hand on her head and messes up all her hair, like he’s a human cat showing affection by pissing everyone off. Futaba yelps. “Look at you. You don’t need me at all.”

“I told you that I’d be ready to say goodbye by the time you had to go back to your hometown,” says Futaba. “I haven’t broken my promises yet, have I?”

There’s a burst of laughter from Haru over something Yusuke said, who looks rather surprised to discover that he said anything funny. Both Makoto and Akechi snicker at him, and then stop immediately to glare at each other the second they realize they’ve accidentally wound up sharing an opinion.

Akira ignores them. “Well, you can still text me if you need me. Or call.”

“I’m trying to tell you I’m getting better and I don’t need you,” Futaba grumbles. “Also, what kind of psychopath do you think I am to call someone on the phone?”

“That’s what phones are for.”

“Calling people is scary.”

“I thought you were getting better?” Akira teases.

“I am!” she says, pointing a finger at him. “I am! Just you watch, Akira. I’m getting better every day.”

Six months after joining Kosei, Futaba locks herself in her room and does not reemerge for seven days straight.

She tells Sojiro that she’s sick. Sojiro tells the school that Futaba told him that she’s sick. She definitely fakes a hell of a good cough, and the school lets Yusuke send her her all the homework that she was supposed to be doing in the first place, but Futaba already knows it’s only a matter of time before Sojiro rats on her, and she won’t even blame him because it’ll be for her own good.

In the meantime, she has stashes of crackers and peanut butter from back when she was a full-time hermit. She hates the taste of peanut butter within three days. Her bed is a relief, soft like a home she never left, up until it isn’t anymore. It’s too soft. No matter how she lies on it, no matter how soft it is, a mattress just isn’t comfortable when you’ve been lying on it for seventy-four hours. It’s hot. Smothering. She feels like she’s going to drown in the blankets and they’ll have to fish her moldy, sweaty corpse out of the bottomless quicksand pit of her too-soft mattress.

The thing about being a shut-in is that you don’t actually like your room very much. It’s not a relief, or an oasis, or even a place you enjoy. You’re just terrified of everywhere else more.

She plays a lot of video games that she doesn’t even like. She watches a lot of Twitch streamers she doesn’t even like. She doesn’t do her homework. She ignores Sojiro. She pretends she’s alright to everyone who texts. She wakes up and goes to sleep and thinks about going outside and goes to sleep and wakes up and wonders if the whole last year and her cautious baby steps back into the world outside was all just a hazy dream.

There aren’t a lot of Thieves left in Tokyo, weirdly. Haru and Makoto both graduated, off doing business and law junk that honestly makes Futaba’s brains want to crawl out her ears, but all the numbers check out and Haru’s not in the red yet, and Futaba’s looked at enough people’s dirty laundry to appreciate Haru’s clean ledger. Akira’s back in his dinky hicktown, where there’s barely anything electronic connected to Wifi worth breaking into for surveillance, which is really boring.

Ann’s been doing so many modeling gigs that she might as well not be attending Shujin anymore. She’s practically surrounded by electronics, and all of them are connected to the internet. On any given day, Futaba can snoop through the internet trail of electronic file cabinets full of images of her face, emails about her face, paychecks for her face. Futaba sends Ann more than one email about creepy old dudes making gross comments about her, along with a bunch of other illegal shit they’ve done, plus their offshore accounts full of cash if Ann wants Futaba to sic a lawyer on them.

Ann looks like she’s having fun. Ann looks different on the other side of the computer screen, like she’s less real. Like she’s not someone Futaba really knows. Like Ann’s not someone Futaba’s literally cried on at one point in her life.

Ryuji is definitely attending Shujin, but between physical therapy, catching up on a whole year of track, athletic scholarship hunting, and studying for college admissions tests, Ryuji seems to have been swallowed whole by Shujin, really. Out of boredom, one day, Futaba went down that rabbit hole of researching what it takes to get recruited for track in college, and holy shit–apparently Ryuji’s coach was supposed to be helping him with that whole process, but of course Ryuji barely has a proper coach ever since Kamoshida left Shujin’s track program in pieces. The amount of networking he’s doing is insane, especially for one teenaged boy who barely remembers his homework every night.

Sometimes, when Ryuji’s forgotten to check his email in a while and there’s a message from a coach sitting in his inbox, Futaba will send him a text to make him check it. And then it’s all, What were you doing looking at my emails, Futaba and Which of my other passwords do you know, Futaba, as if Ryuji doesn’t just use the same password over and over and has literally nobody but himself to blame.

So it’s really just Futaba, Yusuke, and–weirdly–Akechi, who’s off doing his gap year and said he was going to go abroad, but then he never did. Not to be a huge snoop, but Futaba went digging through his junk for about five seconds and then she never did it again, because she felt really weird about finding out that the guy that killed her mom is looking into social work, volunteerism, and reforming the justice system.

Like. The man who killed the Thieves’ leader is now literally out there saving orphans. It’s wild.

She might’ve been the one to tell Akechi that he can start over again and do better, but she reserves the right to at least feel weird about it.

She does not call Akira. She talks to Yusuke at school, but she refuses to ask him to accompany her on the subway. She should be recovered by now, shouldn’t she? She was supposed to have gotten over all that when Akira left Tokyo. She’s doing fine. She’s just looking out for her friends. Her, living vicariously through her friends, who’re growing up and growing away, flourishing into young adults? Never.

Everything is the same.

Didn’t she help kill a god last year?

Didn’t she work so hard to get out of her room, to make friends, to reconnect with Kana-chan?

Didn’t she work so hard to change herself?

Didn’t she help change the world?

Everything is the same.

Tuesday, 1:43 PM

YUSUKE: Futaba?

FUTABA: yo inari

FUTABA: u got more homework for me or what

YUSUKE: Ah, no.

YUSUKE: I think your teacher finds it suspicious that I’m sending you homework when I’m not in your grade, as it is.

FUTABA: oh no

FUTABA: what a shame that we didn’t have an entire year of experience with getting away with wildly illegal magic brain crimes without raising any suspicion

FUTABA: truly emailing me like four pieces of paper a day is far too difficult

YUSUKE: Well, I can’t get your homework from your teacher, but I can give you more homework if you’d like.

FUTABA: ok bucko that wasn’t a challenge

YUSUKE: There’s a math problem set that’s been incredibly dull to get through when I have more important pieces I could be working on…

FUTABA: inari im sorry to say but

FUTABA: me literally doing your homework for you is about a thousand times more illegal than you giving me my homework when ur not in my grade

YUSUKE: Oh, is it?

FUTABA: wh

FUTABA: are y

FUTABA: what do you mean OH IS IT

FUTABA: did you not KNOW ur not allowed to have other ppl do ur hw????

FUTABA: inari have u been making other people do ur hw for u so u can have more time to do art?????????

FUTABA: no shut up i dont want to know

FUTABA: i will not be ur accomplice

FUTABA: i see ur little speech bubble thingamajig yusuke i said stop typing forever and ever

YUSUKE: I can’t invite you to the art gallery tomorrow if I can’t type.

YUSUKE: It also seems impractical for you to outlaw me from texting forever.

FUTABA: i literally did not say that

YUSUKE: You said, and I quote,

YUSUKE: “Yusuke, I said stop typing forever and ever.”

FUTABA: ok i know it looks like i said that but please im begging u it’s literally just an exaggeration

YUSUKE: As Makoto would say, it’s hardly an enforceable law.

FUTABA: u literally texted my sick and crusty ass just to give me a hard time

YUSUKE: Are you about recovered from your cold?

FUTABA: and now u have the nerve to ask me to go to ur art show thing

YUSUKE: I didn’t say that.

FUTABA: oh really

FUTABA: what were u gonna ask me about then

YUSUKE: The art show, naturally.

YUSUKE: But you could have done me the courtesy of letting me ask.

FUTABA: all that on the day of my daughter’s wedding and now u want me to do u a solid

FUTABA: well i have news for u

FUTABA: the answer

FUTABA: is yeah

FUTABA: sure why not

YUSUKE: Oh, excellent.

YUSUKE: I thought that you might decline on account of your illness.

FUTABA: i’m not a punk bitch

FUTABA: i’m going

FUTABA: u were only working all those paintings for like two months i wanna see their oily faces in person

YUSUKE: Just because they were made with oil paints does not mean that they are oily.

FUTABA: cant wait to see my oily boys

YUSUKE: Unfortunately, I have to set up the event beforehand, so I will not be able to accompany you on the way here.

YUSUKE: Will you be alright by yourself?

FUTABA: uh

FUTABA: hmm

FUTABA: how oily are these boys in case i need to call a rain check

YUSUKE: Hmm.

YUSUKE: Perhaps someone else can go with you.

YUSUKE: Let me see if I can find someone.

FUTABA: what like one of ur art friends

FUTABA: i’m not going with anyone i dont know sry

YUSUKE: I’ll keep it in mind.

Tuesday, 1:59 PM

YUSUKE: Unfortunately, Ann and Ryuji were not available. Both of them will be coming late to the art show.

YUSUKE: Fortunately, Goro is.

FUTABA: whomst

YUSUKE: Goro Akechi?

YUSUKE: Crow, in case you know multiple Goro Akechis.

FUTABA: no like why u callin him goro

YUSUKE: I asked him if I could and he said yes.

YUSUKE: There’s not many people left in Tokyo who were part of the Thieves.

YUSUKE: I’m not exactly popular at school myself, so I thought it prudent to hold onto the connections I already had.

FUTABA: hhhhhhhhhhhhh

FUTABA: but why him……………………………………….

YUSUKE: Has he done something wrong?

YUSUKE: Well.

YUSUKE: Besides the obvious.

YUSUKE: Last I heard, you were quite vocally supportive of Goro making a change for the better,but have you prehaps reconsidered?

FUTABA: i mean he’s always been nice to me

FUTABA: like even before he was on the team as crow

FUTABA: and then later after he like lost his shit and tried to kill us

FUTABA: he was also like weirdly nice

FUTABA: even if he was dressed as a tokusatsu villain

FUTABA: but

FUTABA: i

FUTABA: ok this is gonna sound really weird but like

FUTABA: you know how i said that the person to take me to the art show has to be someone that i know

YUSUKE: Yes.

FUTABA: even though akechi was one of the thieves at the end

FUTABA: i feel like i dont really know him

FUTABA: he like had that whole breakdown where he spilled all his kylo ren sadstuck junk and then he peeled his dumb ass up off the floor and then we beat up his dad in a dark alley

FUTABA: and then i guess akira likes him a bunch and hangs out with him and i guess probably talked to him about all that stuff that happened

FUTABA: and also i think ann talks to him

FUTABA: and also haru i think for some reason……………………..

FUTABA: but like i feel like. we as a group. never really uhhhhhhh

FUTABA: got to know him very well i guess

FUTABA: because he spent like the whole year being a fake ass bitch

FUTABA: and then by the time he wasnt, the thieves were busy literally fighting god, and it was all business business business

FUTABA: ughghfhg i guess this is just a really long way of saying that like yeah ok i guess i do know him but i dont think i really do

FUTABA: even when he was off the shits in the engine room it was like

FUTABA: somehow that was not……………………………….. really him

FUTABA: idk maybe this is just my Thoughts but like

FUTABA: idk some people are like “your true self is who you are at your worst” and

FUTABA: yeah maybe you are some PART of urself when youre at your worst but like

FUTABA: also not???

FUTABA: that can’t be it

FUTABA: that’s not ALL of you

FUTABA: so all i ever saw was him when he was being a fake ass barbie prince and then when he was like actively losing his shit

FUTABA: and both of those were like. two types of fake ass barbie prince

FUTABA: except obviously the one where he started screamin about murder and trying to kill joker was like, fake ass serial killer barbie prince

FUTABA: anyway i dont buy it for a second that seeing akechi at his worst means that i know the first thing about his “”“”“”“”“true self”“”“”“”“”“”“

FUTABA: like i know that i technically met him but also at the same time i dont think ive ever really actually met this dude

FUTABA: uh tldr what’s the truth crowboy

FUTABA: second tldr do you got anyone else i can go to the art show with because im not unpackin all that junk in the trunk while also trying to fend off a panic attack in the subway

YUSUKE: Well, to speak to "what’s the truth, crowboy,” I’d say he’s actually really funny.

FUTABA: WHAT

YUSUKE: Yes, actually.

FUTABA: YOU TRYNA TELL ME YOU SHARE A SENSE OF HUMOR W AKECHI

YUSUKE: As everyone knows, I don’t have a sense of humor.

YUSUKE: But if I did, that might not be inaccurate to say.

YUSUKE: Either way, we could ask Boss if he’ll take you to school.

FUTABA: no

FUTABA: im not makin him shut down leblanc for the day just cause i cant get my shit together

FUTABA: and i go to school by myself all the time now i dont need to be walked there by my dad like a four yr old

FUTABA: r u sure u dont have anyone else who can take me

YUSUKE: You said it had to be someone you know.

YUSUKE: I can take you.

YUSUKE: But I’ll be getting to Kosei early to prepare.

FUTABA: how early is early

YUSUKE: Four in the morning.

FUTABA: PLEASE INARI

YUSUKE: The people you know is a quite limited pool, Futaba.

FUTABA: shut the hell ur face i dont need u tellin me to make kosei friends too

FUTABA: i get my butt to school every day i’m already a hero

FUTABA: ok alright

FUTABA: crow-san it is

FUTABA: hhh

FUTABA: no shut up stop typing i’m fine

FUTABA: i already saw his dumb ass get inflicted with Horny from Yaldy God Himself i ain’t afraid of no crows

FUTABA: actually now that i remember that that was pretty funny mwehehehehehehe

FUTABA: OKAY send me the who what when where why

YUSUKE: There’s a PDF flier. I’ll send it to you.

YUSUKE: But I will have to type the email to send it to you.

FUTABA: oh my GOD inari

FUTABA: i swear to god ur not actually this dense and youre just pretending u dont know what an exaggeration is just to drive me up the wall

YUSUKE: Oh, that is a possibility, isn’t it?

FUTABA: WH

YUSUKE: Ah, last period is starting. I’ll have to talk to you later.

FUTABA: WHAT

FUTABA: NO WAIT

FUTABA: HELLO????

FUTABA: YUSUKE NO COME BACK

Tuesday, 2:53 PM

FUTABA: YUSUKE HAVE YOU BEEN MAKING AKECHI DO UR HW FOR U SO YOU CAN DO MORE ART??

FUTABA: IS THAT WHY UR ON A FIRST NAME BASIS W HIM

FUTABA: ANSWER ME STRINGBEAN

In Futaba’s opinion, there’s an infinite amount of more embarrassing reasons to pull yourself out of your depression pit than “I needed to yell at my friend for being a snotty bastard,“ and there’s worse escorts to have than the weird guy who went from being a professional murderer to their weird awkward friend. Firstly, if there’s anything that can motivate Futaba Sakura, it’s the primal urge to dunk on her friends for spite and memes. Secondly, there’s no chance in hell Futaba’s going to have a breakdown in front of Akechi.

She can do this. She got herself out of this grave once; she can do it again. Even if Akira isn’t here. She’s getting better. She promised him.

On the eighth day of her almost-return to hermithood, Akechi texts her:

AKECHI: I’m here.

AKECHI: Are you ready to go?

Futaba is wearing only an old shirt, no bra, sweats, and vaguely greasy hair from all the showers she’s skipped.

FUTABA: i’m SO ready

FUTABA: the readiest

FUTABA: ultra mega super ready

FUTABA: featherman ranger code name Ready

AKECHI: Oh.

AKECHI: Alright.

Hell yes alright. Time for Futaba to save her own life from her gravesite of a room.

With… Goro Akechi. Wow, life is weird, huh?

She drags on her Kosei uniform like a skin discarded long ago. It feels stiff. Maybe because it feels wrong to wear school clothes like a functioning human; maybe because she just hasn’t washed it in a week. The very idea of explaining herself to Sojiro stresses her out, so she doesn’t do it. The idea of not explaining herself to Sojiro, when he deserves an explanation and also would probably have a heart attack if he realized that she’d disappeared from her room without his knowing, also stresses her out, so she still doesn’t explain herself to Sojiro.

I told Akira I’m better now. I can do this. I did this for more than six months. I was out of my room in the real world, I went to the school festival, I changed my own heart…

She creeps down the stairs like a thief in her own house and pokes her head out the door. Goro Akechi is fiddling with his phone in the sun outside her house, looking like he, too, has only just managed to pull on his Human Suit and look like a guy who didn’t make shadows beg for mercy for fun, so it looks like this whole expedition is going to be a lot of fun.

"Futaba-chan?” says Akechi, only just noticing her lurking in her own doorway. “It’s been a while since we last saw each other. How are you?”

Futaba opens her mouth. No noise comes out.

Akechi’s eyebrows slowly begin to knit together.

“I’m good,” she says squeakily. Clears her throat. Holy shit, she’s not afraid of Akechi after all that junk they went through in the Metaverse. She saw him as a rat. She saw him visibly want to break his father’s face when Shido tried to apologize to him on live TV. Once, Makoto and Akechi got into an unironic, passionate, hour-long argument about whether or not it’s beneficial to color code your notes.

“I’m alright!” Futaba announces louder, maybe a little loudly, considering the way he looks only more concerned. “L-Let’s hurry up and get this sidequest over with!”

She pulls her hoodie over her head and jams her hands into the pockets and makes herself as small as possible and inches out of the doorway. “If you… say so,” says Akechi, and eventually matches her incredibly slow pace as she shuffles her way towards the main street.

When the noise of Yongen-Jaya’s street hits her, her heart rate (already high as hell) spikes even higher like the first day she’d come out of her room, but the old coping mechanisms come back like second nature: Breathe slower, avoid eye contact, remember her mission, stick to the sides of the streets. Breathe slower. She’s still got it. It’s still hard, but she’s got a whole arsenal of ways to deal. She can do this. She will kick Yusuke’s ass for being a dick, if only out of sheer spite.

If Akira were here, I could hide behind him and…

No, shut up, shut up. All she has is her hoodie and Goro Akechi. Akira’s not here. She can do this by herself.

Akechi makes precisely two attempts at small talk (“How has Kosei been?” “Have you seen the pieces Yusuke submitted to the art show before?”) before he realizes that Futaba isn’t going to respond by virtue of barely holding onto her shit by her fingernails. He shuts up and sticks close by. Futaba makes her way down the streets towards the subway like walking on a tightrope. The subway station isn’t busy, but she puts every step in front of her like she’s going to fall. Getting on the subway might as well be a highwire. Futaba and Akechi wait for the train in mutual silence to the sound of other commuters murmuring amongst themselves, like a toothless echo of Mementos’s depths.

When they get on the train, people around her are quiet, thank god, but all of a sudden she’s convinced that she smells because she hasn’t taken a shower in literal days, and she tries to pack herself into her seat as tightly as possible. The guy in front of her is scrolling through something at a ferocious pace and his thumbnail keeps hitting the screen with this incessant clack, clack, clack noise. The subway voice announces their next station as the doors begin to close, and a girl suddenly sits bolt upright, having realized that this is her station after all, and bangs Futaba’s knees hard as she passes. Futaba wants to curl her legs to her chest, but she’s wearing Kosei’s uniform skirt and it’d just make everyone stare at her if she did that on the subway. She curls her fingers into the skirt hem. She stares down at her knees and lets her hair drape around her like a curtain. She can do this. She can do this. Breathe slower. Even slower. I did this for more than six months, I told Akira I’m better now, I changed my own heart…

Akechi pulls out his phone. Futaba’s phone buzzes.

AKECHI: Are you alright?

FUTABA: i said i was ready dude

Akechi types and retypes an answer, which technically Futaba could just look over his arm and read, but instead Futaba flips through apps on her phone and pulls up a shitty mobile dungeon crawler. She dies four times before Akechi puts his phone away without sending anything.

They pass multiple stations like that. Futaba sure as hell hopes that Akechi’s watching which station they’re on, because she isn’t. After the millionth time she dies, Futaba just closes the app altogether. Concentration’s shot. Can’t focus on anything. Heartbeat’s too loud. Breathing’s too loud. The guy next to her is breathing too loud. Everything is too loud.

New text:

AKECHI: Yusuke said you’d recovered from your cold, but you still look a little unwell.

Futaba doesn’t respond to that. She doesn’t need Negative Nancy over here telling her she’s gonna crack. Because she isn’t gonna. The subway starts to slow, and the voice announces the station for Yusuke’s school. She’s literally almost there, she’s right there, she might die in three seconds because her heart is going to pound of her chest but at least she’s going to make it, she promised Akira that she was alright—

The subway doors open. Passengers stand to get off. Akechi stands up. Futaba drops like a rock.

“I can’t,” Futaba’s voice says. She sounds like she’s crying. “I can’t, I can’t do it, I—”

“Futaba—”

“I’m can’t do it, I—”

She buries her face in her knees on the dirty subway floor. Oh, she really is crying. “I’m sorry,” she says, “I’m so sorry, I couldn’t…”

Around her, people’s feet stop moving. They’re staring at her. She’s crying on the subway and everyone is staring at her. “Shh,” says Akechi, like Futaba doesn’t know she’s being a loud and irritating pest, but then he takes off his winter coat and covers her with it. Suddenly everything goes dark. It’s a huge coat, too; it wraps around her whole torso with enough room to spare to cover her entire head. Inside, it’s like she’s back in her room, only listening to the sounds of real life somewhere on the other side of a computer monitor, where it can’t hurt her. It’s so surprising she hiccups to a stop. Two hands pull her up by the shoulders and guide her to stand. “Up. Let’s go.”

“Is she okay?” says a voice.

Futaba’s entire body seizes with fear. She ducks into her own knees, trying to disappear.

“Hey, little girl, are you alright?”

“She’ll be fine,” says Akechi’s friendly, super fake ass barbie prince voice. “My sister just had a hard day. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

“A hard day?” Now the stranger’s voice is accusatory.

“For your information, our dog was recently brutally run over in front of her eyes.”

“Young man, are you serious right now?”

“Oh, yes. There was blood everywhere. Its intestines squelched horribly under the tires less than six feet away from her,” Akechi goes on. Futaba chokes, and then hiccups in what she realizes is almost a laugh. “Please excuse her. Thank you.” And before the literal complete stranger can follow up on that awful statement, Akechi takes her hand and pulls her up.

Futaba stumbles to her feet. If she has to take the coat off right now, she will actually die.

“It’s okay. Just hold my hand and follow me.”

Blindly, she lets him lead her out of the subway, weaving through people with only minimal contact with other people’s shoulders. There’s a whole awkward period where Akechi has to walk her up the stairs out of the subway station while she can’t see anything, but eventually the noise and bustle of other people around her seems to die away, and the air grows cooler in the way it does in the shadows between city buildings. Then they stop walking altogether. When Akechi lets go of her hand, she almost tries to grab it back before she catches herself.

“Okay. There’s nobody else around, now. It’s safe.”

Futaba doesn’t come out of the jacket. In the dark, her eyes dart back and forth, trying to see even as she blinds herself.

“Sorry for grabbing you so suddenly like that,” Akechi’s voice goes on after it becomes obvious she’s not going to come out.

Futaba wipes snottily at her own face. Oh, this is so gross, she’s got snot and tears on top of five days worth of grime and body juice because she hadn’t taken a shower. She’s disgusting. She really actually wants to die right now. She can’t show her face like this.

“Er,” says Akechi. “Do you want…. water, or…?”

Futaba folds up right there on the city pavement, probably dragging Akechi’s nice coat all over a dirty alleyway. She tucks her face into her knees, where she feels safest, and pulls the coat flaps even tighter. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“I’m sorry for not being okay,” she mumbles.

There’s a short silence. “You really don’t have to be.”

“I do,” Futaba says. She feels like she’s nine years old again, a petulant kid who needs to hold people’s hands and be escorted around Tokyo. “This is—it’s stupid, and I can’t believe I-I’m still doing this, a-and even a-after everything that h-happened last year, I’m still just a… I’m still…”

“It’s fine,” says Akechi. Even he sounds overwhelmed, and at the first sound of weakness, she pulls the coat off her head and glares at him furiously, red-faced and covered in tears and snot and gross depression juice crust and all.

“I’m not supposed to be this way anymore!” she says miserably. “I’m supposed to be better! Moved on! Doing literally a-anything else but crying over t-taking a subway! It’s stupid and nobody else is like this and I just want to be over this already and I just want to be better already and—!“

She covers her face with her hands again. God, even when she says that, it sounds pathetic.

After a moment or two, she hears Akechi moving again. She peeks at him. He’s crouching in almost the exact same pose as her, looking like he’s resigning himself to neither getting his coat back, nor moving from this spot any time soon, nor getting to Yusuke’s art show on time, but also looking archly and entirely unperturbed about it. Actually, it looks like he’s writing a work email on his phone.

Futaba was right about being in an alleyway, but it’s so cold because they’re shielded by a trio of vending machines selling canned coffee and wrapped sandwiches. "Our dog was recently run over?” she says.

“People can mind their own damn business,” says Akechi in his Pleasant Boy Voice, without looking up from his email.

“He was just trying to help.”

“Oh, yes, let’s help the crying girl by crowding her and suffocating her in a crush of public transit.”

Futaba snorts. “That was really mean of you.”

“Oh, absolutely,” says Akechi.

Futaba sucks a truly disgusting gob of snot into her nose. “Ugh. I wish I could’ve seen the guy’s face when you told him that.”

“It was like I’d spat on his shoes. I should’ve kept going. Or had a camera.”

“Futaba giggles wetly into her forearms. "Like one of those—those prank videos online… Get Yusuke to film it.”

“Yusuke, as the cameraman? I’m not trying to make a documentary.” Akechi flips to a different screen on his phone. “I already texted Yusuke about our poor dead dog, by the way, so don’t worry about it.”

Suddenly Futaba feels like literal garbage again. “Why are you always so nice to me?” she mumbles.

Akechi makes a weird face, like he’s trying to do his old Pleasant Boy shtick while having swallowed a lemon whole. “You say that like me being nice is somehow unusual.”

“Uh, yeah. Because it is. You literally were just being a huge asshole to a guy you’d never met over a fictional dog.”

Akechi has this increasingly disgruntled look on his face like he kind of wants to punt Futaba down some stairs, which, frankly, is the best sort of reward, in Futaba’s opinion. “I’m working on it,” he says grumpily.

“How’s that been?” says Futaba.

“Which part?”

Futaba has one whole moment of self reflection on this idea as maybe not a good course of action before she barrels on anyway: “The part where you’re turning your life around. Starting over. Trying again.”

“It sucks dick,” says Akechi.

“Oh, right on,” says Futaba, and then before she can stop herself: “Wait, I thought you liked dick?”

Akechi makes a noise like a strangled cat.

Futaba cackles. “Dude, incognito mode when you’re browsing for porn does not save you from people like me.”

“Have you been spying on me?”

“Uh, yes? Obviously?”

“You know you could get arrested for that sort of breach in privacy.”

“Oh, boo hoo, so sorry I know all about your weird orphan-saving night job and your smutty Featherman doujinshi collection. You’re not gonna narc on me.” Futaba stops. “Are you?”

“Stop looking at my internet history.”

“No. You better not narc on me.”

“Then stop looking at my internet history.”

“You had to google how to change a SIM card last week, crow-boy; you couldn’t stop me if you tried.”

“I will narc on you.”

“No you won’t. You’re the one trying to not be an asshole.”

Akechi makes a face like a cat being slowly submerged in cold water. Futaba laughs in his face.

“If you’re quite done,” says Akechi grouchily.

“No, never. You’re made for being made fun of,” says Futaba. “I’m gonna be making fun of you for years and years, crow-boy; you’re never going to get rid of me.”

“Great.”

“Gonna be creeping on your weird orphan-saving night job until the day you die.”

“Wonderful,” says Akechi without inflection whatsoever.

“Mwehehehehehehehehehe.”

“If you’re quite done.”

“I will take a well-deserved break from my endless duty to troll you both on and offline,” says Futaba. “Because I really really really wanna go to the art show.”

Akechi has the nerve to look relieved that he no longer has to squat in a dirty alleyway listening to a high school freshman bully him. “Then let’s go.”

Futaba hugs her knees tight. “But I wanna keep your coat.”

“Aren’t you wearing your own coat?” says Akechi, trying to look like he isn’t shivering. “Aren’t you getting hot?”

“I’m keeping it.”

“It’s my coat.”

“I’m keeping it.”

“Fine, then. Keep it. It’s dry clean only.”

“Oh, ew. No, take it back, gross, gross,” and Futaba peels the snotty, tear-stained, dirty winter coat off and dumps it back in Akechi’s arms, who looks at it with the expression of someone long-suffering and without hope of escape.

“And,” says Futaba, “I wanna see it if you tell anyone else that our dog got run over.”

Akechi smirks. “You’ll have to film it, then.”

“Oh my god, like I wouldn’t.”

Futaba scrubs her face one last time. She still feels like she’s covered in a grimy layer of slime, but maybe she can wash her face at Kosei. When she gets there. Because she’s gonna get there.

“Uh, one more thing,” says Futaba.

“Not like you’ve bullied me into doing literally everything else you’ve wanted,” says Akechi.

“You can’t laugh at me.”

“Good thing I don’t have a sense of humor,” says Akechi, which horrifyingly confirms to Futaba that Akechi and Yusuke, of all people, really do share a sense of humor.

Futaba hesitates. “Please, um… please don’t tell Akira about this.”

“Why would I tell Akira?“

"Nice. Good answer.” She smooths her hair down, trying to make herself presentable, or just have something to do with her hands. “I… told him I was gonna be okay without him and all that, so… I don’t wanna let him down, you know?”

Slowly, almost shyly, Akechi smiles. “Oh, yes. I know.”

“Our secret. Secret-keepers.”

“Secret-keepers. Are you ready?”

Futaba takes another deep breath. Pushes herself up, brushes herself off, and sighs. “Absolutely not. This is gonna suck so much dick,” says Futaba. “Let’s go anyway.”

#mine #slams hands on table FUTAGO SIBLINGS #futaba's dubious mental health cw #Anonymous

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ddaenggtan · 5 years

Text

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.”

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miss-sleepdeprived · 3 years

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Im gonna level with you the vast majority of this was written at 3 in the morning and I’m too tired to deal with it any more so let’s hope for the best

Also this is the first part of the prologue \/

“Ah Welcome! How can I help you little lady?”

Alana just about jumped out of her skin, the people here were so friendlier than the ones at her kingdom despite the cold. It was odd.

The smith was an older man with a round face and body, he appeared a jolly fellow who she imagined wouldn't question her specifics.

“I need a sword, something that can cut through bone.” she said pulling her cloak tight around her shoulders.

“ Well alright I have something or did you have plans for it?”

“ I had plans but if it's not possible I understand.”

“ Well let me see ‘em before we say that.”

Alana smiled before pulling out her book, it was dark brown leather bound with a scarlet A on the front as her initials. Flipping to the correct page she handed the book to the smith who took it with surprising gentleness handling it with care looking over the plans before handing it back.

“Well I can do it for sure but its gonna be a hefty price little lady.”

She jumped “Right.” pulling the bad of gems and gold from her belt. “Would this be enough? I can get more if it’s not this is just what I brought with me.”

Handing it to the man he took it with the same gentleness he took her note book, opening it carefully to examine it’s contents.

“Hunny this is perfect, I imagine I can have it done sometime next month butif that works for you, just drop by anytime and have a chat if you want as well, I love the company.”

Alana smiled nodding her head before replying. “Next month is perfect, and if I have the time I may come for a visit thank you.”

“Any time little lady, now you be careful out there I think a storm is a brewin.”

The weeks passed and when she had the time Alana did come to the smithery and visit even well after her sword was made. While there she learned the name of the smith Arther and that Arther had a daughter by the name of Layla whom she met about her 3rd visit to the smithery and was now well acquainted with and could reliably consider her a friend.

Putting her trust in this new friend she told Layla of her plan and who exactly she was, Layla had been less then surprised as she had heard the horror that was king Reed understanding Alana's wish to rid the country of the tirant.

“Hey Lana?” Layla asked, grabbing the blonds attention.

Alana made a noise of acknowledgement moving her head towards her friend. “What is the hierarchy like in Iceland? Cuz here the oldest and second had to fight it out to figure out who’s the heir but I imagine it’s different where your from,”

Alana thought on the topic before giving her decision as it had never crossed her mind. “Well it’s mostly circumstantial, so let’s say that the current ruler died of natural causes then in their will whoever was stated would become ruler in my case my sister despite me being older. However let’s say that he were to get killed via assation then whoever killed him would be dubbed the new ruler despite the people's opinion.”

“Why is that?”

“Because of the crown.” Alana started. “I’ve spent my entire life learning about my country and by far the most interesting thing is the crown of the royals, it is made with a frame of black stone with three pillars in the front, the two on the sides used to have glow stone imbedded in them however the current king had them removed and replaced with coal. And the one in the middle has a good sized netheright that is enchanted to stay on the head of the royal regardless of force if the royal doesn’t want it off it won’t be coming off. The only exception being if they died.”

“Okay so let’s say that someone that wasn’t in the bloodline killed them, what would the crown do?”

“It would attach to the person who killed them although it isn’t normal for that to happen because of security precautions, we are called the most war efficient country for a reason. The people there are rough, ready to fight at any moment. It’s kind of sad if I’m honest.”

“Really?”

“Yes, think about it, wouldn't you be sad if all the time you had to keep a solid face always preparing for the worst because who knows when your king is going to declare war on a country and you're going to have to leave everything to help. I’m sorry I fell down quite the rabbit hole didn’t I?” Alana said with a shy smile

Layla put her hand on Alanas arm.” No no it’s okay that’s how you feel things are you see things from the villagers perspective it’s a sign of a great ruler! And why I thought Willbur would have been a better one.”

Layla mumbled the last but tho it was clear Aruther heard her as he was quick to scold her.

“Layla, you know it’s none of our business what goes on at the capital. And besides, Technoblade still has a time to mature all those boys do and will with time just like you, I remember you once tried to “storm the capital” because you didn’t like the color of banners they put up.”

“GREEN IS THE WORST COLOR TO PUT IN AN ENTIRELY WHITE AND BLUE AREA!”

Arther simply laughed at his daughter's childishness shaking his head as he went back to cleaning and sharpening tools.

Huffing and falling back into her chair Layla noticed something under Alana's cloak.

“Hey Lana?”

“Humm?”

“Come out back with me for a sec?”

“Sure.”

The two girls walked around to the back of the store where it was much warmer then the rest of the outside considering the walls meant to keep the wind out and the active fire that Arther used to reform tools.

“Okay cutting right to the chase do you have wings?”

“Uh..”

“YOU DO!? CAN YOU FLY!? CAN YOU TAKE ME FLYING!?”

“That’s what your wondering?”

“Uh duh, I mean come on I find out my best friend has wings and you think I’m not gonna want a ride?” she gasped before continuing. “ CAN I SEE THEM!!!??”

Alana jumped before putting her hands on Layla’s shoulders and covering her mouth to keep her quiet.

“Okay okay you can see them if you promise to be quiet.”

The brunette nodded frantically before watching Alana move her cloak allowing the massive white wings to stretch and the bones to pop from being stuck under the cloak for so long, ruffling the feathers to put them back the their place before turning back to Layla rolling her eyes slightly to see her practically jumping in her spot before nodding and allowing her friend to run her hands threw the small feathers along her back all the way down to the big ones that allow her to fly all the while checking with Alana to make sure it was okay.

“Why do you keep them under your cloak?” Layla asked with a quizzing look in her face.

“Well my parents don’t like them too much I’m not sure why but they truly just don’t want to look at them if they can help it. I think mother would cut them off if she could if I’m being honest.”

Layla stood still before opening her mouth again.

“That’s bullshit! Your wings are beautiful if I’m being honest it’s hard to see you without them now they are just so you anyone that says any different need to pull their head out of their own ass and I have half a mind to give that king of yours a piece of my mind from that!”

Layla had now moved to Alana's front. Alana simply looked at her stunned before pulling her into a hug burying her face in her shoulder.

Layla hesitated for no more than a fraction of a second before returning the hug to a bone crushing degree as if trying to desperately reassure Alana that she wasn’t going anywhere.

A moment later Alana pulled away covering her wings once again and smiled at Layla.

“If I accomplish this, would you be willing to be my advisor? Because I’ll be damned if Regionald is going to tell me what to do.”

“Always just let me know what to do.”

The two had another hug before parting once more.

“I need to head home, come on.”

Alana said pulling her friend back inside, saying goodbye to Arther, and walking out with wishes of good travel.

Getting to the edge of the dock where none ever sailed she spread her large wings allowing the large mussels to pull her into the air and lead her back to her home.

Have a nice night folks get some sleep

#mcyt imagine #dsmp oc #sbi au #sbi family dynamic #my ocs #plssss #im so tiiiiired #tommy mcyt #technoblade #phillza #willbur soot

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thehighestmountains · 3 years

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evermore review and ranking:

overall, i found this album to have more skippable songs than folklore and the middle of my ranking definitely feels like the middle whereas in my folklore ranking, #14 was still a fav. folklore was a true anomaly where i was just adding the whole album to my playlist. evermore really feels like folklore’s little sister getting the hand-me-downs, who just doesnt know who she is or what shes doing with her life, what is the theme exactly.

tis the damn season. i fell in love in the first five seconds. i love the moody mature guitar strums and drum beats amping up the entire song. the story of coming back to an old love in your hometown reminds me of the show ‘the normal people’. im a real sucker for sagas, timeless loves that pull you in time and time again, familiar feelings that just feel right because you experienced them at such a young age. this song gets me.

There's an ache in you, put there by the ache in me But if it's all the same to you It's the same to me

So we could call it even You could call me "babe" for the weekend 'Tis the damn season, write this down

Sleep in half the day just for old times' sake I won't ask you to wait if you don't ask me to stay So I'll go back to L.A. and the so-called friends

long story short. this is such a banger r u joking. i feel every single one of my blood cells pumping as soon as this song starts. i even love the post-chorus, a great break from the chorus and the verses. i could post the whole song as my favorite lines.

And you passed right by I was in the alley, surrounded on all sides The knife cuts both ways If the shoe fits, walk in it 'til your high heels breakAnd I fell from the pedestal Right down the rabbit hole Long story short, it was a bad time When I dropped my sword I threw it in the bushes and knocked on your door And we live in peace But if someone comes at us, this time, I'm ready

ivy. hard not to compare this to illicit affairs, but this is like an upbeat version. if i didnt even pay attention to the lyrics, i would think this is so fun and catchy, it sounds good. there is no anger, there is a joy. and i just like it.

Oh, goddamn My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand Taking mine, but it's been promised to another Oh, I can't Stop you putting roots in my dreamland My house of stone, your ivy grows And now I'm covered in you So yeah, it's a fire It's a goddamn blaze in the dark And you started it

willow. im really glad this was the leading single because this is a beautiful stringy piece with a great melody. when i was reading the lyrics before listening to the song, it sounded extremely cheesy with “thats my man”, “i come back stronger than a 90s trend”, but in the song, i love it. theres a lot of heart and oompf to this.

And if it was an open-shut case I never would've known from that look on your face Lost in your current like a priceless wine

The more that you say, the less I know Wherever you stray, I follow

coney island. i wonder why she picked coney island, a very summery location with the bright lines and merry go, when the whole album is supposed to be a winterscape. i barely understand what this song is about but i enjoy the sounds.

Did I close my fist around something delicate? Did I shatter you?

evermore. i love when justin vernon starts singing with that beautiful falsetto “cant not think of all the cost and the things that will be lost”.

Or the violence of the dog days I'm on waves, out being tossed

champagne problems. before i get into this, i like this song, im impressed with the bridge and the chorus, i enjoy the story. just a small thing: title phrase. i just dont vibe with it, the rest of the lyrics couldve been more connected with champagne, i dont believe champagne to be any alcoholic’s choice of drink. and one more nitpick, who likes that random piano mash at the end, anyone?

Your mom's ring in your pocket My picture in your wallet Your heart was glass, I dropped it

One for the money, two for the show I never was ready so I watch you go Sometimes you just don't know the answer 'Til someone's on their knees and asks you

tolerate it - this is a good mellow song, i can relate to the deep sadness of feeling ignored, every thing you do is just dropped. i feel this could grow on me, especially because at the end we really get that jolt of energy, i can leave, i can do it.

I wait by the door like I'm just a kid Use my best colors for your portrait

gold rush. this song is a little too sweet for me, specifically “i dont need a gold rush gold rush”. its just an upbeat and repetitive pop song. i also find this specific high school energy of really wanting someone but also despising their appeal to just not relate to the headspace im currently in.

no body no crime. whoooa that blast of country. it kind of feels weird in this album. i think the chorus is incredibly boring, “i think he did it but i just cant prove it” over and over.

No, no body, no crime But I ain't lettin' up until the day I die

closure. i cant get over the constant banging of industrial pots and pans throughout this whole song lol. i really went back and forth between do i like this, no i hate it, ok i could get used to it, no no it doesnt fit with the lyrics and how shes singing. i also dont care for “yes i got your letter, yes im doing better”.

we have a large pile of songs at the bottom, they all mush together in a sad corner. these could maybe grow on me but i also would be fine never listening to them again. with folklore’s sad songs, like epiphany or my tears ricochet, there was still something that appealed to me. most of these, there just isnt anything.

happiness - similar to tolerate it, i think the lyrics carry and convey a specific feeling very well, i have definitely felt this way, but i dont feel like the instrumentals match her emotional singing. i think she really carries this song and the instruments just let me down.

No one teaches you what to do When a good man hurts you And you know you hurt him too

marjorie - i feel like a song about her grandmother could have been so great instead we get “what died didnt stay dead” over and over and a bridge that is mostly about herself. “shouldve kept every grocery store receipt cause every scrap of you would be taken from me” is the worst of the lines, thats what you want to keep? grocery receipts? the song should be about her grandmother leaving all her “backlogged dreams” to her, and im not getting much of that.

cowboy like me - takes one... to... know... one...... this song does not embody the type of cowboy shes talking about, perhaps a 80 year old woman singing about her tendencies to run away. im not convinced taylor is singing from a place she understands enough about. my least favorite line in the album goes to “the tennis court was covered up with some tent-like thing”. tent like thing? lol ok. although i will say one of my favorite lines is “forever is the sweetest con”, but that gem cannot save this song.

dorothea - this is the worst version of seven from folklore. its about ten times less interesting, very bare bones, hardly any story or background information. i dont particularly like the name dorothea. giving me major grandma vibes, these last three songs are major grandma vibes.

#evermore #evermore ranking

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vagabcnds · 4 years

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i have tossed around making this post for months now, gone back and forth with myself and my friends about if it would even be worth posting this. honestly, i don’t know if telling my side of this is going to do any good, but i think it’s time that i added some more information to this whole situation so that even more people can see that our friends (and i use that term with as much sarcasm as possible) @seattlehqrpg , as well as her other rp @canterlotislandhq , have not changed, and will not change. this is indeed another psa about this woman, but with some more information and one on one conversations with the woman.

hey hi, hello, so, my name is maig, i’ve been around the rpc for over a decade, and right now you might recognize my multifandom : @hiddenwashington . we’re an appless multifandom that i started up two years ago. and over those two years, we have dealt with jasmine, jazzy, jackie, jacqueline, whatever j name she wants to call herself this time, on and off, for that duration.

and just to clear up some information from other psas, i do not believe this is the same nova/jazzy that was terrorizing groups last year with attacking and fighting admins. we’ve spoken with j multiple times, as well as jazzy/nova, and honestly i can tell for sure these are not the same people. unfortunately, there is more than one bad egg in the rpc.

i have a ton of screenshots, so forgive me for not using them all. a link to a google drive will be at the end of this, for all of the screenshots i have of stolen asks, interactions, etc. but i’ll just be using key information for this specific post. or else we’ll be here all day.

when we first encountered j (we’ll just use “j” for now since she focuses on whatever name we call her more than the content of the psas. and all her aliases start with it idk), we thought she was just another person who wanted to join but sort of went about it the wrong way. we first got an anon on the main, asking if our current ginny (that being me) would be willing to give her up. because j wanted to play her.

we had gotten an anon asking about if we were welcoming towards people with social anxiety (or something like that. it’s been two years now since this all happened so specifics are a little fuzzy. like i said we’ve been dealing with her for so long.) i pretty much hit her with “i’m not willing to drop her because i still want to play her but hmu on my character account and we can chat about other characters for you to play”. i had no idea that answering it would lead us down this rabbit hole i’m writing about today. we sorta chatted, she kinda just rambled to me about how she wanted to write someone not like her so she could have a challenge. valid. i tried helping out, i didn’t really know what fandoms she was into so i said what i could and then went onto the main. when i got back onto my account, she had taken it upon herself to critique my portrayal of ginny, asking if she would ever say ‘dick’. she kept messaging me, sandwiching that comment between other questions. i told her i didn’t appreciate unsolicited critiques. i tried to move past it but she kept at me about it. telling me she hadn’t read the books in 10 years. and only read one. the last one, in 3 hours. idk overall it was a weird conversation and i sort of thought that was the end of it.

honestly, i’m not gonna spend a TON of time on this already too long psa going on about every interaction we had with her, every crazy thing she said. most importantly, we accepted her in, thinking she was just a little wild but us talking to her covered it. she ended up going in active over easter or spring break or something, wanted to take up another character, we told her to wait to pick her activity up. ya know, standard admin business. and then she started attacking us. telling us we didn’t care about her, about what she went through not having a computer or whatever. she started sending us anons about how her friend stole her money and we don’t care about her and we all hate her so why should she stay. it was kinda insane. again, check the google doc for all that. she ended up leaving, we got some anons about how she never joined other rps because of admins like us. just random things here and there, some anons about how dare we talk to people like we did. just random shit that really only she could come up with. but we had an rp to run, lives to get on with, tv shows to binge, idk fam. life goes on.

honestly, we sort of forgot about this whole mess for like close to a year? that was when we started getting ims. from her. we knew bc it was the same accounts as before. she uses the same ones over and over, it’s easy to keep track of her. it’s sort of why we never felt the need to bring anything up, we always thought she was just stealing from us and we knew when it was her and when to refuse to accept the questions. this is where we enter phase two of hidden’s journey with “j” : the thief.

this is one of our earliest encounters. before she started sending them on anon.

(for some quick context, she would send us questions for fcs, ask if a character was open and then go around trying to poach our members for her group)

tw suicidal thoughts for this next picture

honestly this goes on for like 10 more pictures, so instead of spamming here, the full conversation is in the google drive under the folder : a fight that almost was

she eventually goes on to call me out as the admin talking to her, i tell her again to message me off the main so that we could get back to actually admining our group. she hits me up, calls me “a cute ginny mun”, and then proceeds to ask me to help her fill out Her Own Application for ginny for her own group!!

the tiktok video of “did a full one eightyyy” is all that is going through my head from this specific encounter.

anyways. this is when the stealing really amped up, for not just us, but for the entire rpc. around this time, we had stupidly let her back into the group, i had wanted to keep my eye on her personally. see what she was stealing from the inside. idk i was dumb. this is also around the time the first psa about her came around.

enter, phase three. it’s similar to phase two, but this time, “j” must tell everyone she is in fact Not A Thief™

so, during this time, it was around may of last year? while she was in the group, she started stealing more, we were catching her in the act, and we eventually had to kick her out of hidden. it’s not really a shock but ya know. gotta do what you gotta do.

she was going by jasmine at the time. anyways. this is also before her current group @seattlehqrpg , when she still had @manilahq and @forgottenfriendshiphq or whatever she changed that too. she was getting a ton of “hate” over there. mainly anons telling her to stop stealing from other creators. valid.

anyways, she would blame us for all of the stealing, that we were the true thieves. idk we were her scapegoats for a long time. i can confirm to you all now, i have never, nor have any of my admins, sent her any messages to steal fcs or anything to “attack” her. honestly we try to forget she exists but she just makes it so hard to ignore her with all of this.

anyways, this has been our song and dance with “j” for a while now. we get an anon, we answer, she steals from us in a matter of hours. i’m sure everyone can attest to that similar situation. i mean, here’s just like a couple instances. i have hundreds in the google docs, dating back years. this behavior doesn’t change.

i mean, she has even gone as far as to steal our plot. sure, it’s not exactly original. every multifandom somehow brings all these characters to a city by magic or something. but the mention of the witch, the alternate universe city, the memories. it just all around reads plagiarism.

so, check the google doc for more evidence i guess if you really need to!

but, some things we’ve noticed, beyond her just stealing asks and plots and EVENTS ??? AND NOW TASKS ??? check out this post for the tasks, and this other psa for the event. because that shit is so fucked.

she has also straight up stolen replies and claimed them as her own. my friend and fellow admin, was in her rp for a hot minute, and played pacifica northwest. (some information is crossed out for privacy) this was from us talking about the plagiarism, of her stealing from my friend while “j” was in hidden, which we both admin.

this is her post

and this is "j”’s, while she was in hidden.

i mean, same gif and everything friends.

she constantly goes on about how she doesn’t look at other rps, how she doesn’t have time, that she’s running five other groups, but honey, we’re running those groups for you with all the stealing!! i mean, just as further proof that she is constantly looking at other groups, including hidden, to an obsessive amount. a member left her group (who then went and joined us we believe), and this was her unfollow for them. (i feel so sorry for that member to be called out like this?? how uncomfortable do you have to make your former and current members???)

and hidden’s character count that same day ??? coincidence, i think not.

listen, this isn’t meant to stir up more drama, i know it will and that’s kinda why i put this off. everyone had sort of said what needed to be said? it didn’t feel necessary to repeat the same shit we all knew. but with more of this happening, with her stealing plots, tasks and events. it felt like this was the time to strike, to get this awareness back up. she needs to stop, and if we all ban together, maybe we can stop it? i don’t know. but i have hope that this can all change if we have each other’s backs.

this has been hiddenwashington’s side of the story, i’m sure there are still more groups out there with stories or stolen asks. and i am sorry to anyone who has had to deal with her. but just, do yourselves a favor and look out for anyone with a j alias, 21+. she/her, from pst. who also uses “RPG” a lot.

a lot of this stuff is old, but she’s still doing this in @seattlehqrpg i just grabbed these screenshots because it’s what i had on hand. but anyways. here is the link to the google drive with all of our screenshots we have complied.

if you have any questions, comments, concerns, what have you: my inbox (including anons), ims and everything are open and i am more than happy to chat!! please come talk with me about anything!!!

stay safe, and thanks for joining me on this season of To Catch a Plagiarizer.

#psa #rpc #rpt #multifandom rp #fandom rp #rph #rpc psa #personal.#about hidden #long post tw #this is literally so long i pray for all of you who read it #seattlehqrpg

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emeraldbambi · 4 years

Text

Midoriya Izuku: Feeling alone

(Tw) Depression, selfharm, and suicide.

++++

It was hard getting through the day, when this heavy feeling weighed him down. The voices in his head were louder, telling him things he wished werent true. He wasnt alone, so why did it feel like he was?

Aizawa sensei was ignoring it as usual, Izuku wanted to believe that Aizawa was different. That he wouldnt let Kaachan hurt him, but he was a teacher and teachers usually turn a blind eye. He clenched his scarred hands, why couldnt the bell just ring already?

He sat in his seat behind his childhood friend, or more like tormentor, Bakugou Katsuki, or as he calls him Kaachan. The explosive blonde was in one of his moods, constantly yelling which wasnt doing Izuku any good.

"Deku!" The greenette flinched back at the angry voice narrowly avoiding an aimed explosion. Scared green eyes tentatively locked eyes with furious red orbs, he swallowed harshly. Why couldnt Kaachan leave him alone?

"Yes, K-Kaachan?" His voice trembled, he hesitantly casted fearful eyes towards Aizawa, he would stop the blonde if he got to violent, right?

"Stop fucking muttering, it's annoying and creepy!" He snarled. Izuku clamped his mouth shut and nodded hoping to appease Kaachan.

"Bakugou, is there a problem?" Aizawa's stern voice called out, Bakugou turned around sharply and grunted out a no.

Izuku pierced his fingernails into his palms, trying to steady his breathing. He hoped no one noticed his near hyperventilation. But he doubt they would, no one cared.

"Deku? Are you alright?" He stopped himself from wincing, he hated that nickname. Uraraka Ochaco, the pretty brunette from the entrance exam, tried to change the meaning of the name as she also tried to befriend him. But as nice as she was, she couldnt take away the pain it brought him still.

He glanced at her worried brown eyes and forced a smile. "Mhm, I'm okay." He could tell she wasnt fully convinced, but it didnt matter. He didnt matter.

The bell rang, startling Izuku who couldnt help the racing of his heart. "Midoriya, Uraraka, will we be sitting together for lunch?" Iida Tenya, a still boy who also tried to befriend the two, asked?

He bit his lip, he wasnt in the mood to socialize. He wondered if he could sneak out or claim he felt unwell. It was true, he really didnt feel good.

Mental health was important, right? Recovery girl would let him take the day off, wouldnt she? He really needed to be alone.

"Actually, Iida, Im not feeling very well. I think im going to head to the nurses offices. Thank you, though." He smiled, truly thankful Iida invited someone as worthless as him. The two nodded before walking away, chatting as they headed to the lunch room.

He fiddled with the hem of his shirt nervously, he just has to let sensei know as well so he didnt question him. He slowly walked towards the seemingly napping teacher. He reached a shaking hand out to wake the man, when he suddenly snapped his eyes open scaring Izuku half to death.

"What do you want, problem child?" The nickname served to bring his mood down even more, was he really that much of a problem? His teachers dark eyes looked at him searchingly, making his increasingly high nerves worse.

"I-I uh, I wanted to see if I could visit Recovery girl?" He asked, green eyes shifting around nervously. He couldn't help the tremors that violently racked his small body.

"Are you hurt?" Sensei asked, already sitting up.

"No, i just feel ill. Thats all."

"Go ahead." Izuku almost sighed in relief, grateful his teacher didnt ask anymore questions. He ran out quickly, rounding the corner, he froze.

What if Recovery girl didnt allow him to leave? Like the nurses from middle school, would she dismiss him? No, he couldnt go to her, the adults are all the same. He would just have to leave on his own.

He headed to the front, trying to act as casual as possible. He ran out the doors when he saw Kaachan yelling at a random student for probably bumping into him. Running out the gates, he let out a deep breath, he had to get home.

Hopefully his mom wouldn't be there, he loved her but she was always bringing him down the rabbit hole he was currently trying to escape. She'd cry and treat him like fragile glass, which was the last thing he wanted.

He reached his house and quickly dug out his keys from his pockets, he quietly unlocked the door. He didnt want to alert his mom in case she was there. He walked silently to his room, it was bare, all his posters and figurines were gone.

Despite All Might giving him a quirk, he was still the hero that broke him. Told him to his face he couldnt be a hero and to give up trying, only to take it back the minute he risked his life to save his bully, piss poor job he did.

He walked to his open closet and pulled out a small, locked wooden box. Walking back to his bed, he removed the key clasped to the chain around his neck. After unlocking it and digging around, he found the blades he hid in toilet paper.

He took off his jacket and shirt, pressing the cool metal against the untouched skin beneath his collarbone. He clenched his teeth as he dragged the blade across his skin a few times, letting the blood roll down his chest and onto his covered thighs. Blinking away the tears that threaten to fall, he placed the blade down.

There was still so much pain that he couldnt cut away, he wanted it to stop. Wanted everything to stop. Why wont it stop.

He banged his fist against his head, wanting to silence the screams thundering in his mind. "Please, just shut up." He whispered.

His phone ringing brought him out of his inner turmoil, he blindly reached for it, ignoring the pain the stretch brought. Clicking answer, he pressed the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" He voice sounded raspy, throat dry from all the crying.

"Izu, honey, sorry for interrupting your school time, but I was just letting you know that I'll be working overtime, ok? I won't be home till after ten, I promise in the morning I'll make a big breakfast to make up for missing katsudon night, okay baby? I love you." It was his mother, of course the shitty day could get much worse.

"Yeah, mom. It's fine, I'll eat some ramen. I love you, take care." They hung up.

He was so tired of feeling this way, but he didnt know what to do to make it stop. His collarbone still stung, he should probably wrap it already as its still bleeding. Maybe the cuts were a little too deep, but oh well.

He glanced at his bloodstained blade, ending it might be better. He'd no longer be a burden, no longer bothering his mother or society with his mere existence.

He should at least say goodbye to All Might, for trying to save him. But he was much too late to be saved. He dialed his number and prayed he'd answer.

"Hello? Midoriya, my boy? Is somethinh wrong?" The genuine concern in his voice caused a choked son to escape his mouth. "My boy?"

"I'm sorry, All Might. I couldn't do it. I couldn't handle the pressure."

"Midoriya, what's wrong? What's happening? Are you alright?" All Might's worried tone brought more tears.

"I called you to say goodbye and that I took a strand of my hair and placed it in a zip lock bag. The darkness plaguing my thoughts were too much, I couldn't save myself, I'm sorry." He cried, he ignored his mentors voice frantically asking where he was and hung up.

He grabbed the blade once again and gently placed it to his neck, feeling his pulse thrumming against his fingertips. "I won't feel alone anymore." With one large and deep slice, he cut the carotid arteries in his neck. Bleeding out, his world went black.

++++

My first try at a one-shot. I hope I did good☺

#bnha #deku #self deprecation #depression #selfharm #tw suicide

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davieslandon · 4 years

Text

Discord Thread || Harry and Landon

Discord thread featuring: Landon & @theharrykingston

Mentions: @lorencourtier @romanbeckett @aaronhart93

When: July 1st

Description: Landon tells Harry that Loren broke up with him.

Trigger Warnings: breakup talk, sad Landon

Harry

Harry hadn't actually realised that a few days had gone by. That wasn't because he was disassociating, or had been lost down some rabbit hole of the past. He'd actually been writing... For the first time in months, he had a real muse and a real desire to write. Harry was so overdue to publish the next book in his series, he was giving George R.R. Martin a run for his money. But, over the course of a few days he was almost done with the first draft, ready for the editing houses. There was just... One thing he wanted to do before he sent it off. During the time that they had been together, Harry had always had Landon read his drafts. He really respected the thoughts and insight the other man gave, and now that they were back in each others' lives... He just thought that maybe it might... Put some common ground back between them... As friends, of course. Harry had sent a few texts, but after a couple hours with no response, not even a read sign, Harry got worried. He called and Uber and rode across town to his house... Their house... Knocking on the door, he waited patiently for the answer. "Hey-- I-- I texted you and I-I got no response, I just th-thought I'd come and check in... Is everything okay?"

Landon

Landon wasn’t sure how he managed to get from Loren’s place all the way to his own. He drove, that he knew for sure, but he couldn’t actually remember the journey. How could he when all he could think about was Loren saying he didn’t think Landon really loved him. That this wasn’t working out and it was better if they ended things now. Landon really thought he finally found someone understanding that he could love and move on from all the drama. How stupid of him. He paid the babysitter as soon as he got back and somehow kept his composure for long enough to put Elle to bed but, as soon as he was alone, he was done. Landon collapsed onto the couch and took heaving breaths, trying to keep his sobs in but it wasn’t working. Soon enough he was crying, trying his best to keep it down so as not to wake up Elle. The part thing he was expecting was a knock on the door and he had half the mind to ignore it but...what if it was something important? So he wiped his face to his best of his ability and opened the door, coming face to face with Harry. “Oh, hey. I wasn’t expecting you today”, he said, trying to muster up a smile. “Everything’s fine. My phone’s just out of battery so I put it on charge. Thanks for checking in though.”

Harry

Harry knew as soon as his eyes set onto Landon that he was not okay. Even after the space that was put between them from him, even after all these years... Harry knew exactly what Landon looked like after he'd been crying. What he looked like when he was hurt. He could feel his own heart hurting. "Landon..." He said softly as the other tried to smile and pretend. "I-- You never were very good at l-lying," Harry gave a small half smile as he sighed and lifted his brows a little. "I came t-to make s-sure Elle was okay but... I don't want t-to leave knowing you're not..."

Landon

Landon should have known Harry would see right through his lie but he couldn’t even bring himself to care right now. He was too hurt and tired to keep up the act and he shrugged, avoiding his ex-husband’s eyes. Moving to the side, he let Harry walk in and led the way to the living room. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have next to the front door. Once they were both sitting down, Landon tried to think of the best way to say it but in the end decided to go with the truth. “Loren broke up with me.”

Harry

Harry walked into the house and closed the door after him, slipping his shoes off and handing his coat up before following Lan through into the living room. He got a really strong sense of home whenever he was in this house, especially now that, for the most part, he and Landon were actually getting along. It had been a rough month of constant fighting and bickering but... Perhaps they really could do this. Harry didn't say anything when they sat down, he knew that Landon was just trying to find the right words and of course Harry would give him the time to do that. If anyone knew what not being about to get your thoughts out was like, it was Harry. What he didn't expect was what came, though... Harry's heart sunk. Had he been glad that Landon was dating again? No... But, had he been glad that he was happy? Of course, more than anything. "Landon I--" he sighed heavily, looking to Landon just to make sure he wasn't completely closing down before gently just placing an arm around his shoulders. He knew that if Landon wanted more, if he needed a hug, he'd turn into him. "I'm really s-sorry, Lan... I really am..."

Landon

Landon wasn’t sure what else he could say. He thought things were going well between them and instead it was the other way round. This wasn’t something that he saw coming and it made everything so much worse. How was he supposed to look Harry in the eyes after he argued with him over the same guy who broke up with him so unexpectedly? Landon even wanted to introduce him to Elle. How stupid could he be? Maybe he wasn’t as good of a dad as he liked to think he was. “It’s fine, I should have expected it really”, he smiled bitterly. “Why does everyone I love leave?” He turned to Harry, desperately looking for an answer that he was probably not going to get.

Harry

Harry couldn’t help but be glad that they had never introduced Elle to Loren. He had absolutely no right to think that considering everything he’s done to his own daughter, but still... He couldn’t help but allow the thought to cross his mind. Harry would never say that out loud though, he wanted to support his ex husband, not put him down even more. Being such an empath, Harry didn’t think that he could feel anymore of Landons pain than he already was... But then he went and said that. Harry’s heart dropped to his stomach, tugged down by tons of weight. “I—“ He really had no response. “I’m sorry...” Harry said gently before pulling Landon into a hug properly. “*Im so s-sorry, Landon...” He muttered gently as he closed his eyes to stop himself from crying. “I promise you it— it’s not you... You’re... You’re the best person I-I have ever met, Landon...”

Landon

Landon knew that Harry couldn’t give him an answer to his question, no one could. But he wasn’t thinking clearly so when his ex-husband looked like he didn’t know what to say...it crushed Landon. He let himself be pulled into a hug, squeezing Harry tightly almost as a way of grounding himself. “If it’s not me then why? Everyone leaves. I’m barely even talking to Roman and Aaron, you left...now Loren...I can’t. I c-can’t do this anymore.”

Harry

As Landon gave into the hug and squeezed him as if his life was depending on it, Harry just held him closer and tighter, one hand on the back of his head. “R-Roman and Aaron haven’t left, L... a-and I— I’m sorry I left. But— i— I’m back... For you, for Elle... I’m not going anywhere a-again, okay?” He sniffled and took a shaky breath. “I promise Landon... I’m not leaving... Youre not alone...”

Landon

Landon felt so alone. Just when he was slowly starting to get over the hurt of Harry leaving, this happened. He was in a good place, thinking that he could finally be somewhat happy with Harry back to help him raise Elle and Loren by his side. It’s true that Harry was gone for four years but he was here now and they could work on moving forward. Maybe he could stop fearing his ex-husband leaving again. All his fears were back and doubled now that his boyfriend, the person he was falling in love with and went all the way to France for, broke up with him. He wanted to believe Harry and his promise but he was just...done. He was done being played. “O-okay...yeah. I’m sorry.” Sorry for their fight in the park over someone who wasn’t even going to stay, sorry for not answering his texts and worrying him, sorry for breaking down...Landon wasn’t sure what he was really apologizing for.

Harry

Harry wanted to find a way to contact this guy, to give him a piece of his mind however hypocritical that may seem. He was by no means a violent person, in fact, Harry had never hit anyone or anything in his life before but seeing Landon hurting like this... It boiled his blood. Then there was the fight inside him, the little voice telling him that this was how Landon was when he left, when he broke his heart... If Harry hadn't already had that defining moment that made him realise he wasn't going anywhere, this would have been it too. Sure, they had probably burnt all of their bridges when it came to a relationship but... Harry wanted to be here for Landon too. As... Whatever it was Landon needed. "You have nothing to be s-sorry for..." He said, trying to be as stern as he could so that message got across to his ex-husband. "None of th-this is your fault," Harry hugged him tightly, sighing gently. "It's gonna be okay, Landon..."

Landon

In a way, this all seemed like a repetition of everything that happened with Harry when he left four years ago, even though not to the same extent. He and Loren weren't married or raising a child together and they hadn't been together as long as he and Harry had been, but the similarities were still there. Landon still felt rejected, hurt and abandoned. He thought what they had was...important. Although now he realised how stupid he was being to think like that for someone he'd been with for such a short time. That was the problem with Landon. It took him a while to be convinced in giving things a try with someone, but once he did he was all in. No more. He couldn't get hurt again, he just couldn't take it anymore. "I guess I know that in a way but I just feel so stupid crying over someone who left me because I didn't love him enough." Landon wanted to believe Harry's words, he really did, but history showed him otherwise. He didn't want to worry his ex-husband more than he probably already was so he just nodded, trying to calm himself down. 'Yeah, yeah, you're right."

Harry

Seeing Landon like this... It brought every memory flooding back to Harry, everything from the last few months of their marriage, everything from the cabin, from seeing him again at Throuple, everything Aaron had said to him. It was almost overwhelming. It made him want to stand up and bolt out the door, afraid of confronting and seeing pain he's caused. But, Aaron was wrong. Aaron was wrong, he wasn't going to run away as soon as it got hard. This was hard. But he needed to stay, needed to prove to himself that he could, and to Landon that he would... Slowly, he pulled away from the hug, but stayed close, hip to hip. "You'll find-- s-someone," Harry said, his voice soft and quiet. Carefully, reading Landon's eyes in case he was overstepping, Harry lifting his hands which were shaking a little, and wiped Landon's cheeks and under his eyes clear of tears. "You are more th-than enough, I-- I wouldn't want t-to raise a child with anyone else... Even under our circums-stances now..." He sighed gently, raising his brows softly. "He's an idiot for letting you th-through his fingers... A-And leaving you behind... Just like I was..."

Landon

Landon scoffed at the mention of finding someone else and shook his head. "No thanks. I think I'm done with dating and serious relationships. I've given it a good try and ended miserable every single time so now I'm done." He knew he was probably sounding really dramatic but Landon was being very serious. He couldn't go through this again, he just couldn't. All his walls were up and they weren't likely to come back down any time soon. Love could go fuck itself because it brought him nothing but pain. Landon smiled at Harry's words about raising Elle together. Through all of this, the only thing that made him feel a little better was the knowledge that Loren's exit from his life wasn't going to affect his daughter in any way. It crushed him but as long as it was just him, he would live through it. He didn't want to imagine what he would have felt if he had to tell Elle that someone she'd gotten close to because of him was leaving and never coming back. Harry talking about them raising Elle together reminded him of one of the last conversations he had with Loren where his boyfriend...ex-boyfriend....asked him if he would ever want more children. How did they go from that to break up? "He asked me, you know. At the wedding reception. He asked me if I would ever want to have more kids...with you."

Harry

A lot of people might have rolled their eyes at Landon's statement. They might have passed it off, saying that he was just being dramatic in the moment and give it a couple days, his thoughts on the matter would be different. But, Harry knew Landon. Even with the 4 years they had missed from each others lives, he knew Landon. There was a deadly seriousness behind that sentence, especially behind those last two words. I'm Done. Harry knew that feeling... To a certain extent, he still did. Even with Dorian... Harry was a pessimistic person, he didn't expect it to last. He didn't expect Dorian to stick around through all his lows. Everything came, and everything goes. Those were the two absolutes of living. Harry was almost certain he'd had his shot at happiness... He missed. There was nothing to be done about it. "If you do... If you don't-- th-that's okay..." Harry ran his thumb over Landon's cheek before bringing his hands back down and putting an arm behind Landon again, just in case... Just in case the other needed another hug. Though, what he said surprised him and there was no way to hide that kind of shock. "What a-- s-strange question for him t-to ask," he blinked a few times before furrowing his eyebrows and looking to him. "What did you s-say?"

Landon

Maybe Landon would change his mind once the wound wasn't so fresh any more but he didn't think that was likely. How many times who could he open himself up to someone only to have it thrown back in his face? It wasn't fair. But he didn't want to say that out loud because he knew it would make him sound like a whining four year old. And he wasn't. He was a twenty eight year old father to the most amazing little girl he had ever met. That was what he needed to focus on whenever he felt like everything was getting to be too much, which it often did. "I didn't think anything of it at the time...honestly I just saw it as a way of taking an interest in a future together? But, once again, that was very stupid of me", he sighed. "What do you think I said? I said no. I mean, can you imagine us having more kids other than Elle in the situation we're in?"

Harry

Harry felt himself sighing at almost the same time as he ex-husband. He didn't know what to say to make him feel better, he didn't know whether Landon wanted him to stay, even if they just ordered food and watched TV in peace and quiet, just having company... Was that weird? Did ex-husbands usually do this? Harry supposed you couldn't really compare them to anyone else, because he'd certainly never heard of anything or anyone in a situation remotely like theirs... That was kind of a blessing and a curse. It meant they got to make up their own rules, but it also meant there was no playbook to go off, no base ground to build on. "No... But--" Harry glanced down at his feet for a moment as he collected some thoughts going around his head. "I-- I think if... which I-I don't think I ever will.. But I th-think if I ever did have kids with s-someone else... I'd-- I'd want you to be in their lives too... A Godfather kinda?" He tried to explain how no matter what, he wanted Landon to be a part of his life. It was far too late to honour his 'for better or for worse' vow but... He wanted to at least respect it. Harry sighed and then decided that he would have a go at perhaps changing the topic so they didn't go around in circles or start arguing. He reached down and unclipped his satchel and took out the manuscript of his book and then placed it in Landon's lap. "That's-- that's for you... You don't-- you don't have to read it, I-I understand if you don't... But-- you always had t-the first copy..." He smiled softly.

Landon

Landon wasn't sure how they ended up talking about potentially having other children, especially since he was always so adamant that he didn't want to have more kids for the time being. He wanted to focus on Elle and enjoy the last few years of his twenties before even thinking of having more children. Yet it was nice to get the opportunity to discuss it. During his conversations with Aaron and Alison about the possibility of them having another child, he sometimes thought about more children of his own. His biggest worry was always how it would affect Elle, having a sibling that did not have Harry as a dad. Obviously he still wanted Harry to be a part of Elle's life but would it be awkward for his ex-husband if Landon ever did end up having more kids? It was something that actually worried him and one of the reasons why he didn't want to think about more kids at the time being. He didn't want to ruin the hesitant truce they had going on. But with the way Harry was talking, maybe they wouldn't have to. "Maybe...that could be nice, I guess." It was weird for him to think of them having more kids other than Elle on their own but he knew it was something that could happen in the future. He doubted it could ever be a possibility for them together. With Harry now seeing Dorian and him on an indefinite break from relationships, they were clearly both on very different paths. Landon wasn't expecting the manuscript he was given from Harry. "Are you serious?" It was true that he was always the one to get the first copy but he wasn't sure if that was an honour that still fell to him with everything that happened between them. It made a rush of affection to run through him and he pulled Harry in for another hug. "Than you", he whispered. "Of course I'm going to read it and I already know I'm going to love it."

Harry

Harry had no idea where his life was heading anymore, and for the first time that wasn't because he'd given up on it completely. His friendship with Dorian was slowly progressing into something else, and whilst they hadn't had a conversation about anything official, whilst they were still finding their feet and navigating those waters... Harry found himself actively looking forward, wondering what was next. Of course, there were times where Harry was sure that he was reading too much into their kiss at the wedding, or the dinner they had a few days after. But... There was some hope in there, and that was huge for Harry. Talking about kids though with Landon... Being with him like this... It confused him... Harry still loved Landon, that much was true. He wasn't sure he'd ever stop loving Landon, even if he and Dorian did officially get together... "Of course I'm s-serious..." Harry chuckled quietly, not expecting the sudden hug from his ex-husband. Still, he wrapped his arms around him willingly and smiled. "The-- the first copy will always be yours... and Elle's-- when s-she's old enough for them..." He sighed softly as they withdrew from the hug, catching Landon's eyes for just a few moments. There were so many little reminders of what used to be in those eyes, in the way they looked at each other. What they had was still there, underneath all the new and heavy baggage called divorce... Why did he have to leave? "Did you eat t-today?"

Landon

Getting the first copy of Harry’s manuscript filled him with hope that he desperately needed right now. Hope that the more time went by and the more they talked things out, the less arguments they would have. Maybe the first few were necessary to get a few things off their chests but Landon didn’t really want them to keep screaming at each other every time they tried to have a serious conversation. They were both adults and they needed to start behaving as such. When they broke apart from the hug, their eyes caught on each other’s for a few seconds and Landon felt frozen. It was moments like these that he allowed himself to think of what could have been. What would have happened if Harry never left? If Landon wasn’t in that accident? Sometimes he liked to think that they would still be happily married, but other times the thought of it got too painful. Maybe they weren’t meant to work together and their marriage would have ended anyways. Or maybe not. Thinking about what if’s was useless and painful because the past wasn’t going to change, no matter how much they willed it to. And so that’s why Landon was the first one to break eye contact, mentally shaking himself out of his thoughts. “Not really. I haven’t really been in the best mood to cook. Honestly I was just focused on getting Elle to bed once I got home and then...yeah.”

Harry

Harry hadn’t finished a book in four years. He had spent everyday hidden away, writing, but nothing ever finished itself. Nothing ever clicked, there was no life in his writings. But now... Now his family was back together, now they weren’t fighting, now his daughter filled his life with so much light... He had that muse again. The manuscript he had just given Landon was one that would make or break the rest of his career as a writer. Often, unless an author came back with something groundbreaking, once they disappeared from the thoughts of publishers, they were gone forever. Harry had one shot at coming back... He wanted Landon to be the one to read his shot first. It was due to him that he finished it... It was only right, and no matter what happened between them from here on out, Landon would always be the first. Harry sighed gently as Landon said he hadn’t eaten, softly, the writer squeezed his ex-husbands knee before bringing his hands back to himself, sliding one into a pocket and taking out his phone. “Let me order you s-some food... I’ll, er, st-stay until it gets here then— if you want s-space I’ll leave you to it...” Harry said softly, raising his brows pleadingly at Landon.

Landon

There hadn’t been a single book written by Harry that Landon didn’t love. His ex-husband had a way of writing that somehow always made him feel like he was in another world while reading. And so he knew, without even having read it, that this new book was going to be amazing. He didn’t say that to Harry, knowing that the other boy wouldn’t appreciate his words before he even got to read it. “Fine, I guess I can do that”, he shrugged. In reality, Landon didn’t think he could stomach any food but he didn’t want to worry the other more than he probably already was. His ex-husband did so much for him already, he didn’t deserve to worry over Landon’s broken heart as well.

Harry

Harry smiles gently, even if there was a lot of sadness and worry behind it. He felt so guilty right now, guilty for how he had caused this before, how he had caused this now... If he’d never left, then Landon would have never starting seeing Loren, never would have been in this mess... He knew it was almost pathetic to put blame on himself, but that was just who Harry was as a person. He wore his heart on his sleeve and he took everything on board. “Thank you...” He said softly before ordering what he knew was Landon’s favourite meal he could get this side of the ocean. Then, Harry reached for the TV remote and switched it on, finding a channel with something easy watching... Brooklyn Nine Nine would do for now... Light hearted humour, sound down low so as not to wake Elle or hurt anyone’s tired head. He let out a gentle sigh as he relaxed into the couch, trying not to flick his eyes from the TV to look at Landon because he knew if he did, he’d end up staring.

Landon

If there was one thing Landon could call himself an expert on, it was knowing how to read most of Harry’s expressions and this never changed, even with their separation. So he knew that his attempt not to worry his ex-husband wasn’t working very well but he couldn’t do much more. Landon considered himself lucky that at least he wasn’t crying anymore, but anything more than that was impossible at the moment. He watched as Harry ordered sushi, smiling at how much he still knew him. Maybe his favourite take out could make him feel slightly better. Landon leant back and tried to enjoy the peaceful moment of watching a nice comedy on tv but instead found himself fighting to keep his eyes open. The craziness of the day seemed to finally be catching up on him and he figured there was nothing wrong with resting his eyes, just for a few seconds. He should have known that would lead to dozing off.

Harry

Harry felt at ease, in his old home, the place where it all started all those years ago. When he had come here last month to meet Elle again for the first time, he didn’t know if he’d ever not be able to see all the pain that had happened in this house... But now? Now he just felt... Easy. It felt, well, it was home. Harry heard Landon’s breathing slow and become heavier, and he thought about waking him, but decided against it, instead just scooting a little closer so his shoulder could catch Landon’s head as he dropped off into a doze. With a gentle smile, Harry took his eyes off the television and looked down at his ex-husband, the man who still had so much of his heart... He had to fight the urge to kiss his hair even though it was burning inside of him. Harry didn’t really know how much time he spent watching Landon sleeping, all he knew was that watching him felt... So simple. The Uber Eats driver text him to say he was waiting at the end of the drive and gently, Harry slipped out from the couch and picked up the food, quietly bringing it inside and setting Landon’s on a table near him. He went to wake him, but didn’t want to disturb some needed rest, so he opened his own sushi and began eating, glancing between Landon and the TV.

Landon

Landon wasn’t sure what happened. One second he was looking at the tv and thinking about how at least he was feeling a little better, and the next he was startling awake, looking around him in confusion. “Wha- oh”, he said, as soon as he saw Harry eating from his box of sushi. His attempt to rest his eyes had clearly turned into a mini nap. “Sorry about that. It’s been a long day and I guess that took a toll on me”, he said, tiredly rubbing his eyes. He leaned over and grabbed his own box of sushi. “Thanks for taking care of everything.”

Harry

Harry jumped a little as Landon suddenly woke up as if he'd been jolted by something. "Hey," he chuckled gently before giving him a moment to just adjust back to the room. "Don't apologise for d-d-dozing off in your own place," Harry offered a small smile as he gestured to Landon's food on the table. "You're welcome," he said before taking another mouthful of sushi before sighing softly. "I-- I know i-it probably st-still sounds hard to believe at th-the moment but, um... I'm here," he nodded his head a little as he spoke. "Whenever you need it-- A-Always..." Harry gave his ex-husband a little smile, his eyebrows knitted together for a moment. "Whether it's t-taking care of Elle or just... You..." He swallowed a little before snapping his gaze to the TV.

Landon

Landon knew Harry was trying to help and he knew that he had people in his life who cared and would only want what’s best for him but some part of him still felt so alone. This was a bad hit and he wasn’t sure he would be able to get over it any time soon, especially since he still felt like there were things left unsaid between him and Loren. With him leaving, Landon doubted they would get the chance to talk about it again and it made everything feel so much worse. For now, the pain was too much for him to feel anything other than shit but Landon could tell that the pain would eventually make way for anger over the way things ended. He just needed to hold on until then and he knew that Harry was speaking the truth. They might not be together anymore but Landon knew he could count on his ex-husband to be there when he needed him, whether it was for help with Elle or anything else. “Thank you. I know I can count on you and...I think you’ve proven yourself more than enough in the past few weeks.”Message #chapter-one

#discord #c: harry #m: loren #m: roman #m: aaron

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jawnjendes · 5 years

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the fog will clear up | shawn mendes

chapter 13/?, university au, shawn x goth oc

AN: sry its short and definitely a filler im sry its boring but it helps build up stuff thatll happen next ok ok im sry

*let me know if u wanna be added/removed from the taglist

masterlist | playlist

Annalise woke with a start. She was wide awake immediately. There was no room for sleepily rolling around the sheets, her eyes weren't heavy like always. She didn't know what dying and coming back to life felt like, but she was pretty sure it felt something like that. She had a weird urge to go for a jog.

Staring at the ceiling, Annalise reached towards the nightstand next to her, intending to grab her phone. Her hand touched the bottle, and she picked it up anyway, reading the prescription label.

Annalise Flores SERTRALINE 50MG TABLET Brand name: Zoloft

"You don't waste anytime, huh?" she murmured before setting it back down. Then, she grabbed her phone and checked the time.

8:47am. A new fucking record. Annalise rolled out of bed, unable to stay still.

In the 2 hours she had to kill before work, she tidied up the dorm, ate a decent breakfast, took a shower, and got started on the course work she had to make up. The energy levels were through the roof, she had never been so on edge and productive at the same time. Why wasn't she put on sertraline sooner? Sure, she felt hyperaware and borderline anxious, but that was apart of the process of getting on a new antidepressant. She was getting things done this way. Sure, she jumped when the lock on the door jiggled, but she was up and running anyway!

If she wasn't, she wouldn't have seen Stella entering the dorm. She was surprised to see Annalise on the couch, looking like a deer in headlights.

"Oh… I thought you were asleep. I'll, uh, I'll come back."

"No, wait!" Annalise sounded a little too frantic, but it did stop Stella from leaving. "Uh, come sit down! Please!"

Stella narrowed her eyes slightly as she went to the couch. At least she was willing to listen.

"I, uh, I'm sorry," Annalise began, rubbing the back of her neck. "I'm sorry for what I said. A stupid guy isn't the only good in my life. I have you. You matter to me, and I'm sorry for making you feel like you don't." She really couldn't stop herself from rambling. "I miss you. I miss seeing you here between classes, and I miss your optimism because a bitch could use some of that. And, and I'm sorry for the negativity I've brought in here. I'm working on it now, I swear. Just… come back. Come home… because bro, you're my wife, dude."

It could have been funny, but there was nothing funny about the way she said it. Her eyes were wide and pleading, and she was rubbing her hands together. Stella merely blinked her hazel eyes, nearly overwhelmed by that string of words.

"Look at you, expressing your emotions," she said after a while. "I can see why you hold it back."

Annalise nodded rapidly. "It's my first day on a new medication. Got me all sorts of hyped up, but I'll mellow out in a couple of weeks. And I'm taking therapy seriously again!"

Stella was surprised. "Oh, I see. Well… I've missed you too. Bro…"

"Bro?"

"I'll come home too. Camila's bed is too small for the two of us."

"Bro…"

"I know. I have to update you on all that."

"Br-"

"Okay!" Stella broke out a smile and stood up. "Dame un abrazo, puta."

That was much easier than Annalise had anticipated. She stood up and hugged her best friend, relieved. Stella wasn't one to hold a grudge, nor was she as stubborn as her roommate. It was another person to cross off the list.

Shawn had social media mainly to get his music out there. Yes, he interacted with his friends on Snapchat, and some fans on Twitter. Most of the time, Shawn just tweeted when he had new music coming out. He didn't check any of his social media very often, not even to stalk Ann's accounts because she was rarely on her's. He didn't even have his notifications on, purely to keep himself from the possibility of getting too attached to the opinions of random strangers online.

That was why he woke up that morning to a number of texts from Camila.

"SHAAWWNWNN"

"SHAWN IM LKTERSLLY BALD RN"

"CHEKC UR TWITTER RIGHT NOW!!!!!!"

"YOIR FOLLOWERS!!! AAHSKSKSK"

"SKSKSK SHAWNMM IM SCRAMING"

So to Twitter he went. Shawn rubbed sleep out of his eye as he went to his profile. He had around 10k to begin with, that he built up on his own over the last couple of years. He nearly dropped his phone on his face as he read the new number.

50.2k

"What… the fuck?" he breathed out as he sat up in his bed. He scrolled through the list, making sure this wasn't a series of spam bots.

His mentions were just as wild, and it explained the sudden blow up.

@hollaestor: @shawnmendes hiii bella told me to follow you

@samxriv: @shawnmendes i am free to hang out on tuesday to hang out when i am free

@gisellenjh: @shawnmendes bella sent me here and im glad she did! loving your music!

And there were plenty more like that. There were so many tweets, Shawn couldn't even get through all of them. It was making his head spin. There was only one Bella he knew about too… He just couldn't spell her last name. Thankfully, her handle was just @bellasanti, and it was the first one to pop up when he typed it in the search bar.

Right under Bella Santiago's name and the blue checkmark were the two little words: Follows you. Shawn refreshed the page ten times before it sank in. This YouTuber, who has over 2 million followers, somehow found Shawn's music… and she liked it. She liked it enough to tweet about it… 3 days ago.

@bellasanti: underrated spotify artists: @shawnmendes. give him a listen. send him some love. truly talented guy💖

Shawn had only overheard Bella's videos when Ann was watching them in the other room. He never really watched any of her content. But he wanted to pass out at the fact that she took the time to listen to his music and tweet about him. He wanted to jump on the bed. He wanted to call-

He texted Camila back. "Wtf why did no one tell me sooner?? This is so crazy!!!!!"

"We thought you knew and you were keeping it from us!! LMAO congrats rockstar!"

He couldn't believe it. His follower count was rising. He was getting emails from Spotify saying his songs were being added to many different playlists.

@shawnmendes: @bellasanti wow thank you so much! Love you bella❤

He deleted the last bit before tweeting it. Holy shit. Shawn lied back down on the mattress, completely breathless.

How does someone like Bella Santiago find Shawn out in cyberspace? What Spotify rabbit hole did she go down that led her to him? How many of his songs did she listen to? How many songs did she save to her library? How many of those playlist emails were from her? Shawn had so many questions.

There were two things Annalise noticed when she was out on the courtyard after Biology. The first thing was a table on the side of the walkway, with a handmade banner hanging off the front. It read in big letters: Shawn Mendes: Live at The Cameron House. Brian, Alessia. and Camila were all sat on the same side at this table, talking to a student who was interested in the little display.

"The lounge called back," Annalise muttered to herself.

The other thing Annalise noticed was Patrick sitting under a tree nearby, reading a book. She went to him first.

The last time she had spoken to Patrick was when they cut up flowers together. He was never one to explicitly state when something has upset him, and he has seen Annalise in a depressive episode before. Annalise knew him well. Patrick kept his distance because he didn't like the negativity around her, and he couldn't afford any more of it himself.

"Hey," she greeted.

His blue eyes tore away from his book to meet her gaze. "'Sup?"

"Trying to be less fucked in the head," she told him.

Patrick nodded in approval. "Cool."

That was all that was needed for the two of them. Content, Annalise turned and went for the table. A small line had formed when she wasn't looking, so she waited behind the last person. However, with three people running the thing, Annalise got to the front fairly quick.

"Oh, she actually showed up," Brian chimed, amused.

"Meaning?" Annalise asked.

"Thought you were too pissed at Shawn to care about his show, that's all."

She swallowed the pit of annoyance, discovering that even more people knew about that. Brian is his friend, though, of course he'd know.

"Selling tickets or something?" Annalise turned her attention to the two girls.

"Yeah! Ten dollars a piece!" Alessia explained.

"Cool, I'll take one."

Just as she opened the flap on her book bag, Camila spoke up.

"Wait. I'm pretty sure Shawn said he wanted to buy you your ticket himself."

Annalise rolled her eyes. "Well, he's not here and I can do things for myself." She pulled out her wallet and paid her own goddamn ticket.

Camila breathed out a laugh. "Are you ever gonna let him do anything nice for you?"

None of your fucking business.

A new thought occurred to Annalise. "Why are tickets being sold for this show? Aren't his gigs usually free?"

"There's more production going into this one," Brian told her. "The lounge gave him the option to make it a ticketed event, and we need to make back what we already put into it. So now, it won't be a performance, it'll be Shawn's performance."

Shawn already knew how to make an audience his bitch, but…

"Alright then." Annalise shrugged and then accepted her ticket and receipt from Alessia.

The ticket alone was already quite extravagant. There were little red roses designed around the edges. This boy really loved his fucking flowers.

"I'm guessing rose petals will fall from the ceiling or something?" she guessed with a chuckle.

"I was given strict orders to not spoil anything," Brian told her, folding his arms.

The two had a mini staredown until Annalise shrugged again. "Whatever."

Then, Camila piped up again, suddenly excited. "Ooh, Ann did you hear? Bella Santiago followed Shawn on Twitter!"

"She what?" Annalise stupidly replied.

Camila practically squealed. "She gave him a shoutout too! He's blowing up on Spotify! Isn't that awesome?"

Annalise wanted to say something, but her brain wasn't quite caught up yet. So she just walked away.

The other three students watched her leave. Needless to say, they were confused.

"Is she ever gonna be happy for him?" Alessia wondered.

"I think she was excited?" Camila said tilting her head.

"I can't believe Shawn is going through all this trouble for that," Brian said with a scoff.

"I can still hear you!" Annalise called over her shoulder as she kept walking.

All three of them went red in the face, embarrassed. Brian would have made a comment about her being a vampire with supersonic hearing, but he didn't want to be called out again.

_______

taglist: @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @ilsolee @mendesromano @1-800-khalid-mendussy @kitykatnumber @strangerliaa @iloveshawnieboi @goldenmndes @shawnvvmendes @shawnsunflower @shawmndes @ruinhoney @someoneunimportantxx @calyumthomas @yourdeflightfullyleft @havethetimeeofyourlifee @wronglanemendes @chillingbythesea @softmendesss @mutuallynotmutual

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes smut #shawn x goth gf #aahhhh its so short n boring im so srryyy

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reeree1500 · 5 years

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The Return- Part 5

Guys I'm so sorryyyy!😭I HAD MAJOR WRITERS BLOCK😭 It was actually so bad! And then the fact that Tumblr deleted my whole draft and I had to start it over again🙄 Big surprise towards the end btw😂Anyway here's part 5 y'all...

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6 Part 7 part 8 part 9 Part 10

Disclaimer: My sucky writing, Incest, grammar and spelling😅 and just overall the whole thing😂 please don’t kill me🙏🏽😂 @yanii-the-hippie is already trying to😂

Taglist: @yanii-the-hippie @youbloodymadgenius @laketaj24 @oceans-daughter-3 @peaceisadirtyword @cainismyname @readsalot73 @wuxiesalt @camatsuru @amy8220 @cutegyrl927 @cindy-exo @affection-rabbit @ragnarssonsbitch @mel0nch0ly @queenofallthyfandoms

Flashback to 6 years ago...

“RUN! (Y/N)! RUN!” Helga screamed...

On that fateful night you had been awakened from your slumber by one very worried Helga. She was the wife of the scary looking man Floki. And you could never come to understand how such a cheerful and radiant person, could be with someone so dark and mean. Helga had come in to the homestead whilst everyone was asleep. She had overheard her husband and Aslaug talk about getting rid of the christian child of Ragnar Lothbrok. She knew about (y/n), but she never thought that an innocent child would have to pay for the sins committed by those around her.

As Helga made her way silently across the home trying to find the child, she couldn’t help but feel guilty. She was betraying her husband and the Queen at that. But she couldn't get over the fact that an innocent child would be murdered. When she sees (y/n)’s and Bjorn’s bodies cuddle up on the bed, she softly approaches the little girls’ side. Tapping her on the shoulder she manages to wake (y/n) up. Startled you go try tp scream and thats when she places her delicate finger over your lips. Signalling you to be quiet. “Follow me, you and your family are in grave danger.” The feeling of wanting to protect your family from anything consumed you. Even being 13 years old you understood that family came first and that you would gladly lay down your life to save theirs. With that, you untangled yourself form Bjorn’s embrace and gave him a small peck on his forehead, then you made your way to your parent’s room. You peeked inside to make sure they were asleep and then tip toeing to where they lay in an embrace you softly kissed both of them goodbye.

You knew that this may very well be the last time you ever saw your parents. But, you could tell through the look in Helga’s eyes that whatever she was talking about your family being in danger was in fact the truth. Helga helped you gather some of your things quickly and as you rushed to the door, you almost forgot your teddy. “Wait, I need to grab my teddy. I cant leave without it, its the only thing I’ll have left of them.” You silently whisper towards Helga as she stands watch by the door. “Ok, but you must hurry. They'll be here any second now. And if they find you, I can assure you that no one will survive.” At that you scurry back towards your room. In there you find a sleepy headed Bjorn almost waking up. “(y/n), what are you doing? Come back to bed, you know we’re gonna start your training tomorrow morning.” He yawns out. “Sorry, I'm just really thirsty. Ill get a glass of water and come back ok?” you murmur to him. Bjorn just nods whilst yawning and goes back to sleep. But before you close the door and disappear you can hear him murmur the words I love you...

Your POV

After the moment that we shared in the Great Hall as a family happened. Mother, father, Bjorn and I had gone down to the lake by the old homestead we once lived in. There we all lied down on the grass and I had caught them all up on what had transpired on that night 6 years ago. “So let me clear this up, Helga...as in Floki’s wife. Broke into our home and kidnapped you and then sent you away on a boat to Frankia...” said Lagertha trying to wrap her head around the subject. “Well, mother I wouldn't really put it like that, but technically yes. She kidnapped me in order to save me and yourselves. Or so she claimed. She didn't really get into details on who was after me. She just told me that my life was in danger and I finally believed her when we were being chased by a group of mercenaries.” I respond to her. In that we all fall into silence. Over looking the lake I can tell that my family is processing all this information. Not only because of how quiet they are at the moment, but because I can feel their eyes on me. As if they believe that I shall vanish right in front of them.

“I missed this... Having my family together, overlooking the lake and just the serene and calming effect that this place has on us.” My father breaks the silence as he looks out towards the lake. He runs his fingers through my mother’s hair. And I cannot help but think about how come they never told me. “Soooo... since we’re all together finally. Can someone tell me how in the name of God and all that is good. No one ever told me about Aslaug and her sons?” With that my father’s fingers come to a stop at the ends of my mother’s long golden locks. “It just went something you tell your child out of the blue, (y/n).” My mother responds for my father. They always did this. Even as a child, when one of them was being questioned. The other would jump in and save them as if the question was directed at them. “But why keep it a secret? I don't understand, if you were married to Aslaug and Ivar and I are the same age that means that you laid with mother during the time you were married to her. Meaning that I have no claim to anything. Im a bastard.” At this my father lifts my mothers head from his lap and turns to me. Rage and sadness is what I am able to detect from his electric blue eyes.

“You are not a bastard child! I will not have you slander my name or your mothers with such lies. Your mother and I are married, in the eyes of both the Christian God and Freyja and Odin. Yes, your mother left me when Aslaug became pregnant with Ubbe. And many years later she came back to me, however I could not let her go. Be it selfishness or pride, she was mine and I am hers. Till death do us part!” At that tears well up in my eyes. Not because Ive just been scolded by my father. But, because this is the first time that I could really say that he has shown me his emotions. The night where we reunited, was only a small glance of emotion. But, this moment here had probably been the closest thing to a heart to heart that I have ever had with my father. He wipes my tears away and then goes to face Lagertha who had also been tearing up through this revelation. And they share a small, but passionate kiss.

I do not know if its just the overwhelming emotion that I’m processing, but I cannot help but bring my finger to my lips and think of a certain ill tempered boy...

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As the hours went by, we had decided to not only renovate and clean up the homestead. But we relieved some of the old memories we had. Bjorn and I decided to get in the water and go for a swim. Whilst Lagertha and Ragnar stayed in the house “cleaning up”. Bjorn and I knew exactly what that meant. As I laugh thinking about the situation that my parents are in. Bjorn sneaks up behind me and dunks my head into the water. I try my hardest to push him away and try to get rid of his hold on my head. My lungs need a break and as I almost felt my self drifting away, Bjorn pulls me back up. Gasping for air and coughing out the water from inside. I turn around and hit Bjorn’s chest as hard as I could muster at the moment. “Bjorn! What the hell!! you could've killed me!” I yell at him through my punches. “Ow..ow.. OW!!!. I was just joking... Jeez woman lose up!” He responds trying to shield himself form my hits. “Well it wasn't funny...”

As I swim towards the shore and go to collect my clothes, Bjorn turns me around and looks into my eyes. “We need to talk. And it’s not something that you are not getting yourself out of.” At this I can only gulp. Did he find out about Ivar and I? Is it possible that Hvitserk told him? No..no, Hvitty wouldn't do that. But then again he’s know the boys his whole life. I have just met them. “What about, big brother?” “Sigurd told me something when we had been waiting for mother’s arrival. And you could say I‘m a little concerned, and I just want to get to the bottom of it.” He says while eyeing me carefully. At that moment before I could respond the sound of the horses hooves could be heard form down the road. Bjorn and I quickly exchange looks and begin to dress immediately. We run towards the homestead and burst through the doors. It seems as whatever mother and father had been up to had just finished.

Seeing our exasperated sighing and how flustered I must have looked father reaches for his sword. “Why are you both so out of breath?” Mother asks wrapping the quilt around herself. “We heard horses down the road. We didn't know if they were friend or foe. And Bjorn didn't have any of his weapons with him.” I manage to get out. At this both father and Bjorn make their way towards the door. Peeking out the one of the small holes Bjorn is able to make out who it was standing outside. “Its the guards accompanied by Ubbe, Hvitserk and Ivar.” Something told me that this would be quite eventful...

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Ivar POV

The moment (y/n) and her mother reunited in the great hall brought a tear to everyones eye. I admit that maybe I got a little emotional as well, but no one would ever know that. However, I noticed that my beautiful mother had left the room with rage and tear filled eyes. I had never seen my mother go through so many emotions in one day. She went from having a good blessed morning to having a shit hole day with that whore Lagertha coming back. I mean she gave birth to my beautiful (y/n), but still. Every time I see her I cannot help, but want to choke her to death fro all the pain she caused my mother.

Shaking me from my thoughts Ubbe starts going off on Hvitserk. “How could you be so stupid! (Y/n) has a target on her back and you decided to go off into the woods alone without anyone else?!?!?!” In this sense Ubbe was right, Hvitserk put (y/n)’s life in danger all because he wanted to take her from me. It wasn't enough for these people that I am a cripple. But they want to take the woman that the gods sent to me! This is unacceptable and I will not allow it. “Ubbe is right. She could have been killed because of your insolence Hvitty!” I scream at him. My blood had been boiling at this point. “Oh shut up Ivar! We all know that if she would have asked you to go with her, you would have done the same. If not take her some place remote where she could not leave your crippled ass!” Hvitserk barks back at me.

All this time Sigurd is sitting by the fire pit whilst tuning his lyre. “You both should just accept the fact that you're in love with your own sister. And that it will never go anywhere. Besides I overheard father speaking in his chambers the other day with Bjorn. They're looking for suitors to marry her off to. That way she will be hopefully safe from whoever is hunting her.” Sigurd says as calm as one could ever be. At this my mouth hangs open and Hvitserk and I exchange glances. “N..No... That cannot be. Father would never marry (y/n) off to someone she doesn't know. And the fact that he just got her back should keep him form doing so as well.” Hvitserk struggles to say. Im still trying to process the fact that my purpose to live will be taken from me once again. This I cannot allow...

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“Ivar you’re sure that this is the right way?” Hvitserk asks me for the hundredth time. This time instead of answering I just keep going. This man-child will not drive me insane today. Not when the task at hand is so dire. Making our way through the woods and down the path, I spot my father’s horse as well as 3 other ones. Urging my horses to go faster I catch a glimpse of (y/n) runnings towards the homestead whilst trying to slip her dress back on. The way that the drops fell from her hair and onto her chest and then down the valley of her breasts made me come to a halt. Before I knew it the guards and Ubbe had all passed me and there I was still sitting in my carriage on the same spot. Once she was out of my sight, I got it together and got to the house. There we were greeted by father and Bjorn. “Ubbe. what brings you all down here?” my father asks. “We wished to know what we should do about the investigation. You all just took off without alerting anyone.” At that Lagertha steps out of the homestead clearly in a disheveled dress. From that we can guess what her and father were up to before we could get here.

“Actually Ubbe... Your father and I have come to terms that (y/n) shall be trained by me. This way I can properly teach her how to use her strengths and weaknesses to her advantage. Something you boys will not be able to teach her.” At the mention of this (y/n)’s eyes widened in surprise. “Well... Mother (y/n) isn't really one to train, if Im honest with you. Poor girl is was never taught how to properly defend herself. And through all the training that we've put her through, its not much of an improvement...” Bjorn says, but then trails off due to (y/n) punching him in the gut. I can tell you that I have never been as in love with someone as I am with my own sister. Which is ridiculous to many, but the truth...

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Your POV

Weeks from the time that my mother arrived had gone by. My training started immediately after the conversation that we all had at the porch. Ubbe and the boys had finally gotten somewhere with the investigation with the help of Lagertha. They had found the murder weapon, a small dagger with intricate designs. Bjorn had taken it to get a closer look, but from what I had seen in his eyes I could tell that he knew who was behind this. As I think of who could have been behind the murder of my best friend, the wind is knocked out of me. “(Y/N)! Concentrate! Never take your eyes off your opponent! Thats the number one rule on the battlefield!” My mother yells at me from above. Extending her hand out towards me I grasp on to it and she pulls me up from the ground. Dusting myself off I mumble an I’m sorry to her and that I will concentrate next time. “When facing a real opponent child you will not have the luxury to be better again. Its do or die!” She holds onto my shoulders as she looks into my eyes and then leans her forehead against mine. “I want you to be able to defend yourself. It might come a time where neither your father or I. Bjorn and your brothers will be there to protect you. And I need to be able to sleep at night with the thought that my child will not be taken from me again by some imbecile...”

My mother and I exchange a final glance before she heads off towards the great hall in what I think is an attempt to find my father. My father and Bjorn have been very secretive lately. Every time I walk into a room I can tell that the conversations they were having were about me before I got there. And it was very much getting on my nerves. Picking up the bow that Ivar had made for me I start to aim at the dummy target. But before I knew it something startles me and I let go of the arrow without knowing where it would hit. “AHHHHH, are you trying to kill me woman?!??!”

“Ivar, Oh my God I’m so sorry. You startled me.” I say whilst rushing towards him. “I see that you've taken a liking to the bow I crafted for you...” blushing from his words I simply nod my head and stare at the ground. “(y/n). I wanna have a serious conversation with you. But it must be done in private.” He whispers the last part to me. I rear my head towards him and proceed to grab his hand. Ivar takes it upon himself though to lace our fingers together and walk together to "our” chambers. Passing by the market, I notice the looks that people have been given us and the not so quiet whispers. Embarrassed and not wanting to drag attention to myself anymore than I already have. I attempt to let go of Ivar’s hand, but he will have none of it. He jut grips my hand harder and walks a little faster towards the cabin.

Once inside Ivar walks towards the bed and starts taking off his braces. “Close the door please. I would like this to be a private conversation between you and I. For the time being.” Doing as told, I close the door behind me and make my way towards him. Ivar is struggling to get one of his braces off, so without thinking I kneel before him and push his hands away to try and help him out. At this action Ivar looks at me with shock and a hint of adoration. Over the last 3 months that I have been here. I observed Ivar take his braces off before bed. Something about them fascinated me and I couldn't pinpoint what it was. Picking myself up from the floor I go to sit beside him on the bed in one swift movement Ivar pushes me back on the bed and gets on top of me.

Before I could scream his lips touch mine. Unlike the times before I find myself reciprocating the kiss. Our lips begin to move in sync with each other. He traced his tongue on my bottom lip asking for entrance which I denied. At this he got frustrated and slapped my ass. As I opened my mouth to yell at him for hitting me, he took this as a chance to slip his tongue in my mouth. There was no fight for dominance as he overtook the situation. My fingers tangle in his hair trying to pull him closer to me. His hands caress my sides and then cup my breasts. In this I cant help, but let out a moan. Ivar pulls back and stares at me while bringing his hand up to brush my hair outta my face. “I would really love to continue this, but there's something I have to tell you (y/n).” He untangles himself from my grasp and brings my hand to his lips. Placing small kisses on the back of my hand he closes his eyes and then reluctantly gets up. As I lay on the bed, I can only think of what we were up to seconds ago. What would have happened if we didn't stop. Pulling me into his lap and out of my thoughts Ivar grabs my face in his hands.

“Before you got here I was a scared and lonely boy. With no notion of what love was or could have been. To think that the gods made you especially for me and brought you to me at the most opportune time is a sign from Odin himself. (Y/n) I will not let them take you away from me. Not now or ever...” Ivar closes the gap between us with a small and tender kiss. “Ivar... it’s wrong. How we feel about one another isn't right...” my eyes well up with tears. What cruel joke is this that God is playing. Why? How come the man that I love is my brother... Brushing my tears away, I could tell that Ivar is having the same predicament. “Father plans to marry you off... That is what I wanted to talk to you about.” His eyes do not meet mine this time. “Wait...no it cant be. Father would never do that. he always said that I would be free to marry whomever I pleased and fell in love with...” Nothing the change in my breathing Ivar hugs me and rubs my back. “I will not let them. You will not be sold like cattle just because they cant find the killer and are afraid.”

“This is why I want you to runaway with me. Will you (y/n)...”

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Bjorn POV

I cannot control the anger boiling inside me. How could she do this... Storming off from the meeting I went straight to my cabin. There she greeted me as if nothing was wrong. “Love I made some...” Throwing the bowl of soup from her hands I pushed her back onto a chair. “Bjorn what's wrong with yo...” “What wrong with me?!?!?! How about what's wrong with you? You killed Mira! You tried to kill my sister!” At this point all I see is red. I cant even describe how I felt when I saw that the murder weapon was Torvi’s dagger. And to think I was gonna tell her the truth and let her in on the reason as to why she could be wanted dead. “Bjorn.. please! It was not like I wanted to do it! Aslaug forced me too. She had said that you were in danger! Please Bjorn you have to believe me! I did it for our family!” Shaking my head at her I turn around and head towards the door. “Get your stuff, I don't want you here when I come back. I will tell my father everything that you and Aslaug have been planning. And for the sake of what we once had I will give you this heads up so you can leave. And do not come back!” Slamming the door of the cabin I head towards the great hall and begin t think to myself about the first time I laid eye son my sister....

19 years ago...

“Bjorn... come meet her.” I didn't want anything associated with that child. The fact that I had already lost a sister and that my parents had now taken in a child that wasn't theirs baffled me. “She's not my sister. She the child of a christian priest...” At that my mother looks at me with sadness in her eyes. “Bjorn I know that you still hurt over Gyda and the fact that she didn't survive and you did. This child however is your sister. No matter how she came into this world, the gods have given us a second chance. Please come and meet her, for my sake?” At that I go towards my mother and get a closer look at the child. Her features resembled that somewhat of my father’s. Not much, but enough to be able to pass as the child of my father and mother. “What about Athelstan? Is he okay with you taking his child?” I ask my mother. At that my father walks in and kneels before me. “You must protect her with your life Bjorn. From this day onward she will be yours to take care off. She is your sister and no one must know that in fact she is Athelstan’s daughter or she and all of us will be in danger.” At that I understood why my parents had done it. Taken a child that wasn't theirs in order to protect it. Although I didn't want her, I cant help but feel a strong sense of protection over her. As if my sole task in this world is to protect her... “Bjorn...she doesn't have a name yet. Would you like to name her?” My mother asks whilst placing the child in my arms. The baby opens her eyes and looks up at me. Her beautiful eyes open up to reveal those (y/e/c) orbs. She cracks a smile at me and at that I cant help, but laugh. “(Y/n)...her name will be (y/n).”

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