#oops forgot to put under a read more

[fly-sky-high-arts]

AMALGAM, a shapeshifter that is also A Rock™

No time to type out stuff about it so have just my rough quick discord messages brainstorm bellow

[kazzattack]

Pretty, pretty girl…

Dick Grayson x Black fem!reader x Jason Todd, w/c 2.6k

Synopsis;; You attend one of Bruce Wayne’s galas with your father, for the pure pleasure of seeing the infamous Wayne brothers, and end up being snuck into the manor for the night.

content;; 18+, threesome, oral (fem receiving, implied male receiving), face fucking (male receiving), brief chokehold, hair pulling, fingering, finger sucking, eye contact, lots of banter, technically mirror sex (bc I lowk forgot about the mirror oops), light degradation (whore, slut), brief dry humping, doggy style, manhandling (?), spanking for 2 seconds, pet names (baby, doll, sweetheart), Jason’s a bit of a meanie, and Dick is… Dick, I think that’s it, poorly edited/proof read

“Stupid, stupid, stupid…” you begin to mutter, frustrated that you agreed to attend in the first place. Still, you find the will power to put on your prettiest smile and runway worthy strut.

Functions likes these never served any entertainment for you, nor did you get anything out of it. Galas your father attends for the sole purpose of saving face, surrounded by rich scum and snakes. At least this is Bruce Wayne’s gala. One of the only billionaires you find tolerable. The only people worth going for are those Wayne boys, though. Pure eye candy. You couldn’t pick a favorite out of the two.

Dick Grayson’s the first to greet you, eyes darting up and down over your figure before meeting your eyes. “Hey pretty lady,” he sing-songs, friendly and welcoming despite the telling glint in his eyes. Wayne’s prodigal son, the first, and he definitely fits the title. Dick is almost surprisingly sweet, pouring you wine and complimenting the shiny gold jewelry around your wrists and neck, rather than the dress that rides just a bit high on your thighs when you sit in the chair he pulls out for you.

Jason Todd meets you with an unintentional death stare, bless his heart. Not to say you don’t do the same thing at first. If he wasn’t 6’1 and 200+ lbs of pure muscle stuffed into a red tux, he’d be easier to miss. At first you don’t even realize his connection to Dick, let alone Bruce Wayne, but you quickly take notice of the familial banter from afar. As of now, you two share the commonality of not really wanting to be here. The two of you only get the chance to properly speak thanks to the loud-mouthed brother, followed by the chance to subtly gawk at each other, of course.

The two of them, though most of the effort is through Dick, make most of the event fly by. You take part in shameless flirting with the leaner of the two, laugh a few times at Jason’s more snarky jabs, and before you know it? Your father’s left wondering where his daughter ran off to. Guess you’ll have to figure out how to tell him two out of many of Wayne’s kids are busy trying to sneak you into his manner.

The… guest bedroom? Is awfully large, along with the bed, and the nightstand, and the mirror you use to make eye contact with Dick. They’ve put you under the impression to have made it past the security system, but realistically they both know Bruce has been notified of your presence. They also trust the billionaire playboy will mind his business. And besides, the old man should be the least of your worries when Dick tugs your dress up, followed by Jason’s calloused hands running up your thighs.

“You’re shameless,” you tease, settling yourself between Dick’s legs with your back against his chest while Jason lowers his overwhelming stature in front of you.

“Oh, sweetheart, you haven’t seen the half of it,” he corrects, grabbing the tiny zipper between his fingertips to expose more skin. “Especially not from that one down there.”

Jason scoffs, sliding your heels off as he responds. “I’m almost positive she knows what you are. Hard not to.”

“I know what I am,” Dick snickers into your ear, hands snaking over your figure. “You’re the one who stomps around acting like you’re too high and mighty for a little fun.”

You muster up the courage to jump in, urging Jason to come a little closer to your face. Despite the persona, you’ve both warmed up to each other throughout the night. “You too good for me, Jay?” You inquire, tugging him closer by his collar and tie. The glint in his eyes answers for you, giving away every intention he has for the rest of tonight.

“‘M just shy,” he jokes, though you’re not 100% sure he is. After a few drinks and the comfort of a seperate room, his eyes wander more freely, and it doesn’t take long before you notice Grayson’s gawking at you through the mirror as he undresses. “Not that you’ve gotta worry about that anymore.”

𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ

Jason was no longer shy, clearly.

“Oh my god, Jay-“ you moan above him, head resting on Dick’s shoulder as one hand roams around your upper body. The other curls under your knee, supposedly holding your legs open as opposed to closing around Jason’s head while his tongue flicks against your clit.

“Fuck, you sound gorgeous,” Dick whispers as he sucks another hickey into your collarbone, and you feel a smooth hand wrap around your neck and rest there. “You gonna make those pretty noises for me too?” His tone is sultry and teasing, though you aren’t sure if it’s meant to provoke you or the short-tempered brother between your legs. You haven’t spent that long with them, but it’s been long enough for you to learn of Jason’s competitive edge and Dick’s insufferable tendencies to get under his skin.

“You could always find out for yourself…” you manage to respond, circling your hips in time with the thick finger on your insides. The strength is found to pick your head up and look at Dick, who’s already watching you like a hawk. Eyes focused with an almost obsessive gaze, tongue grazing over your skin. You can tell he’s fixing his dirty mouth for a quip but you cut him off with a gasp as another finger is dipped into your cunt, breaking eye contact as your head falls back.

“Quit talking to him,” Jason grumbles into your heat, “just sit and look pretty like you were doin’.” His words are muffled and the bass in his voice vibrates against your leg, leaving no room for you to consider not listening to him. He’s sure you’d much rather listen to him after that debauched moan you let out anyway.

Your hand moves to tug on the white streak of Jason’s hair, blanking out for a moment as the tips of his fingers curl and thrust into you. “Aw, gonna let him ruin the fun?” Dick teases, “I still wanna look at that pretty face.” He fixes you after his comment flies over your head, gripping your jaw to face him in the mirror and letting go to see if you’ll focus on your own. Jason, still seemingly irritated with him, tightens his biceps around the plush of your thighs and pulls you further from Dick. He doesn’t like sharing either. Noted. You glance down at him, green eyes half lidded and entirely zoned in on your pussy. He doesn’t talk all that much, but he’s got his own filthy mouth, tongue dipping in with his fingers for a moment as his free hand circles your clit. This is where you learn that Dick has his own frustrations too. He needs control, power in his hands.

“No wonder you like her,” he grins, “she’s almost as hard-headed as you.” Through the hazy pleasure you giggle, not expecting the way his arm slots around your neck. There’s a gasp before a strangled moan and you clench around Jason’s fingers, hips bucking into his face and he groans into your pussy. You’re in a more compromised position now, and he’s looking you directly in the eyes while his free hand tweaks at your nipple, making you arch further away from him.

“Oh, the pretty lady likes this? You want it tighter?”

Shamelessly, you nod despite your restrictions and he listens, squeezing your head between his forearm and bicep. A familiar feeling coils in your tummy, pretty nails digging into the flesh around your neck as your leg wraps around Jason’s head. You’d feel bad if it weren’t for the needy groan against your cunt.

“Ohh, gonna come on his tongue from getting choked out? Yeah, let him know who you’re looking at while you fuck his face.”

Oh?

You’re ashamed of it, but the limited oxygen and lightheaded effect had you follow along without a thought.

“‘S you- fuck, Dick- I wanna…”

At this point, Dick’s sure he can see steam from Jason’s ears.

Still, his ministrations only go deeper, even if it’s not exactly of his free will. Thick nails dig deep into your hips and thighs to keep you in place as you orgasm and he helps you ride it out as he huffs and grunts. Meanwhile you’re right where Dick wants you, laying up against his chest and moaning against his forearm as if you were his bitch.

“Fuckin’ attention whore,” Jason sighs, easily moving your body further from Dick after practically yanking his arm from you. “Can’t go five minutes without begging for someone to look at you?” He’s clearly ticked off, but the frustration is also accompanied by the bulge of his dress pants pressing against your thigh. He hates the competition yet he undeniably craves it, and it’s clear in how much rougher his touches get. Jason moves to kiss up your body as his fingers curl at a slower pace, holding your hips in place to keep you from squirming underneath him.

“Jay-“ you sigh in bliss, hips trying to inch away as you sit up to look down at him. “Ja-son… ‘s too-“

“Shut up,” rude, “I know this pretty pussy’s beggin’ for it.”

“Struck a nerve? Sensitive much.” All he gets it a glare, rightfully so. You’d expect Dick Grayson to get in on more fun, but he’s just evil. He likes seeing a pretty girl like you squirm. Jason’s clearly more hands on, scissoring you open a few times before abruptly pulling away shoving his fingers down your throat. You’d be embarrassed by how easily you take it if the two of them weren’t mesmerized, watching while you suck his fingers clean of your own slick.

“We got us a pretty little slut, Jaybird,” Dick praises.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop talking?”

“No, actually.”

“Well I am now, Dick.”

You get out a little giggle while they bicker before Jason flips you over, positioning your ass against his pelvis and guiding your hips back. You’d been too high in pleasure before to realize that Jason Todd is big, everywhere. His dick presses against you through his pants and you almost panic as he pushes you back and forth, watching your ass bounce against him a few times and you whine.

“Yeah, y’feel that?” He groans from behind you and only Dick can see the prideful grin on his face. “You’ll take it, baby, jus’ for me.” Still, you let out a little whine at his words and clench around nothing. What you can see is the bulge in front of you as your head rests between Dick’s legs, doesn’t look as big but it’s definitely enough. You have no right to complain.

Jason leans over to deepen your arch and you hear his belt unbuckle. You wanna tell him wait, but you’re too slow. The tip of his cock slips against your opening and you mewl, looking back at him over your shoulder. “Oh my god, Jay-“ you gasp before he pushes deeper inside of you.

“Fuck… what’d I tell you?” He grunts, already halfway inside. “Already so wet and you’re tellin’ me you don’t wanna get fucked?”

“Be nice,” Dick interrupts as his fingers curl into your hair gently, as if he didn’t have you moaning against his arm in a chokehold earlier tonight. He gets to be the nice one now, your handsome knight in shining armor. If that were entirely true, though, he wouldn’t be over so slightly forcing you back onto Jason’s cock with his other hand.

Dick’s order is easily disregarded once he’s all the way inside, and with a few thrusts, pulling all the way out before slamming you onto his cock, pretty nails are clawing at the fabric of Dick’s slacks and you muffle your moans into them with soft whines. “Ah-ah, sweetheart,” he hums from above you, cooing at you with a soft voice yet tugging your head up by the chin a little harshly to look at you.

“‘S big.. oh- fuck, Dick-“

“‘Scuse me?”

Oopsie.

“Now you’re in for it, doll.” The smile of amusement and lust on Dick’s face is almost demeaning.

“We got an ungrateful little slut,” Jason scowls, tugging so hard on your hair he might fuck it up if he doesn’t fuck you up first. His thrusts gain a brutal pace and he fucks you even deeper than before, leaning down to your face before he speaks again. “Here I am, face covered in your cum, fuckin this tight cunt with my cock and you’ve still got the nerve to be moanin’ for him? The fuck is he doing for you, huh? Tell me. Tell both of us.”

You can’t, even if you wanted to. Even if you could. Just from the close proximity, the way his dick hits that sweet spot harder and harder has you whimpering an incoherent apology and clenching around him. The only thing he can make out is the pathetic little “‘m sorry” as your hand moves to cover your face.

“Oh hell no,” he corrects you, grabbing your arm and folding it behind your back. You’re weaker than ever right now, no longer holding yourself up. In fact, Jason’s the one holding you, keeping you stable while he fucks the lights out of you.

“I think she wants it like this,” Dick chimes in, smiling like all you’re doing is putting on a show for him. Not that you mind, of course. You’re busy trying not to cry from the intensity, but you haven’t even realized your mascara’s been fucked up for a hot minute already.

“Yeah, you wanted this, right? Bet you thought you’d get it from that bastard,” Jason huffs a guttural laugh, “guess he shoulda told you about this thick dick.”

“‘M sorry, ‘m sorry, Jay- fuck, please,” you beg from beneath him, tightening around his dick as another orgasm has your moans higher pitched. “Wanna cum- lemme cum, Jason, please-!”

“Now you wanna moan my name?”

“Guess you fucked some sense into her.”

“Shut your goddamn mouth, Grayson.” The venom in his voice is for Dick, but unfortunately the anger gets taken out on you with a sharp smack on the ass and you yelp. “Give it to me,” he groans, “cum all over this cock.”

“Thank you- thank you, Jason-“

Your eyes roll, so far back you can see your skull as he fucks you throught it. You still babble on about how good he feels and he never lets up, focused on his own orgasm as he shoves your face into the mattress. Without another beat, he fucks you full, nasty fluids gushing around his cock as he finally calms down. You damn near back out, honestly, but distantly you can hear another belt buckle being undone.

“Y’done yet, Jaybird?”

“Not really,” he huffs through a deep groan, still rutting into you. “But go ahead. Just don’t piss me off again.” Dick fake pouts, pulling your face back up and you’re met with his length, throbbing and neglected.

“Wha…” you weakly moan, legs trembling and cunt twitching around Jason. Dick almost moans at the sight of your fucked out face, drool pooling at the corner of your lips and mascara smudged down your face. Still just as gorgeous, albeit more shameful than before. Dick can admit he prefers you with this look.

“We’ve still got plans for you, pretty girl,” he whispers, squishing your cheeks to push your mouth open before slapping the fat of his cock onto your tongue. “You still with us?”

“Mhm…”

“Good, good girl.“

𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ

a/n;; dick was supposed to have the upper hand for most of this but listen, things happen. writing this was honestly so fun but idk if it’ll ever happen again anytime soon </3. pls enjoy, like, comment and reblog, i’d appreciate it :p

[oddinary4bts]

Love is a Laserquest | choi san

☆summary: years after your break-up, Choi San comes to you for help. In an attempt to save his life, you escape to your uncle's cabin in the woods far from civilization. Will nostalgia and longing make you fall again, or is Choi San just spinning more lies to you?

☆pairing: gangster!Choi San x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

☆genre: gangster au, exes au, angst, smut, a smidge of the one bed trope

☆warnings: guns/gun violence (mentioned), knifes/stabbing (mentioned), a bounty over San's head, death of a minor character (named Jungkook my bad), blood, injuries, stitches, probably some wrong medical terminology bc optometrists don't stitch up people lmao, a panic attack, cursing, pet names, explicit content: oral sex (female receiving) -> face riding, let me know if I forgot any!

☆word count: 16.5k

☆a/n: Here's my submission for Outlaw: The Project hosted by @ssaboala. It is coincidentally my first time posting about another group than bts, so I hope this won't disappoint! I really enjoyed writing it (even though it's really sad oop). Also my first time making a moodboard so hopefully it works haha

☆a/n pt2: thank you to @moonleeai for being my ever-so faithful beta reader, love you lots <3

☆☆☆☆☆

And do you still think love is a Laserquest? Or do you take it all more seriously? I’ve tried to ask you this in some daydreams that I’ve had But you’re always busy being make-believe

Love is a Laserquest – Arctic Monkeys

☆☆☆☆☆

The diner is silent, unoccupied. It always is on late weekday evenings, when most patrons have gone to bed, the city falling under a carpet of hushed silence only night can bring forth. It makes the diner feel like it’s straight out of a 70s movie, and it makes for the perfect study sessions too.

Night isn’t always soundless in your part of town. Hence why you’ve been trying to escape, pursuing an education that has been leaving you penniless, but with a bright future ahead. If you make it out of med school at a certain point, that is.

Tonight, you fear the peace that night usually entails has been ruined for you – there were gunshots earlier, close enough for you to see the police cars racing past as the law officers made it to probably yet another gang fight.

There’s been a gang war on your side of town. The diner has always been safe, a refuge for both sides of the war, where they aren’t allowed to fight. To carry in weapons and hatred. No, the moment they cross the threshold of the diner, the gangsters become one family, sharing struggles that only poverty can cause.

You wipe a table clean before walking back towards the counter. Your open laptop waits for you, and you quickly read the study guide you’ve made for yourself, the cardiovascular system and its pathologies forming a maze in your mind that you’ve yet to decode. Luckily enough, you still have a week before the bloc ends and you have to take the exam.

Plenty of time to cram everything about the heart in your thick little skull, you’d say.

Your lips move in time with what you’re reading, attention solely focused on the bright screen when a thump is heard right outside the door. It startles you, and you turn around to see the empty street out of the glass door.

It takes you about ten seconds to notice the dark form sitting on the ground. They’re leaning against the door, head lolling to the side. You assume it must be someone that’s ended unhoused, something that happens far too often where you live.

You’ve always been kind. When you were younger, you were told your kindness would be your demise. Yet you’ve never been able to be anything but kind, even though sometimes it might put you at risk. So you can’t resist but walk to the front door, trying to push it open.

It’s useless – the weight of the person is keeping it tightly shut, though they do straighten a little, as if coming to their senses. They turn, and the moment their profile comes into view you’re brought back eight years in the past. To a time when the world was still a beautiful place, void of violence and cruelty. To a smile so sweet it made flowers blossom on your heart, and to eyes so sharp you knew they had read your soul.

Choi San is sitting outside the door, and the caked blood on his cheek tells you enough – he’s injured. He pushes away from the door before slowly getting up. He clutches his side as he does it, yet when he turns back towards you and faces your horrified eyes, he still offers you a smirk.

You push the door open, thinking about the years between then and now. You had dated him for a few months that had felt like forever, until you had realized in what kind of business he was getting involved with. You had tried to convince him to flee before it was too late, and he kept promising that he would.

Only he never did, hiding lies with beautiful words that made your teenage self swoon, until your parents had realized and forced you to break up. It had been a nasty break-up, filled with hatred and words you didn’t mean yet had needed to say for him to leave.

You remember breaking his heart like it was yesterday.

“Choi San,” you greet him, and when he lets go of his side, you notice blood on his hand.

Something runs cold inside of you, even though he still sports a smirk on his lips.

He says your name, bowing his head. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Months, in fact. Because he does come to the diner sometimes. He usually ignores you, and so do you, so it feels strange to have him speak to you. To hear his voice as his words are addressed to you.

“What…” you trail off, glancing down at the ripped fabric of his black tank top.

He’s got a mean cut on his ribs, and it’s only then that you truly realize that he’s badly injured. Because there’s more – one of his biceps has been sliced open too, though blood is barely oozing out of it in small rivulets. The blood on his cheek is from where you assume he’s been punched with rings, and there’s already an underlying bruise under his eye.

“Got beaten up,” he states the obvious, and you immediately open the door wider to let him in.

He limps in, heading towards the nearest booth, where he plops down and lets out a pained grunt. You make sure no one is outside before shutting the door and locking it, flipping the hanging sign on it so it says closed in case a patron decides to show up.

You take a few steps towards San, hands shaking slightly at your side. Because that’s a grown man, bleeding out on the leather seat of the booth, and his eyes are shut though he looks in pain. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do. You haven’t yet started your residency, haven’t really gone from theory to practice… Yet you’re studying to be a doctor, are you not?

“Why are you here?” you ask, though you’re pretty sure you know the answer.

“Didn’t know where else to go,” he says, wincing as one of his eyes opens. He tilts his head to look towards you. “Word around the block says…” he pauses, takes a deep breath before continuing, “that you’re studying to be a doctor”.

So you are right. He’s here because he needs your help, and you’re not quite sure how you feel about it.

“Why…” You look for words, and it takes you a moment to realize that it doesn’t matter.

For all the history between you and him, Choi San doesn’t deserve to bleed out to death on a cheap leather seat in a forgotten diner on the dangerous side of town.

He has the decency to chuckle at the start of your question, which only makes him wince in pain once again.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, and it’s a little stupid because clearly, he’s in no state to move.

He doesn’t question it, and you run to the kitchen to thoroughly wash your hands and grab the first aid kit. At night, no cooks stay around, and you usually only reheat food if needed, which doesn’t really happen. You haven’t had any client coming in at night in weeks… until San, that is. So no one is there to see what is going on, which you reckon is a relief. Because you have no idea what’s going on.

You return to the booth where San is waiting, patiently. He’s clearly wiped his hand on his face because there’s fresh blood on his forehead, and you almost balk at the sight of it.

“What have you done?” you mutter, more to yourself than to him.

It seems he’s still in sync with you because he still hears. “Got involved with the wrong crowd.”

You put the first aid kit down on the table, ignoring his eyes when they flutter open, and he rests his gaze on you.

“I don’t know if I can help you,” you say as you unzip the kit and throw it open. You spare his side a quick glance. “This looks like you’re going to need stitches.”

He makes an effort of looking down at himself, though it mostly fails as he doesn’t raise his head from the seat. “Right.”

You grab everything you think you might need – alcohol swabs to clean his skin, fresh linen to bandage his side and arm, and stuff for his cheek too. He carefully observes you, with that piercing gaze of his that used to make you go crazy inside when you were young and impressionable.

You vaguely motion at him, and he cocks an eyebrow. “What?”

“Are you able to sit up?” you ask. “I can’t reach you if you’re lying back like this.”

His pink tongue darts to wet his lips, and he nods curtly. “Let me…” he trails off, resting a bloody hand on the table while he grabs at the back of the booth to push himself up. It has new blood appearing on his side, and you quickly move towards him, putting some linen against it.

As if it’s going to do anything. He clearly needs stitches, and you’ve got nothing with you to stitch him up.

“Fuck,” he curses lowly as he’s finally sitting. You just keep the linen on his side, eyes a little wide.

Your gazes connect inevitably, and time slows. You think about how he used to smile, how his eyes used to hold a softness you haven’t had the chance to see again since he’s walked out of your life.

Or rather, since you kicked him out of your life.

“I don’t think I can help,” you whisper, and his eyes flicker to your lips.

“I can’t go to the hospital,” he admits, shame turning his features into a mask of regret. “They… If they find me, I’m dead.”

Dread fills every ounce of your being. “San, what have you been doing?”

He looks away from your insistent gaze, scoffing slightly. “You don’t want to know.”

He isn’t wrong; you genuinely don’t want to know. Because he means nothing good, even with all the memories you share with him.

“Is it going to put me in danger?” you ask, as he still obstinately avoids your gaze.

He seems to freeze in front of you, as if you’ve pressed pause to your favourite show. To avoid the awkwardness, you busy yourself with grabbing one of his hands so he can hold the linen in place before you start washing the cut on his arm. It’s not deep, but you’re pretty sure it’ll still leave a mean scar, especially considering he can’t go to the hospital.

The thought has a drop of cold sweat roll along your spine. People want him dead. People want Choi San, the man you know as a young, scared teenager just trying to find a way to make his life better, dead. You remember the innocence in his smile – has he smiled at all in the years apart?

“I should go,” he says flatly. He moves to stand, but you hold him down, two hands firmly placed on his shoulders. It makes him wince, and you quickly release your grip.

“Don’t,” you tell him. “Let me at least patch you up.”

His eyes shut again as his head hangs low. “I am so sorry.”

You don’t even know who he is apologizing to, or why he is. All you know is that it causes your heart to clench in your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs.

When you were younger, you believed San was your star-crossed lover. You believed your high school sweethearts romance would grow until you’d be old and grey and at the end of a very long road. You had dreamed of a future with him, the way only teenagers can dream – with no sense of reality. Because your reality had never been to end up by his side.

His choices had been proof enough of it.

You still remember the day you first kissed. Under an August meteor shower, with just the night sky as your witness. It had been hesitant, slow and soft, just like everything with San. And you had believed the lie, trusted it with every beat of your little heart, until your parents had found out the truth about him.

Until they had broken your heart, even before you had broken his.

If the stars had known then, what was going to happen to you and Choi San, would they still have shone through the night?

He lets out a pained sound as you gently dab at the cut on his bicep. You clean the skin around the wound in and of itself, and he watches you carefully, piercing gaze not missing how your face clouds with memories.

“How have you been doing?” he asks so softly you think his words are a gentle summer breeze on your features.

You can almost still smell the summer night air of that field where you had stargazed, where you’d always meet so long ago.

“I’ve been okay,” you answer, truthfully. Because even though you haven’t seen him, you have lived your life apart from him. Have evolved without him by your side. “Better than you, visibly.”

He didn’t expect the joke. It makes him snort, and then a soft smile grows on his lips, softening the edges of his hard features. “You haven’t changed.”

You have, and yet you haven’t. Like him, you think there’s a part of you that is still sixteen, and will forever be. A part of you that remained stuck in the moment when you watched him walk away in the rain, as if even the sky had to cry for his broken heart.

“Wish I could say the same about you,” you murmur, nostalgia a melancholic song in your words.

He chooses to remain silent, because the proof of how much he’s changed is sitting right in front of you, wounded and bleeding and hurt. The hurt is behind his eyes, in the shadows of the past that have also been obscuring your vision.

“Yeah,” he lets out, barely audible.

And then silence reigns between you, because as much as you once loved him, eight years have made you strangers. You don’t know anything about his life except the dirty, obvious darkness that surrounds him, and he doesn’t know anything except that you are studying to be a doctor…

Which leads you to wonder how does he know in the first place?

You ask him, as you’re wrapping the linen around his bicep to make a makeshift bandage. You’re proud of the result, though your fingers can’t resist but linger on the taut skin over his muscle, surprised at how soft it still is.

“I’ve heard you mention it,” he admits, as you take a step away to look at the material on the table, as if it’ll suddenly make stitches appear for you to put them in his skin. “One of the times I was here.”

“You never said hi,” you reproach him, unable to hide the ghost of a bite in your tone.

“Neither did you,” he points out, and he isn’t wrong.

All you can do is purse your lips as you finally decide to clean his skin. But for that, you have to rid him of his tank top, to make sure there’s no fabric in the wound. You look at him, cheeks somehow burning even though all you’re doing is taking care of a patient.

Though he’s not a patient, and you’re not in a hospital. You’re just a server at a dusty, old diner and he’s just your teenage lover, wounded by his dangerous actions.

“Should I grab scissors to remove your shirt?” you ask, though you’re speaking to yourself more than to him.

He still finds it in him to tease. “You want me out of my shirt?” he enquires, smirk gracing his lips again. “Say no more.”

He tries moving, but you hold up a hand to stop him. “Don’t,” you warn. “You’ll make it bleed more.”

He purses his lips, because nodding. “Right.” He glances at the first aid kit, before his eyes trail to your face again. “You got scissors in that?”

There are. You grab them, before turning towards him. It feels strange: you’ve never undressed him before. You had always wanted to wait, back then, before you slept together. You believed you were too young, and San had always respected it.

“Let me know if I hurt you,” you tell him as you take a step closer to him.

He slightly leans back, furrowing his eyebrows. “What do you plan to do with those that might hurt?”

You roll your eyes, playfully, before taking the two other steps leading to right in front of his legs. You notice that they are slightly parted, allowing you to come closer, and you take a steadying breath before reaching between you, pulling at the fabric of his tank top.

“Stay still and you shouldn’t get hurt,” you whisper, ignoring the heaviness of his piercing gaze on you.

It burns right through you, and you have to tame the beats of your heart at the feeling of the warm skin of his shoulder against the back of your fingers as you bring your other hand forward, until you’ve started cutting his shirt.

It’s stuck to his side where blood has dried, and he winces but remains still and silent as you keep going, pulling on it a little harder to be able to cut. The moment stretches into infinity, because you can’t help but take your time. It reminds you of how you’d used to run your fingers on his back, under his shirt, when you napped in the field in the summertime. In an idyllic world where gangs and violence and war were mere inventions of the media, and not a reality that surrounded you.

You’d loved the field. The wildflowers, the open air, the way it was just you and him and a few lazy bumblebees as clouds lazily crossed the sky above. You were so young then, so innocent. Hands unstained from blood, from his blood.

Because as you cut, the hand touching his shirt stains with blood. You pale at the sight of it, but you keep going, pushing through until you’re done, gently pulling the fabric from his body until he’s sitting there, shirtless, with a long wound on his ribs.

You can’t help but notice his toned chest and the defined abs on his stomach. Though blood mars his skin, turning it into a piece of violence, Choi San is still beautiful. Beautiful in a dark, dangerous way that has you glance outside, making sure no one is looking.

But the streets are empty, void of life at this time of the night. At least, they mostly always are.

“You will need stitches,” you state again as if you both don’t know already.

“I can’t…”

An idea forms in your brain. It’s a stupid idea, and you don’t even know why it crosses your mind.

Your uncle has a hunting cabin far in the woods. He’s a nurse himself, and he’s always kept everything over there in case someone got injured and he had to stitch them up. You haven’t gone in forever, but you still remember the tall trees, the deep forest scent that reminds you of autumn and leaves and grey days spent reading by the fireplace.

You never went hunting, but you did accompany your father when he went, needing an escape from the city once in a while. An escape from a life that was slowly becoming too real.

Your uncle is currently halfway across the country, so you know you’d be alone at the cabin. You glance at your laptop over your shoulder – you have three days off in front of you before your next class on Monday. Indeed, the Friday class is pre-recorded and to watch online in your free time, and you figure you can always watch it some other time.

So you turn towards Choi San, almost surprised that he’s real and he’s still sitting in front of you, honey skin cut open on his ribs.

“I might know a place where you can go,” you admit, with a small voice, surprising both you and him. Because you doubt he expects you to want to help, after tonight.

“What?” he asks.

“My uncle’s cabin,” you remind him, because you’ve told him about it all those years ago. “He should have all that I need to stitch you up.”

San looks down at himself. “You’ve just cut my shirt open.”

It sounds a little dumbfounded, and you can’t help the nervous laugh that falls from your mouth. Because even though it doesn’t look too deep, the wound still is terrifying in and of itself.

“I’ll bandage it,” you whisper. “Before we go.”

He seems like he ponders for a time. You watch the debate across his features, his eyes falling to a spot on your chin. He looks sad, troubled and defeated. “I can’t… I can’t do this to you.”

You ignore his words, carefully washing his side. You avoid the cut and try to be as gentle as you can, but his muscles still flex as he clenches his fists from the pain.

He’s strong. That much hasn’t changed. Because he doesn’t make any sound as you finish washing him and then patch him up with those same careful hands. And when you move to his face, cleaning the blood, his eyes flutter shut, and he sighs softly.

He looks so much like he looked then that your heart aches, and you find yourself blinking away tears for this man who’s had it so rough he believed joining a gang would save him.

“I should have come to you before,” he murmurs. “You’re much gentler than Hongjoong.”

You don’t know the guy he mentioned, and you don’t feel like asking. Don’t feel like acknowledging his words, so you just finish with his cheek before stepping away from the peaceful aura that was treacherously pulling you in.

Like all those years ago, you reckon.

“Let me make a call,” you say, turning away from him as you move to the counter. You feel the weight of his eyes between your shoulder blades as you get your phone from next to your laptop. You call your boss, and as someone that’s never called in sick before, you feel anxiety flush through you.

Because you’re not sick. And how could you tell him that you need to take care of your ex-boyfriend of eight years ago?

Seokhyun picks up on the first ring, voice groggy with sleep when he mutters, “Hello?”

“Boss,” you greet him. You scrape your throat and spare a look towards San who’s watching you curiously. “An emergency came up, and I have to leave the diner.” You swallow the lump in your throat that’s formed from lying, and then you add, “There haven’t been any customers all night, so I was wondering… would you be comfortable with me closing for the rest of the night?”

Your boss says your name, a little reproachfully. But then he sighs, because he knows just as well as you what a good employee you’ve always been. “Are you going to be able to come in tomorrow night?” he asks.

You pull at dry skin on your bottom lip, assessing San’s state. You could always come back to the city for work…

“You know what, I know you’ve got that big exam coming up,” your boss says, sighing into the phone. “Why don’t you take the next week off so you can take care of your emergency and focus on your studies?”

If Seokhyun wasn’t a fifty-three year old married and father of three children man, you think you’d ask him to marry you right now.

“That would be really helpful,” you tell him, gratitude dripping from your voice. “Are you sure that won’t be a problem for the diner?”

“The diner won’t lose profit if it closes for three nights in the week,” he points out. “I’ll see if I can get you replaced for the evening shift on Sunday.”

You thank him again as he grumbles that it’s nothing. He wishes you good luck, and when the line goes silent, you finally meet San’s gaze again.

“All sorted out,” you tell him, offering him a nod. “Let me just close the diner, and then we can go.”

He nods, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He observes you as you do so, quickly closing the diner like you’ve done about a hundred times before, though this time you’re far more excited to go. You grab a plastic bag to put away the bloody swabs, and though he groans in pain, San gets up to help you clean the blood that stained the cheap leather of the booth.

Soon enough, you’re ready to go, and you walk outside with the plastic bag in one hand and your backpack on your shoulders as San chuckles, looking down at himself.

“Do you have a shirt for me?” he asks as he follows you out.

You lock the door behind you before glancing at him. He’s quite the sight, naked from the waist up and bandaged like he is, and you can’t help the small chuckle you let out as you glance towards your car, that’s luckily parked right in front.

Though it’s a deadbeat car, you trust it enough to know it’ll make the trip to your uncle’s cabin, even in the middle of the night.

“My ex left some sweaters on the back seat,” you admit as you unlock your car doors and open the trunk to put your backpack and the plastic bag in there. There’s no chance in hell you’ll leave a plastic bag full of bloody swabs near your work.

You see San nod from the periphery of your vision, and then he’s opening the door to the backseat. “Your ex, huh?” he mutters as he grabs a sweater you used to love wearing and that you haven’t convinced yourself to give back to Hyunmin.

He carefully puts it on, and you’re pretty sure just the motion is going to make blood seep through the bandage. Somehow, you don’t care that it might stain Hyunmin’s sweater.

Hyunmin was a cheater, and even though you never really loved him, it took you months before you found the strength to break up with him. Needless to say, he doesn’t deserve his clothes back.

“Yeah,” you flatly say as you move towards the driver’s seat. You sit, and San follows you, naturally, as if you’ve done it a thousand times before.

As you turn the keys in the engine, San asks, “Have you dated a lot?”

You bristle at the question, shooting him an embarrassed look. “Have you?”

“No,” he replies, features fully serious.

You purse your lips, focusing on the road as you start driving. You need to put gas in the car if you want to get to your uncle’s cabin, so you make your way towards the closest one. It takes you a moment before you register how San has stiffened next to you.

“Can we…” he trails off, and he sinks in the seat, trying to hide. “I can’t be seen here.”

You immediately press on the accelerator, and your car speeds down the street as you pass in front of the gas station. You glance at San only when you’re stopped at a red light. He’s pulled the hood of the sweater over his features, and he’s doing his best to hide.

“Where can we stop?” you ask.

“Next town over,” he answers. “I just can’t be seen in Bangtan territory.”

Right. You have no knowledge of how the gangs have divided your city, but you’re not surprised Bangtan has this part of town. It’s the industrial area, and you assume there’s a lot of money to be made around here.

“Sounds good,” you gently say, and then you’re driving again, the light turning green, allowing you to speed away into the night.

You drive silently all the way to the next town, watching your city disappear to be replaced by trees until buildings reappear. San is looking outside the window, and you can’t help but wonder how he’s been doing, truly. How he managed to get injured like he is right now, and mostly, if his dreams of running away still occupy his thoughts.

He had begged you, the evening you had broken up with him. Told you he’d make enough money to be able to move with you across the country and build yourself a nice little life over there. You had wanted to believe him for so long, until your parents had opened your eyes on just how he was trying to make money.

“Do you need anything?” you ask as you finally reach the gas station, pulling into the driveway. You park next to a pump, turning to face him only to find him already watching you.

“I don’t have money to pay for food,” he admits. He shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I lost my wallet in the… altercation.”

You gently put a hand on his forearm. “Hey, my treat. We have to eat.”

He inhales deeply, letting out the breath slowly, before he nods. “Alright. I owe you.”

You reckon he’ll owe you for a lot more than just food at a gas station, but you choose not to say it. Not when you feel like someone’s watching over your shoulder, watching you drive away in the night with the person they are looking for.

You know it’s paranoia. No one followed you out of the city and into this town. It just feels too strange to have him here, with you. In your car, on the way to your uncle’s cabin, as if eight years have gone out the window. As if you can still be young and innocent.

It’s stupid, because you can’t. Time has changed him; time has changed you. And in just a few years you’ll be a doctor, and you’ll finally get out of this hellhole of a city, of its dangerous streets.

Of its equally dangerous man, that you know could probably pull you back in with one of his many well-crafted lies, one of the dreams he weaved expertly, whispering it into your ear.

You take a deep breath before getting out of the car. You go into the station, grab snacks for the next few days and then head to the counter. The guy behind nods as you approach, and you pay for the food and for gas before wishing him a good night and returning outside. San is still squatting in the car, clearly trying to hide, and you put the food on the backseat before putting gas in.

You watch his profile as you put gas in the car. Back when you were dating, his features weren’t as sharp, as glass-cutting as they now are. He used to sport a rounder face, but today you wonder if you’d get a papercut on his jaw. You wouldn’t even be surprised.

When you’re done with gas, you sit back next to him, and you quickly bring the engine back to life before pulling out in the street. As soon as you exit the city, darkness falls on the two of you, tall trees standing on the two sides of the road again. San doesn’t speak much, and it doesn’t take you long to realize he’s dozing off next to you.

“Hey, everything okay?” you ask, suddenly worried that he might have lost too much blood. Which, you reckon, you should have thought about earlier.

He sighs, glancing towards you. “Just tired.”

“Don’t…” you trail off. “Don’t fall asleep.”

He chuckles. “You’re afraid I’m going to die on you?”

“Choi San,” you warn. “Don’t you dare say stuff like that.”

He smiles, but you reckon he’s a little pale. Or at least you think he is, in the silver light of the moon up above. “I think I’m fine. Just…” He offers you a weak smile, though you’ve returned your attention on the winding road. “Just exhausted. I haven’t slept in three days.”

Worry clutches your heart, and you nibble at some dry skin on your bottom lip. “What’s been going on?”

He slightly shrugs. “I can’t tell you. I don’t want to put you in danger…”

“Am I not already in danger by just helping you?”

The silence is telling enough. And it remains for a while until San finally speaks.

“I was in a gunfight a week ago. Accidentally shot the youngest member of the other gang. He didn’t make it, and the gang has put a bounty on my head. Ateez took my gun and told me to run; I laughed in their face and said I wasn’t a coward. Then I got attacked by two guys with knives earlier, and I made it to the diner because I had nowhere else to go.”

Now the silence is deafening, heavy, and you think you’ve altogether stopped breathing. You’re struck with an image of San in the summer sun, smiling wide as he put a flower behind your ear, claiming you were the most beautiful girl he had ever met. The contrast with who he is now – a product of night, shrouded in darkness with no hint of that smile on his lips – is stark. And you wonder when’s the last time he has seen the sun, when’s the last time his life wasn’t violence like this.

When you say nothing, he scoffs, resting his head against the window as if it’d allow him to escape. Because clearly he wants to escape – he’s just told you that he’s killed someone after all.

And you don’t know what to say. Don’t know how to react to someone confessing murder. All you can do is stare at the street ahead, hoping you won’t end up in a gunfight with San. Because where would that lead you, other than in the dramatics of death?

You don’t speak for the rest of the ride. You don’t think he sleeps either, and dawn is clinging to the far horizon when you get to your uncle’s cabin, in a secluded forest that seems straight out of a fairytale. Instead of bringing you awe like it usually does, the sight of it makes you think of all the murder mysteries you had been obsessed with when you were younger, before you realized how horrible the real world truly is.

Neither of you move, as you turn off the engine of the car, and you fall into even more of a tensed silence, though this time you can hear the chirping of the early birds. It’s peaceful, so peaceful you can barely even grasp how tangible the presence of San is next to you. The presence of his actions too, looming between the two of you like a sword of Damocles.

You move first. Putting a hand on the knob, hoping to escape the heaviness into the dawn. San speaks before you can though, and your heart stops in your chest.

“I never meant for him to get hurt,” he murmurs, and you think he’s speaking to himself more than to you. “Everything went too fast, my gun was in my hand and I just… in situations like these, you don’t have time to think.” He leans his head against the headrest, eyes closing. “All I can picture since it’s happened is him falling and blood. Like a fucking blossoming rose, all around him.” He rests his closed fist on his forehead, rubbing it hard. “I haven’t been able to sleep; I’ve been sick every time I’ve tried to eat…”

“San,” you interrupt as you break and break for him. Because this is the San you know. This is the young boy that just wanted to escape and live in a better world. You can almost taste his remorse, taste his regret and shame. It’s poisonous, treacherous, a slippery slope that can’t lead anywhere good. “Let’s get you in. I want to get that cut on your ribs checked.”

He falls silent, and for a moment you feel guilty. Because what if he had more to say? You don’t even think you would have been able to listen. You need the escape, and you know he’ll permit it. Because the man next to you is a broken man, a fracture of what he could have been.

You step out of the car, blinking away tears – from the anxiety, from the exhaustion, and perhaps even from the pain you feel for him. He follows you, wincing as he swings his legs out of the car. He stumbles a little as he stands, but soon enough, he grows steady on his feet, and his attention moves to you. You climb the stairs of the cabin, lifting the rug to find the small trap that leads to the spare key. The padlock is rusted, but it stands strong as you put in the code, and a click is heard when you pull on it.

A few seconds later, you’ve unlocked the front door, pushing it open to reveal the cabin as you remember it. Not a single item is out of place, though dust covers everything, a clear indication that no one has been here in years. You let San in, before going back to the car to get the food you bought, bringing it in and putting it in the fridge. Three full gas canisters hide under the counter, and you sigh in relief – you’ll be able to get the generator on for some electricity.

You motion to the kitchen table. “Have a seat,” you tell San, who somehow looks like a lost puppy. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

He nods, remaining silent, eyes downcast. You only move when he’s seated, heading to the bathroom area of the cabin, where you startle a spider that almost makes you scream out loud. You keep it in, heart beating out of your chest as you get the kit before moving back into the main area.

San is leaning against the chair, eyes closed. He senses you approaching, and one of his eyes cracks open to watch you carefully, a little like he did earlier, at the diner. It looks so similar to how he used to look at you, when you joined him at the field, that you stop in your tracks, heart squeezing once again.

You don’t like the way Choi San is making you feel, that’s for sure.

“Take off the sweater,” you tell him, putting the kit down on the table. You put some clean linen next to it, to put what you need over it, before washing your hands with the disinfectant you find in the kit. You put latex gloves on after, and then you fish wire and a surgical needle from the first aid kit that you carefully put down on the linen once you’ve torn the packages open.

As you were doing all of that, San took off the shirt, struggling a little as it meant he had to lift his right arm, which pulled at the skin of his ribs, where the cut clearly has started bleeding again. Though, if you’re honest to yourself, you’re pretty sure he’s been bleeding this whole time, even though it probably was just some fine rivulets.

Indeed, the cut isn’t all that deep, you remind yourself. Mostly because you don’t want to even think about the consequences of the blood loss. As long as he stays awake, you figure he’s fine – he would have lost consciousness a while ago if he was losing a lot of blood.

You remove the bandage you had carefully put in place earlier, wincing at the sight of the blood that’s seeped through it. San keeps his eyes close, lets you clean his skin again in peace, and you feel sick to your stomach as you realize you don’t have any anesthetics for the pain that stitching him up will cause. Indeed, the pocket in which your uncle usually leaves the lidocaine is empty, and you remember that he’s had to use it for your dad when he accidentally cut himself with a machete last summer.

“Huh,” you let out. You chuckle nervously. “It’s going to hurt like a bitch.”

His eyes narrow, and he clenches his jaw. “Don’t worry about it.”

You worry at your bottom lip, holding his gaze as you gauge if he’s serious. When his gaze doesn’t falter, you offer him a curt nod, before getting the wire and needle ready under his watchful eyes.

You hand him some linen. “To bite on,” you explain as he just cocks an eyebrow quizzically. That makes his gaze widen a little as if he’s just now realizing how serious you were about it hurting, but he takes it nonetheless.

You think about the theory of how to stitch someone up. It was in your previous block – you watched hours of videos of it in an attempt to desensitize yourself to it. You don’t think it compares to the real thing, but at least you’re somehow confident of what you’re doing when you start.

San startles, groaning in pain, and you offer him a glare. “Don’t move, or it’ll be worse.”

A drop of sweat rolls down his temple, but he still nods. Even as you keep on stitching him, he remains as still as he physically can, though you don’t think he even notices how he’s trembling. Or maybe that’s you – you don’t even know.

Somehow, you make it through the whole thing. You think San might have passed out at some point, but he’s wide awake when you finish the knot to keep the stitches in place, looking up to meet his face.

He’s panting and tears of pain wet his waterline. He blinks them away as he takes the linen out of his mouth, dropping it on the table.

“Fuck,” he curses.

“Let me…” you trail off, mind set on getting something to at least help him cool off, because he’s clearly been heating up.

You grab a washcloth and a small bucket, and head outside to walk down to the lake. You fill the bucket halfway, and take a few seconds to observe the calm surrounding you, hoping that it can ease the nerves rolling inside your heart like dark clouds do on the horizon whenever a storm is coming. You feel it in your bones – you have a murderer in your uncle’s cabin.

You have to keep that in mind. To not let Choi San in like you did when you were a young impressionable teenager.

You sigh, closing your eyes to breathe in the fresh morning air. The sun is peaking over the horizon now, and you bask in its hesitant rays for all of twenty seconds before you convince yourself to go back in. You’ve got a patient to take care of, after all.

San hasn’t moved an inch while you were outside. The only indication that he hasn’t died on you is the groan he lets out as you put the wet washcloth on his forehead. You tap his cheek gently, as if to say, ‘suck it up, I’m just trying to take care of you’.

Which is exactly what you’re doing, isn’t it?

You watch him carefully for a few seconds before tapping his shoulder this time around.

“There’s a bed,” you remind him. “You’d be better passing out in a bed.”

He groans again, cracking an eye open. “I’ve just been repeatedly poked with a needle,” he drawls. “Give me a second.”

It makes you laugh. Because of the nerves, maybe. You’re not quite sure. All you know is that you’re laughing, and San opens his second eye to look at you as if you’re crazy. And you laugh for longer than you should – you’re exhausted after all, especially considering you haven’t slept since yesterday morning. So far, adrenaline has been keeping you going, but you can tell you’re about to crash.

“Sorry,” you apologize once you calm down. “This has just been…”

“A lot,” San finishes for you. “I know.”

You nod once before glancing at the doorway to the bedroom. It has no door, as your uncle and your dad usually come here alone and they don’t mind sharing a bed. It makes you realize that you’ll have to share it with San, which you reckon you should have thought about before. Because there’s no way in hell you’ll share a bed with him, especially after he’s told you why he’s being hunted.

There’s always the option of going into town later today so you can get a sleeping bag and floor mat to sleep on. But you’re far too tired right now to even consider driving, so you motion to the bed once again.

“Stick to your side; I’ll stick to mine.”

He smirks though he’s extremely pale. A lot paler than he was before, and you swallow a sudden lump in your throat. Because what if he dies? What are you supposed to do with him if he dies?

“You’ll have to help me to get to the bed ‘cause I don’t think I can move,” he says once his smirk dies. He curses under his breath. “I’m so pathetic.”

You put your hand on his shoulder again, reassuringly, eyes holding his. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re hurt. Everyone is pathetic when they’re hurt.”

He gulps before nodding once. It takes everything in you not to offer him more comfort because you feel like the slope would tilt forwards far too much if you did. Instead, you help him to get up, wincing as he puts most of his weight on you, clutching his side with one hand. You’re infinitely aware of how his skin is sticky with sweat, but you ignore it as you slowly walk to the bedroom.

You can only hope the stitches will hold because you don’t think he’d be able to withstand another round of them.

You finally reach the bedroom and help San sit on the side of the bed. He sighs, eyes shut tightly, and he doesn’t move for a time. When he does, it’s to stiffly lie down on his side.

“You might want to sleep on your back,” you inform him. “I don’t want you rolling around and messing up the stitches.”

He glares at you, though he looks like he’s already half out of it. You hold his gaze until he gives in, turning on his back with a deep sigh. You arrange pillows around him to make sure he’s not moving, and by the time you’re done, his breathing has already evened out.

For a moment, you just watch him sleep. You see him in the field where young love blossomed like a trillion wildflowers. You can almost breathe his pollen again, can almost feel the softness of his skin under your fingertips.

But he’s not what he used to be. Back then, you felt like you had discovered something new. Love, infatuation, affection, and desire, all in the form of the man sleeping next to you. You’d used to kiss, dance and sing to a song only your souls knew, and now you don’t think you recognize him anymore.

As much as he is him, he’s also but just the ghost of what he was. He’s trouble, danger in the shape of innocence, and you recall his words from earlier. You recall the despair, the regret and sorrow that haunted him after he told you. You can’t let him get to your head.

You reckon sleep might help. Though you’re afraid he’s going to waste away in his sleep, so you set up an alarm every hour, before climbing on the other side of the bed. You don’t pull on the covers, mostly because the cabin is warm, and you can imagine it’s just going to get hotter as the sun goes up and the summer heat slowly sizzles into the countryside.

It’s a good thing you put an alarm on. Because when it rings an hour later, you don’t even remember falling asleep. You’re pretty sure the second your head touched the mattress, you were out to the land of dreams. You groan, mostly because you’ve got a slight headache, but you power through it to make sure San is still breathing.

When you see his chest moving up and down steadily, you let yourself fall back asleep.

This goes on for the whole morning, and you only force yourself to stay up when your phone shows that it’s passed noon. As you had suspected earlier, the cabin has gotten extremely warm, so you force yourself out of bed to open all the windows, and then you use the washcloth from earlier to gently wash San’s face of the sweat.

He doesn’t even flinch in his sleep, but he’s still breathing and for now, that’s all that matters.

You head back to the main room, grabbing a pack of chips from where you had left the food earlier, and then you move outside to sit by the lake. Mostly because you need to put distance between you and San, but also just because the childhood memories of this place have you in their hold, and they’ve decided to make you miss the times when you’d swim around with your cousins before both of them had moved out of town.

One day, it’s going to be you too. You already know where you’d go – on the other side of the country, as far away from here as possible. You just want to forget all about the place you grew up in, and you know that, in a few years, you will have forgotten.

Though you’re pretty sure a certain piercing gaze will haunt you forever, especially after the events of today.

When another hour passes, you head back inside, putting the empty bag of chips in the trash before you check up on San. He’s still asleep, but this time he doesn’t look as pale as he did earlier. You assume it’s going to take him a while before he wakes, so you head to the nearest town to grab more food. Mostly to busy yourself, but also just because you know San will need a place to hide for a lot longer than just the weekend. Might as well make sure you have enough for him to survive a couple of days. In town, you also stop to eat at a small café on a small terrasse in the shade of a few trees, and then you grab the food you think you might need at the grocery store.

It’s the middle of the afternoon when you get back, realizing that you forgot to buy a floor mat. As you spy San, who hasn’t moved an inch since he’s fallen asleep, you figure that sleeping next to him tonight should be fine.

As long as his presence in your vicinity doesn’t drag you down memory lane again.

You bought some meat in town, so you head to the little shack outside where the generator is hiding. There’s a gas canister right next to it – also full – and you busy yourself for the next twenty minutes trying to figure out how to get it started. When it finally rumbles to life, you head back inside to put the meat in the fridge, which has finally come to life.

When you hear a groan, you quickly jog to San’s side, fully expecting to find him awake. Surprisingly, he’s still asleep, and you stay next to him for a full minute, thinking he might groan again, though he remains entirely silent.

If it wasn’t for his chest moving up and down steadily, you’d believe him to be dead. But now that a few hours have passed, you’re pretty positive he’ll make it, though he’s probably going to sleep through the day and possibly through the next one too.

Which leaves you in the most peaceful atmosphere you’ve been in for a while, with the opportunity to study as you listen to the rush of wind in the leaves of the tall trees surrounding the cabin. You sit outside, this time near the fireplace, and you study until your stomach grumbles, indicating that it is time for you to cook.

You cook the meat you’ve bought on the grill outside, feeling thankful that your dad once showed you how to use it. You go back in to grab a bottle of water before you eat, and you’re bent in the fridge when you hear San moan again, and this time it sounds like he’s saying something.

You gently close the fridge, making your way to the bedroom. San hasn’t moved, but his features are creased in a frown, and sweat is rolling down his temples. You wet the washcloth, gently wipe his face, and you’re about to leave when he moans again.

It takes you far too long to realize he’s apologizing. What for, you can’t really tell. Though you remember his troubled eyes this morning, you remember his story, and your heart breaks in your chest.

He’s haunted. You think the ghost of the dead guy will probably haunt him for the rest of his life. And suddenly you’re struck thinking maybe, maybe if you hadn’t broken his heart all those years ago, you could have saved him from the gang.

Maybe you could have opened his eyes.

You still remember the break-up like it was yesterday. You remember the rain, him leaving without once looking back, but mostly you remember the words you had uttered. Ghosts of their own, that feel more real now that he’s come back into your life.

*****

                “You’re going to get hurt!” you yelled. “You’ll get hurt, San. What are you thinking?”

He scoffed, shaking his head, and little droplets of water shot all around him. “I’ll be careful. We need the money if we ever want to make it out of this shit town.”

You blinked away tears, folding your arms on your chest as you tried to keep your heart from breaking. Though you reckoned it had broken when your parents had told you what they knew about San. When your father had mentioned Ateez, and you’d truly realized what it meant that he was part of a gang. San, your sweet, soft, and bubbly San, in a gang that had murdered someone just a few weeks ago.

“But that’s not a way to make money!” you screamed, hoping he’d understand. Hoping he’d hear the truth in your words, hoping he’d change his mind before it was too late. “Why don’t you get a part-time job, like me? Then we can go to college and get jobs in a nice city on the other side of the country!”

“It won’t work,” he drawled, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I want to be out soon, not in a few years. I barely even have a roof over my head, Y/n…”

“Come live with me,” you choked out around the lump in your throat.

You both knew fully well that your parents would never let him come near you again.

“I can’t.”

You cried, hiding your face in your hands. You cried thinking of the field where you usually met, thinking about its beauty now fading into ugliness. You thought about the wildflowers, withered and dead as autumn had come. You thought about how you were convinced you knew what love was.

“What’s the point?” you asked then. “What’s the point of putting your life in danger? Life isn’t some sort of a game, Choi San. Worse, what if you have to hurt someone? Do you think you’ll be able to pull the trigger?”

He clenched his jaw, hard. “Do me a favour and stop asking questions.”

You closed your eyes, feeling sick to your stomach. Because it couldn’t be. Not San. Not your smiley San, who’d always weave dandelions crowns with you, as you’d pretend you were a queen and a king of that field you had found. An empty field, an abandoned farmland that was just yours and his to explore. That had been home to your first kiss, and all of those that had followed.

Now you wondered why he had always wanted to meet there in the first place. Was he trying to hide?

"If you love me, you’ll get out while you still can,” you said as your tears suddenly ended.

There was a weird sense of clarity in you, suddenly. You remembered the day you had fallen in love, the moment you had first kissed. You remembered the stars in the sky above, the meteors falling for the two of you. You remembered the music on the radio you had brought. Some Arctic Monkeys song about heartbreak, about moving on and failing to do so. As a joke, when it had ended, you had asked San, “Do you think love is a laserquest?”

His answer had been cryptic, mysterious, things that had made you believe he was the one. “Maybe. Maybe it is, and I’ve shot you in the back while you weren’t looking. Maybe I’m that annoying player that won’t leave you alone.”

“I’ll never find you annoying,” you had replied.

But today, watching the rain rolling down his face like tears, you realized that maybe, maybe you should have seen the warning behind his words. Because this betrayal, it came like he had shot you in the back – you didn’t think you’d be able to recover from it.

The past dwindled away as San spoke again, reminding you of the question you had just asked him. “It’s not a question of love, Y/n. I do love you. But it’s a question of survival.”

You laughed, coldly, and then you said, “You know what? You’re full of shit.”

“Alright then. Do me a favour and tell me to go away.”

“Go away.”

A long silence had lingered between you, voided of that summer warmth that had you falling in love. Like a piece was missing from the contract of you loving him, and him loving you. And you realized, maybe you had never really loved each other anyway.

He nodded once when you didn’t say anything else, before turning away. And you watched him walk away. You watched him thinking he was going to turn around and tell you this was just some twisted joke, the prank of the century. Only, he never turned around, and he disappeared behind the bend in the road, never to be seen again, cracking your heart open and splitting it in half.

*****

                The sun sets, like an ending to a dream. You’ve always liked the end – you think if you could choose, you’d want to witness the end of the world. The nostalgia, the beauty of endings… it’s something you understand now that you didn’t understand when you were younger. Because you and San ending, it had led to you focusing on high school. It had allowed you to get in the good college in town, with a scholarship that covered most of your expenses before you made it to med school.

There’s beauty in knowing losing San has allowed you to live out your dreams.

There’s less beauty in knowing that San has been sleeping for almost thirty-four hours now. Last time you checked, he was still breathing, but you’re starting to be afraid that he just won’t wake up. It’s irrational, you know – after the blood loss it makes sense that he’d sleep for a long time.

But it leaves you with far too much time on your hands to think and revisit the past. You’ve been doing it all day – thinking about the fight with your parents that had led to your break-up with San, thinking about that damn rainy evening he had walked away without once looking back. Thinking of the field, of sunshine and star falls and the sweetness of a first kiss. Thinking that, then, you thought you knew what it was like to be in love.

You haven’t dated anyone serious since San. Hyunmin was a distraction for a while, but you never were into it. Not like you were into San. There’s a guy in your class though, that you’ve been chatting with for a couple of weeks. He’s sweet, innocent, and the perspective of a future seems less scary with him around. He’s mentioned he wants to move across the country once too, and since then you’ve started talking more, the similarity of your wishes drawing you closer.

All day today you’ve been feeling like you’re slowly drifting away though. Slowly getting entrapped in a web you’re not sure you’ll be able to walk away from.

You decide to swim, seeking the fresh clarity only cold water can bring to you. You don’t have a swimsuit with you, but since San is half-dead in bed you figure it doesn’t matter. So you strip naked, feet making squelching sounds in the mud by the lake side as you step in the water.

The sharp cold has you holding your breath, but you don’t slow down. You’ve never slowed down in life – when you make a decision, you bring it to completion. And you’ve decided to swim, so swim you will.

The warm summer evening breeze catches in your hair as you take another step forward, the water now lapping at your thighs. You dread the moment it’ll hit your core, knowing that that’s the worst part, but you breathe in deeply, moving forward. Because there’s no moving backwards now.

When the water hits, your eyes flutter shut, and you hold in the wince that threatens to escape the mask of calm your features hold. Soon enough, you get deep enough to swim, and the movements bring welcomed warmth to your limbs as you flop on your back, tits out of the water.

Your uncle’s cabin is the only cabin in a fifteen miles radius. You know you won’t be interrupted, and so you let the water cool you down. Calm you down, hold you in its fresh embrace. It undoes knots in your back that have formed from worrying about San, but also from worrying about college.

From worrying that you will never be enough. You think it’s a normal anxiety to have, something most people must feel as they go through the trials of college, not knowing what to expect on the other side. A nice career, perhaps, though the perspective of failure is there too, looming over the horizon.

You sigh, and your eyes flutter open as your legs move mindlessly under you, making sure to keep you afloat. You look up at the azury ceiling over your head, so far away as it slowly turns gold. Out of touch, out of grasp. You watch the fluffy white clouds that are lazily crossing the sky, turning fiery in the sunset, as if they have all the time in the universe. And you wish you were them, up above. With nothing to worry about.

Without a Choi San on the brink of death lying about twenty meters away from you. You sigh, and you turn in the water, with the purpose of swimming again. Though your gaze catches movement by the cabin, and your head snaps towards it to see none other than the supposedly Choi San, standing on the deck with a hand clutching his side.

You shriek, looking down at yourself. Most of you is hidden, but you don’t know how long he’s been there. Don’t know if he’s seen you naked as you looked up at the sky.

He doesn’t move, only watches you where you’re swimming.

“Can you please look away?” you say from the water, and he has the nerves to lean against the railing, eyes still boring into where you’re swimming. You think his gaze might be so hot the water will boil, and it startles you into action.

You start walking out of the water, pointing towards the door. “You shouldn’t be up, Choi San.”

“I feel fine,” he says as you take another step forward, and the water barely hides your tits anymore.

That makes him turn around, as he offers you a little bit of privacy. You’re quick to get out of the water and wrap yourself in the towel you brought outside, and then you collect your clothes to head back to the cabin. San dutifully keeps his gaze away until you’re climbing the three steps leading to the deck, and it’s then that his eyes trail to you again.

“Thank you for the water,” he says, offering you a tentative smile.

You left water by his bedside earlier today hoping it will coax him to wake up. You’re strangely surprised that it worked.

“You should go sit inside,” you scold him, only half-heartedly. Because seeing him up and about reassures you, somehow.

He cocks an eyebrow, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “The weather is beautiful, I’d rather sit outside.”

You roll your eyes, but you do let him walk down the stairs to sit by the fireplace while you go inside to take a quick shower and get dressed. You decide to make some food for him, though you know he shouldn’t eat too much right now, after not having eaten for a while. He has to start slowly, and you don’t even know if he’s hungry anyway.

You settle for preparing a cup of chicken noodle soup for him, so at least it isn’t too heavy on his stomach. You bring it to him outside, as he’s just calmly observing the lake.

“Thank you,” he says, voice small as he grabs the cup and the spoon.

You sit next to him, trying not to watch him eat too much. His hair is sticking to his forehead in some places, and you have the distinct thought that he’ll probably need to shower. At least there’s plenty of rain water in the bucket for the water pump.

“What have you been doing while I was out?” he asks.

You spare him a quick glance before losing your gaze in the rocks of the fireplace. “I’ve studied. Checked up on you. Not much honestly.”

He chuckles. “I’d argue that caring for someone is a lot.”

You glance at him, cheeks burning at the sight of his teasing smile. “Not really.”

He chuckles again, but doesn’t say anything more before eating another spoonful of soup. He’s almost done with the cup when he actually does speak, asking, “How long was I out?”

“A day and a half,” you answer. “I’m actually surprised you haven’t slept longer.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “I’m made of tough stuff.”

You snicker, but you don’t say anything, just focusing on where you’re kicking at the dirt. When he’s done with the cup, he puts it down on the ground next to him, before sitting back in the chair. He stretches out his legs in front of him, sighing deeply.

“I still feel out of it,” he admits, and you meet his gaze.

“You can sleep more,” you tell him. “I’d just like to check on the…”

You don’t even have to finish your sentence. He immediately turns so his side is to you, and you have to admit you’ve done a perfectly good job with the stitches.

“So?” he asks.

“All good.” You pat his shoulder. “You can sit comfortably again.”

He’s smiling when he does so, and his gaze wanders to the lake once again. “I’m sorry I…” he trails off, and he chuckles softly. “I’m sorry I interrupted your little swim earlier.”

You have the decency to flush furiously red, and you shrug your shoulders. “No worries, I wasn’t expecting you to be up so soon.”

You fall in a comfortable silence, surprisingly so. Rare stars dot the darkening sky up above, and all that can be heard for a moment is the flap of a bird’s wing as it moves from branches to branches in the trees by the water. The breeze picks up as you watch the little bird, and the leaves dance, loudly so. You’d think it’d be deafening in the silence between you and him, but it’s strangely reassuring.

As if, after all, you found your way back to the field. Only this time it’s completely different, as if decades have passed between you. At least, that’s how it feels like.

You notice San has dozed off in the chair next to you when you were about to speak to him again. To ask him how he’s truly been, in the years between then and now. Hoping to avoid mentioning what led to him coming to you, yesterday, a whole eternity ago.

You watch him, heart aching in your chest. Aching to reach out and brush his hair away from his forehead, aching to heal the cut on his cheek with a gentle swipe of your fingers. If only medicine was so simple…

It seems the peace of the early evening wasn’t going to stay around, because you notice dark clouds rolling in the distance, streaks of lightning cutting through them. Slowly inching closer, menacingly so, and you gently wake San up with your hand on his wrist.

He startles awake, hand shooting to his waist, finding nothing there. It startles you, and you both stare at each other for a moment until you realize what he was looking for.

His gun.

“San…” you let out and he runs his hand through his hair, eyes falling shut as he breathes in and out raggedly.

“Sorry.”

“San, I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t open his eyes, refuses to let you see the vulnerability you glimpsed behind his piercing gaze. Refuses to acknowledge that he’s terrified, deadly so.

“Let’s go in,” you tell him, softly. Because you’re afraid you’ll spook him, when he’s clearly been living in fear long enough. “There’s a storm coming.”

He nods, carefully getting up without sparing you a glance. He heads inside, hand clutching his side again, while you pick up the chicken noodle soup cup before following him.

You’ve refilled the generator before swimming, so you know it’s been charging the batteries for a while now. You don’t fear ending up in the dark with San, and there’s also always the option of using the lamps and candles your uncle always leave here in case of an emergency.

The storm doesn’t roll in until a little later. You’ve forced San to put a shirt on – mostly so your eyes would stop betraying you, dropping to his toned body whenever he talked to you. You’re currently sitting on the couch, and as the rain starts, hammering against the window behind you, you pull your legs to your chest, wrapping your arms comfortably around them.

“How hard do the storms hit here?” he asks, eyes trailed to the world outside.

You follow his gaze, right as wind picks up to make the water hit the window even harder, creating a cacophony that forces you to speak louder for him to hear. “Pretty hard.”

He nods, and he glances once at you. “Fun.”

You smile, because you’ve always liked storms. Have always found them electrifying, energizing.

“Do you remember when we used to go to the field when it rained?” San asks, taking you by surprise.

Making your heart clench so hard in your chest you have to take a wobbly breath in. If he notices he doesn’t say.

“We were always in that field,” you remind him. “No matter the weather.”

It’s his turn to smile fondly. “It got so pretty with all the wildflowers. But you were afraid of the bees.”

“Bees are scary!” You laugh, and he echoes it with a soft chuckle. “You’re the one that almost pissed yourself when we saw the rat.”

That makes him laugh, and he winces in pain clutching his side. “Gosh, is it supposed to keep on hurting like this?”

It douses your enthusiasm and your smile falls. “Well, it was a solid cut.”

His eyes get lost in the void as he takes on a wistful expression. “I’m surprised I didn’t die.”

You gulp, watching his profile carefully. “It wasn’t deep enough for that…” you trail off, even though you spent most of yesterday and today being convinced he’d die. “At least they didn’t… stab you.”

“They would have if… Wooyoung didn’t shoot.”

You remain silent, not knowing what to reply to that. San interprets that as discomfort, and he quickly adds, “He didn’t shoot them. Just… in the air. It attracted the police.”

You remember the cars zooming past the diner a lifetime ago, and you nod your head. “I heard.”

He seems surprised, and his gaze finally finds yours again. “You did?”

“Yeah.” You chuckle, a little awkwardly. “I hear a lot of shootings, in the diner.”

His eyes widen, mouth falling open cutely. “You do?”

You don’t know what he expected. The diner is right between Ateez and Bangtan territory, and as much as it is a safe space, it is also near enough to dangerous grounds, and you’ve heard plenty of shooting in your time working there.

“Always,” you admit. “It can get scary sometimes… but you also get used to it.”

He looks sad. Infinitely so, like a lost puppy. That’s when the first thunder hits, so sharp and sudden you startle. Not quite as much as San, who ducks, wincing in pain as he clutches his side.

“Shit,” he curses. “Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?” you ask, in time with another thunderclap, though this time it’s more of a rumble.

You watch his chest as he breathes in and out quickly. “Just… fuck.”

Now, concern grows in you, and you gently put a hand on his shoulder. “San…”

He meets your gaze, and there’s so much white in his it makes you think of a terrified prey. And then it clicks: he thought it was a gunshot.

“Hey,” you quickly say, moving closer to him. You’re on the side of the stitches, so you still keep a safe distance between the two of you, but you grab his hand nonetheless. “You’re okay.”

“Fuck,” is all he’s able to say.

“I promise, no one’s going to find you here.”

He remains silent this time around, eyes still boring into yours. You take that as a cue to continue, because you don’t want him to panic. You want his thoughts here, with you, and not miles away in a city he should have escaped from years ago. You wish he had, knowing the atrocities that he would have avoided.

Would he have escaped with you, had you stayed just a little longer?

“I killed someone,” he says, and you balk at the silver lining his gaze. “I fucking killed him.”

You don’t know how to help. All you can think to do is cup his cheek, right as he starts breathing even faster. “Breathe with me, San.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes fall to your mouth. You make a good show of inhaling slowly, before exhaling even slower. It takes him a moment but he eventually follows your lead.

It breaks when there’s another sharp thunderclap, and he flinches, eyes shutting instinctively.

“Hey hey hey,” you say again, even more gentle, softer than before. You move even closer, and when a tear slips out of his closed eyes, you pull him into a hug, careful not to brush his side.

His head falls on your shoulder, and one of his arms wrap around your waist. A thunderclap later, he starts sobbing, fist balling the fabric of your shirt in his tight hold, and you let him do it. You let him hold onto you, hoping it’ll keep him here with you. Hoping it’ll keep him afloat during the storm that’s raging both outside and in his mind.

“It’s going to be okay,” you breathe, and you feel like you’re lying to him.

Because how can he ever be safe from the ghosts inside of his skull? The ghosts wandering the halls of him, tainting his soul with their presence?

“He’s never going to smile again,” San chokes out. “Everyone loved him. Even in Ateez… Jungkook was the best of us. The only one who had a shot at getting out of it.”

You don’t know how good he could have been, if he was a member of Bangtan. In your mind, you’d always seen Bangtan as the bad guys, mostly because they weren’t with San. Even when you had been struggling to evade that life, you’d still rooted for him.

It’s strange how you just realize that now, as you’re holding him while he breaks.

“You didn’t mean to kill him,” you remind San, still speaking with the calmest voice you can muster up. “You didn’t want to, San. You’re not a murderer.”

“I’m still a killer,” he says. He sounds angry, and you reckon he might be angry at himself. Might be consumed with his actions, dragged to hell before his time as his mind gets stuck replaying the events.

“Maybe,” you answer. “But,” you quickly add when he stiffens in your arms. “But you can spend the rest of your life making up for it. Repenting.”

He doesn’t respond right away, as he breaks some more, sobs rocking through him. You’ve never seen him like this, not even when you were younger and in love. It makes your gaze wet, yet you hold on strong for him. You keep your head held high, and you allow him to break in the safe haven that your arms represent.

Because to him, you’ve never been tainted. You’ve always been the ideal he was trying to pursue, albeit the wrong way.

“I don’t know how to repent,” he admits when he calms down. He turns his head, and his nose brushes along the skin of your neck, slightly tickling you. You ignore the feeling, especially as he adds, “Ateez… it’s all I’ve ever known.”

You run a hand on his back, soothingly. “It isn’t.”

Because there was you, too. There was the summer field and the twinkling stars and Artic Monkeys on the radio. There was the two of you, petal-soft kisses exchanged in the dead of night and in the brightness of day. There were rainy days, and then there was rain. There was him walking away, and you hate yourself then.

You wish you had stopped him that day, had kept him from going on to become what he’s become now. A person he clearly hates, someone that has a bounty on his head. Someone that doesn’t even believe they’re allowed redemption and you reckon you don’t even know if he is.

You only know that seeing him break is bending your will, the way the wind outside is bending the trees. All you can hope is that, like the tall trees, you won’t break.

*****

                The storm calmed down sometime around midnight. San ended up falling asleep on the couch, as you’d reassuringly ran your hand through his hair, trying to keep him with you. Though you think he’s been slipping through your fingers, into his demons.

You’ll find a way to bring him back. You have to. Turns out it comes faster than you think, as the electricity runs out and you busy yourself with lighting some candles throughout the main room. When you’re done, you put a blanket over him, and you almost let out a startled scream as his eyes shot open.

“Hello,” you say, resting a hand on your heart to tame the wild beats.

You’re about to move away, but he grabs your hand, forcing you to sit next to him. You don’t really resist, though you think you probably should. You’re weak – weaker still when he murmurs your name.

“San,” you whisper in return, and you’re aware your voice carries too much longing. Longing for a past when life’s atrocities hadn’t changed either of you yet.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologizes, and a tear rolls on his cheek.

You dry it, fingers lingering there. “It’s okay.”

“Angel…”

The nickname brings you back to laser quests and favours and warmth creeping up your stomach for the first time in your life.

“I’m no angel,” you breathe.

“You saved me.”

You hold his gaze. There’s something hiding behind his pupils. The need, to forget. You don’t think you have the ability to run his mind through amnesia, but still you brush his cheek again.

“You deserved saving.”

His eyes glaze once more, though this time no tears fall. “It’s hard to believe it.”

“Do you still believe love is a laser quest?” you ask him, out of the blue.

As if you’re a line straight of that Arctic Monkeys song you listened to the first time you kissed.

“Maybe,” he says, a parallel to that first time you had asked the question. “Maybe it is.”

You can’t resist. You lean down, and you press the gentlest kiss on his lips. His are dry, but the way he sighs with you against him is soft, for your heart and for your mind, and you kiss him again. He lets you lead, follows the dance of your lips, lets you run your hand through his sweaty hair.

Even if you shouldn’t. Even if you know everything you’re doing right now is a mistake, you still find yourself deepening the kiss, opening your lips to slip your tongue out, teasing his mouth. One of his hands finds your thigh, and he squeezes ever so slightly as his tongue finds yours, and you let out a breathy sound.

When you pull away, eyes fluttering open, you find San’s gaze. You think about the boy he was then, the girl you were then. You think about who you were, together. And when he says, “Please make me forget”, you lean again, capturing his mouth in a languid kiss.

For a reason unknown, the summer sky and falling stars pale in comparison to this kiss. Maybe because it holds longing, nostalgia. Hope that life would have turned out differently. For a moment, you picture what it would have been like, without Ateez. With you and him in the field, in your family house, in a car driving by the beach, windows down as the sun sets and you sing along to the radio, wind blowing in your hair.

You see a whole life there, with you and him marrying in the field, under the sun that had been the host of your first love. You imagine growing up by his side, attending college with him in the big city. You imagine how he would have become the owner of his own construction company, like his dad before him. You picture kids laughing, running around the house he would have built for you. You see Christmas light, late nights antics by the firelight.

You see it all, and you know you’ll never have any of it. But if you can have tonight, then you’ll grab it before it slips through your fingers. Before he walks away in the rain again, only to be a memory you cherish in the deepest corners of your heart.

“How?” you ask him when you pull away.

Mostly, you’re asking how to make him forget. But you’re also asking how it is that the feelings are still there, even stronger now, as if they’ve grown up with you, yet haven’t changed like you have. Like they are a constant of an ever-changing universe.

“Kiss me again,” he asks, begs, and you give in. You kiss him wildly, always making sure not to touch his side and the stitches.

You know sex would be a stupid idea, especially with the fresh stitches. But also because he’s barely had time to recover. But he doesn’t really give you a choice, pulling you on top of him until you’re straddling him.

You sit back on him for a second, eyes trailing to the spot where you know the stitches are. “This isn’t a good idea,” you whisper through the ragged breaths caused by the ministrations of his mouth on yours and of yours on his.

“I’m fine,” he says, and you know you shouldn’t believe him. But when he pulls you down again, large hand holding the nape of your neck firmly so you don’t escape, you want to believe him.

Want to believe the beauty of his lies, like you had when you were younger.

From where you’re perched, you can feel the start of his erection pressing against you, and you moan softly in the kiss, rolling your hips. His mouth falls open, and you capture his tongue, sucking on it once before you pull away, leaving hot kisses on his jaw.

“Sit on my face,” he says, and he sounds out of his mind. Crazed, a little like you too feel at the moment.

“What?”

“Can’t get hurt if you sit on my face, angel,” he explains, and then hisses when you suck a hickey on his neck.

You let him pull your shirt off, unclasping your bra yourself as you sit back on his lap. He cups your breasts, rolling your erect nipples between his thumbs and indexes. You moan again, grinding your hips into his, and he hisses once more.

“You want to taste me?” you ask, head throwing back as he pinches your nipples hard.

“I’d fuck you, but you’re the doctor. Can’t risk fucking up my stitches, huh?” he replies, voice low and husky.

Your core heats up, pussy clenching around nothing. This is a side of him you’ve never seen, though you spy desperation beneath it. Like he thinks he doesn’t have forever, when it comes to you.

He’s right. Because tomorrow, you’ll have to go back into town, into the hellscape you call home. What will be left of the two of you then?

So when he tugs at your pants, you give in and get up, taking off your pants and panties in one swift motion. You step out of them, blood heating up by the way he’s looking at you through half-lidded eyes, gaze burning on you.

You have half a thought that you could probably ride him instead of his face, but when you see his pink tongue darting out to wet his lips, making them glisten in the candlelight, you need to know what it’ll feel like against you.

So you straddle his face as he guides you down, large hands pushing on your thighs until your pussy is a hairsbreadth away from his lips. He blows on it, and your eyes shut with sensitivity. You clutch the cushion of the couch, hoping it’ll help steady you, but the moment his tongue flicks at your clit, you realize nothing will be able to steady you. Yet you still hold onto it, especially as he dives his tongue between your folds, lapping up your juice. He moans in contentment, before moving to your clit again. And his tongue is wicked down there, like it knows exactly what you like.

You grab a handful of his hair, grinding into his face. You’re pretty sure he’s chuckling down there, and then he unleashes himself. Sucking hard, alternating circling motions to teasing you with his teeth. You’d expect the latter to hurt, but the way he does it just makes you see stars, and your pussy clenches around nothing again.

San is deadly good with his mouth. Both with crafting lies and pulling moans out of you, and your thighs tighten against his face as he sucks particularly hard, before dipping his tongue inside of you. His nose brushes your clit, and then he forces you to properly sit on him.

The way his tongue moves inside of you, lapping up your juices while opening you up, has you on the brink of an orgasm in no time. Especially as he makes you grind again, holding you tight into place. When one of his hands moves from around your thigh to reach your clit, you cry out, head throwing back.

He’s quick to rub at your sensitive clit, and you grab one of your breasts, massaging it mindlessly before you pinch your nipple, hard, right in time with a skilled swipe of his tongue. Your orgasm meets you there, shaking through you as it explodes in a blinding flash of light. You moan, loudly, something that resembles his name, and he keeps you going, guides you through your high until you cringe with oversensitivity.

Only then does he let you climb off from his face. You stand on wobbly legs, before deciding to sit next to him, and you catch sight of the smirk on his lips. It makes you blush, right as you realize what you’ve just done.

When you realize what kind of sinful activity he’s dragged you in, this time around.

“Gosh,” is all you manage to say.

He chuckles, clearly proud with himself. “That felt good?”

You worry at your bottom lip, eyes going down to the tent in his pants. You want to pleasure him too, to take him in your mouth and make him feel good, but he stops you with a hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Don’t.”

You still and you meet his gaze with slightly-widened eyes. “Why not?”

His features turn somber, haunted, and the heat of the moment passes so quickly you think it might have been a figment of your imagination.

Were you really riding his face just a moment ago?

“Please just lay next to me,” he says, barely even a whisper.

You don’t know a lot of men that would choose cuddling over getting a blowjob, but if that is what he wants, then you’ll give it to him. You lay next to him, glad that the injured side is closer to the couch. That way, you can cuddle up to him, resting your head on his shoulder while he wraps an arm around you.

“Angel,” he murmurs after a time. “You’re a fucking angel. I think you’re my salvation.”

You highly doubt you hold this kind of power, but you don’t want to tell him. Have never been good at weaving beautiful lies for him to believe.

“We should stay here,” he continues. “Forever.”

And you wish you could. Wish reality didn’t exist, didn’t call for you to go back to your regular life like you’ve never been here with him. But you know tomorrow exists, and you’ll have to leave.

“We should have stayed in the field,” you choose to answer. “Under the shooting stars.”

“I wished for a lifetime with you, then,” he admits. “I wished I’d never have to let you go.”

You’d wished for a similar thing, but life is far too cruel to allow a world of first loves.

“Why did you…” you trail off. The question has haunted your sleepless nights for a long time after the break-up. Even years later, you’d still think about it sometimes, wondering if nostalgia would choke you up. “Why did you decide to join the gang?”

He tenses next to you. But you start tracing a mindless circle on his chest, through the shirt, and it distracts him enough for him to reply. “I thought I didn’t have a choice.”

“Did you?”

His voice holds the weight of the world when he says, “I did. And I made the wrong one.”

You want to cry, but you’re older now. You’re not the teenager who thought she was going to die from losing him anymore. You know what living without Choi San is like, and as much as it hurts, you know that it’s doable.

“You made the one you believed was right,” you say carefully. “But I do wish you had made a different one.”

He holds you a little tighter, as if that will make it so tomorrow never comes. “Me too.”

There’s an eternity of flickering candlelight on the ceiling, of the circles you trace on his chest and of your breathings forming a melody. Outside, the wind has died down, and the world is silent except from an occasional cricket braving the world after the storm.

“Where will you go, once you graduate?” he asks, taking you by surprise.

Because he knows. It’s one of the few things that hasn’t changed.

“As far away from here as I can.”

“I hope you find peace, wherever you go,” he whispers. “I hope you forget all about how we grew up in a hellhole.”

Do you feel bad for saying it? Maybe. But you can’t help saying it anyway. “I will, San.”

And like that rainy day years ago, you think you can see him walk away.

*****

Seven years later

The winter sun is strangely bright, up above. You’d think it will warm you up, but the cold is relentless, violent, and it sneaks into your coat as you walk out of the hospital. You’ve just finished a thirty-hour shift, and you can’t wait to be home.

To take a shower and forget that you’ve lost a patient today.

But you’ve saved another. A young man, with a stab wound in his ribs that should have killed him. But you saved him, stabilized his condition to the point you don’t have to worry about him anymore. Which is the only reason why you’re allowing yourself to leave now.

You’re never able to leave until you know your patients are okay. It’s been that way since your first patient, in a cabin in the woods you’ve done your best to forget.

You’d let San stay, after that weekend. He had given you the number of one of his friends, so you could get some clothes for him, and you’d gone back the next weekend. Bringing him the clothes, making love to him under the moonlight as if that would change the ending.

The following week, you had gone back to find the cabin empty. He’d left a note behind.

I hope I can find you again, wherever you go.

You kept the note. It’s in your bedside table, back at home, in the nice apartment you’ve been able to rent for yourself with all the money you’ve been making now. Enough to pay back student loans from med school, enough to reassure you that never again will you struggle.

You’ve never seen San again after. He hasn’t found you, and you haven’t searched for him. Have only looked up his name a couple of times, in the months following his disappearing, scared you’d find out that he was found dead in a ditch. But his name never came up, and you wondered if he had managed to escape, if he had managed to find a place where Bangtan couldn’t reach him.

You found peace, on your side of the country. Life is kinder here, though it still holds the same atrocities. You wonder if it’s the novelty of the city, or maybe if you’ve just grown old enough to be able to withstand the bad that the world throws your way. It’s hard to tell – you haven’t kept contact with anyone from back home, except Jae-on.

Jae-on, who’s moved with you when you’ve decided to come here, like he said he would. Jae-on, who asked you to marry him in late October, and you said yes. The ring sits heavy on your finger, and you mindlessly play with it.

In another world, you would already be married to Choi San. Sometimes, you catch glimpses of that world – a piercing gaze in the morning, a smile and a kiss to your temple. Talks about angels, children screaming in happiness. In another world, you’d be pregnant again, waiting patiently to add another piece of you and him to this world.

It’s fun to think about, sometimes, but you’ve been good at forgetting. Like you told him you would – most times, you’ve forgotten all about Choi San.

But today, you had a patient that reminded you of him. So you allow yourself to feel, you allow yourself to think about that note tucked in the bottom drawer of your bedside table, hidden under the thick socks you never use.

You allow yourself to think about the cabin in the woods, about the field where you would have gotten married had you been in that picturesque world you like to imagine. You think about laser quests and first kiss and rainy days and meteors. You think about summer, about wildflowers and him.

You’re so lost in thought you miss your stop home, and you begrudgingly get out at the next one. You’re tired, and your hands are shaking as you pull your phone out of your tote bag, wanting to text Jae-on that you’re going to be home late because you missed your stop. You walk to the other side of the tracks, sighing when you see a five-minutes wait for the next subway.

At least the sun is high in the sky, even though it is dreadfully cold. You shiver, putting your phone back in your tote bag so you can hide your hands in your sleeves again, hoping it’ll preserve them from the cold.

In your exhaustion, you forgot your gloves back at the hospital, you realize. It’s strange that you only realize now, and you reckon you really need to sleep, because your brain isn’t even working right anymore.

You sigh, glancing at the display showing the time. Still four minutes to wait. You think at this rhythm you might freeze in your spot before the next subway comes. You try to hide your face in the lapel of your coat, but a movement on the other platform attracts your gaze.

A man is helping an older woman climb down the stairs. She’s speaking loudly, which might be what attracted your gaze in the first place. You follow them as they walk down the stairs, and then when the man turns towards you, you meet his piercing gaze.

He smiles, and you realize that maybe, all those years ago, he was not spinning lies to you after all.

☆☆☆☆☆

Gosh yeahhh rereading it had me ralize that it is a lot sadder than I remembered it to be. At least we got an open ending ... :') What did we think? Should I write about other groups more often? Let me know what you think! All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2023. Do not copy, repost or translate

Taglist:

@btsborahaee

[beomboomboom]

Recipe for disaster

genre: fluff, established relationship

pairing: Soonyoung x reader

summary: You should've known better than to leave Soonyoung alone in the kitchen to make some pancakes. After all, everyone knows that Soonyoung + kitchen makes a recipe for disaster

warnings: a little bit of a cooking fire

note: This fic has genuinely made me laugh so much, and I hope it'll make you laugh too. Enjoy reading <33

Soonyoung is good at many things, but cooking is definitely not on that list.

In fact, you've learned (the hard way) that if you leave him alone in a kitchen, there's a 50 percent chance something will end up on fire (most of the time it's food, but you swear one day it's going to be your house).

So, when you woke to the sound of clattering coming from the kitchen paired with the empty space next to you on the bed, it was easy to put two and two together.

Hurriedly shuffling out of bed, you make your way to the kitchen where you're met with the sight of a singing Soonyoung clad in your tiger-print apron that he gifted you for Christmas, as he gets out a big bowl from the cabinet.

"Love, what are you doing?" you ask with a tense smile, interrupting your boyfriends' cooking and singing session.

"I'm cooking breakfast for you! Pancakes!" Soonyoung exclaims with a smile. "Surprise!"

You feel your heart melt when you hear Soonyoung's loving intentions, but that fondness quickly turns into fear when you see him beginning to measure the ingredients.

Or to be honest, It shouldn't even count as measuring, it was more like eyeballing.

Eyeballing, but he wasn't really using his eyes.

You watch in horror as he attempts to pour a little bit of salt from the bag into the bowl, but ends up tilting the salt bag a bit too much, causing a huge amount of salt to end up being poured instead.

"Oops." Soonyoung says with a sheepish smile. "It's okay though, I'll just add more of the other ingredients so it'll cancel the salt out." Soonyoung says with a confident smile, assuring you everything is fine.

"You can just take out some of the salt-" you begin to suggest before becoming speechless at the sight of Soonyoung pouring half a bag of flour into the bowl, then squinting and pouring a bit more for good measure.

"Soonyoun-"

"Wait this breakfast needs to be a surprise," Soonyoung interrupts you at the realization as he starts to gently push you out of the kitchen.

"I think I could help you out a little-" you start to protest.

But your boyfriend quickly pushes you back into your room and assures you everything will be alright. "Rest a little more, I'll tell you when things are ready." He says while tucking you back into your bed. "And don't worry, I got this all under control. Nothing will go wrong."

It only took 15 minutes for things to go wrong.

"AHHHH—FIRE!!!"

You jolt up from the bed the second you hear Soonyoung's hysterical scream from the kitchen.

"THERES A FIRE! HOW DO YOU MAKE IT GO AWAY."

Quickly jumping to your feet, you hurriedly make your way to the kitchen. When you reach the kitchen you're met with the sight of a panicked Soonyoung as he frantically tries to fan out the smoke that's coming from the stovetop.

"I was going to the bathroom but then I forgot the stove was still on so I—AHH" Soonyoung begins to explain before yelping at the sight of another bright orange flame appearing.

"No, don't fan the flames you're making it worse," you say with a groan as you quickly run to the sink to wet a cloth and throw it over the flames.

As you and Soonyoung watch the flames slowly subside, you both let out a sigh of relief. Coughing because of all the smoke, you slowly stand up and begin to clean up the mess.

"I'm sorry. I was just trying to make you a nice breakfast and now it's all ruined—" Soonyoung says, the disappointment evident on his face.

"It's okay, you tried your best. Let me help you cook next time though," you say with a reassuring smile as you give Soonyoung a small pat on the shoulder. "How about we order some carry out for breakfast instead?"

"Okay! Let me get my phone," Soonyoung says with an excited smile as he gives you a small peck on your smoke-covered cheeks and runs to his room in search of his phone.

You let out a small laugh before shaking your head. Needless to say, you wouldn't be letting Soonyoung anywhere close to the kitchen anytime soon.

[tlouadditc]

screw the cops!!

cop!ellabs x dealer!reader

warnings: 18+, MDNI, smut with plot, mentions of drugs [marijuana], cop!ellabs, dealer!reader, a lil bit of knifeplay, dom!ellabs, sub!reader, use of y/n, reader gets cut a lil bit oops!, probably more but i cant think of it rn

last minute a/n: this was another ask i forgot to put under the question ☹️ anyway thank u for the ask!!

[10:06 pm]

MY FAV ;): heyyy u got an 8th?? i can pick up at the library in 15 :)

you read the text, grumbling as you get up from your couch. you quickly shoot back:

YOU: lmk when ur there

it was supposed to be an off-day; sit in your dorm, watch tv, maybe have someone over, but no. everyone needed your shit at all times. she's lucky she's your favorite -- otherwise you would've told her to fuck off.

locking your door behind you, you get in your car and pull out of your driveway. as you glide through the gentle darkness, you feel random anxiety, like something bad is happening. it could be the lack of sleep. it could be the upcoming deadline you haven't started. it could also be the fact the entire campus is being searched because some dumbass freshman left his- no, sorry, YOUR- weed in his dorm and got the cops called. he didn't snitch luckily; he knows you would've gotten him killed if he did. but now there's a patrol going on until they find who's distributing. it's not like you wanted to live this life- you barely graduated high school, getting a small scholarship to a local college. the debt hit you, parents refused to help you anymore because you're an adult, blah blah blah blah. you ended up here to finally make a stable income and not have to chose between being warm or being fed consistently.

the sob story makes you cringe, snapping back into reality as you park in a spot by the front of the campus library. you pull out your phone and send:

YOU: here. wya

3 bubbles quickly pop up, written with a response:

MY FAV ;): kk coming out now

as you read the text, you hear the front doors swing open and a tall, slim figure gets larger as it comes closer. as she steps into the streetlight, you see her; sophomore dina. her long, onyx hair dances down her back as she comes closer to your car. she rests one arm on your window, other arm reaching into her pocket. she pulls out 35 bucks, tilting her head to the side slightly and smirking. you hand her a small baggie and take the bills out of her hand, shoving it into your pocket. "you're the best," she gushed, taking her arm off your window. she starts to turn to walk back to the library when she says, "oh, by the way, gave my friend your number."

you freeze, looking up at her in pure horror. "you what?"

"okay, chill, she's cool," she quickly explains, putting a hand on her hip in annoyance.

you roll your eyes, "the entire campus is getting fucking raided, for god's sake. cmon, dina."

"so, what? not everyone's a dumbass like that kid was."

you sigh. you guess she's right. plus, more business for you in the long run. she gives some information about this girl; her names ellie. she's a sophomore majoring in astrophysics who transferred from another school in jackson. around 5'5, auburn hair, science nerd. "pretty sure she's gay, too," dina winks.

you roll your eyes once more before pulling out and returning home. as soon as you unlock the door and step in, you check your other phone, an unknown number's texts sitting on the lock screen.

[UNKNOWN NUMBER]: hii this is y/n right?

[UNKNOWN NUMBER]: dina gave me ur number

gotta be ellie, you think to yourself. kinda cute. you don't respond; you hate small talk. no point in trying to get to know each other if you already know what they want. you put your phone down and start to get ready for bed.

an hour later, you get out of your shower and into comfy clothes. as you get into your freshly made bed, your other phone buzzes. you would usually ignore it, but you remember; debate checking the message or leaving it alone until tomorrow. eventually, curiosity gets the best of you and you check your phone. you groan as you read the message:

[11:37pm]

EL: i know its late but can u drop off? i need it :(

goddamnit, leave me alone!

you type up some message along the lines of 'im off today, ask tomorrow bitch,' but decide to be nice. you don't know why, but you only respond with the following:

YOU: off today. ask tmr

3 dots in a bubble move swiftly as a response pops up on your screen:

EL: pleaaaaase itll be quick

you sigh. she's not gonna let up; just like dina.

YOU: fine. ill b at the library.

she hearts your message as you throw on some sweatpants and grab your keys. you go on the same drive but you feel no anxiety this time. it's a newbie, for god's sake- she's the one who's probably nervous. you even put on some music this time, drake lowly lulling in your vehicle. you pull up, same spot as earlier, and you turn down your music. you go to text her, but the doors open before you can press a letter. she's just as dina described- until she gets up to your window. her scattered freckles complimented her bright, emerald eyes. her friendly expression made you soft under her gaze. you didn't realized she was talking for a while until she whispered, "uh... hello?"

"what?" you said, clearly perplexed. she smiled as you remembered what you're there for. she hands you 25 bucks as you place the baggie in her free hand. she lets out a silent "thanks" before you get ready to drive back home.

"uh, actually," she suddenly blurted out, catching your attention. she seemed nervous, like she had something to say, but she was scared of the outcome. "do you mind.. uh.. giving me a ride back home? i mean i walked down here and it's dark so-"

"hop in," you interrupted. it was pretty dark and you wouldn't want patrol on her ass about being out by herself, so you decided to get it over with. she pranced around to the passengers side and practically jumped in.

the ride to her dorm was quiet. ellie was on her phone the entire time; you assumed it was her roommate asking her where she's at. there was a bit of tension you could feel in the air; what type? you couldn't answer that.

coming to a stop at the entrance of her dormitory, she thanked you once again before you prepared to go home yourself.

"you could stay the night," she mumbled, fumbling with the bag in hand.

"what? no- no, i can't do that," you answered. you weren't against staying over, but... going home with someone you literally met an hour ago? absolutely not.

"jus' c'mon. it's late," she insisted, biting her lip anxiously. "plus, i owe you." you sight and give in, turning off the engine and ignition before grabbing your keys and phone and joining her on the walkway. she smiled politely and led you to her dorm.

the entire time you were walking with her, you assessed her appearance in clearer light. her hair was a shaggy cut, parted to the side and tucked behind her ears even though some stray strands still stood. her eyes were welcoming and friendly, giving you a warm feeling of hope. she had a tattoo on her right arm; a fern and a small butterfly. you debate asking her the meaning, but decide against it.

you snap out of your trance when you make it to her door. she unlocks the door and gently pushes it in, leaving room for you to step inside. "come in!"

you take 3 steps inside before you're pushed to the ground and pinned by strong, rough hands. "what the fuc- hey!" you start to shout. you squirm, hopelessly attempting to be freed from the tight grasp of what you thought was a male officer.

"you're under arrest," an unfamiliar, feminine voice states, "for possession and distribution of marijuana. you have the right to remain silent at this time." you see ellie's shoes standing in front of you, silently taunting you as you're handcuffed.

fuck, i should've never trusted her.

you're patted down and escorted to an unmarked car, parked around 30 feet away from your car. the unfamiliar figure is a tall, built woman with a long, blonde braid swinging down her back. her calloused hand grips you tightly as you're being walked. once you reach the vehicle, you're thrown into the back and the door slams in your face. you don't argue or protest; you were caught after one fuck up.

"didn't expect to catch her so easily," ellie brags, slightly looking back at you. you scowl at her, feeling betrayed by not only ellie, but dina, too. she had [hopefully] unknowingly helped them ruin your life. you were for sure not going to be able to finish college now. you wouldn't be able to get a job nice enough to stabilize your life. not to mention the possibility for 5 years of jail time and fees. it all made your head hurt. tears weld up in your eyes as you started to really let reality sink in.

"aw, she's crying," the blonde officer teased, looking at you through the rear-view mirror. you blinked back the tears before spitting out, "fuck you."

"the fuck you just say to me?"

"you heard me; fuck. you."

you could see her jaw clench, her bone well-defined under her skin. "oh, i know you wanna fuck me." a snicker was heard from the auburn girl.

the hell??

it was a weird response, but you decided to play into it. you're already being sent to jail; why not have fun?

"you wouldn't do anything about it if i wanted to anyway."

you saw the blonde's eyes go wide and her jaw drop with disbelief, looking over at her partner. ellie seemed calm, but intrigued by the situation. it was silent, but the way their eyes met was like they were talking through eye contact. ellie tilts her head towards you, signaling something to the other officer. as if she could read her mind, the blonde nods and pulls over to an abandoned alleyway.

"what's going on?" you question, attempting to hide the fear in your voice, but failing miserably. the blonde got out of the car and slammed the door shut as ellie simply answered, "you said we wouldn't do anything, hm?"

a shiver went down your spine as the door to your right opened, the blonde hopping in as you scooted all the way to your left.

"uh-uh, come here," she demanded as her hand wrapped around your neck and dragged you back to her. at this moment, your back rests against her toned thighs, handcuffed hands under your ass, legs laying on the seat.

"you wanna be disrespectful to me and my partner?" she jerks your head up, making you look at her. her sharp features take up your vision as she looks down at you with dark eyes. "you think you were just gonna get away with that? nuh-uh, not on my watch." you take your gaze off her face to read her badge, which reads "ABBY ANDERSON".

you're so focused on abby that you don'r realize ellie is on the other side of you, watching you and abby interact. you feel a sharp object on your jeans, scoring against the material. your head jerks down to see ellie running a pocketknife over your clothed cunt, fear and adrenaline running through you all at once. your breathing picks up speed as she cuts through your jeans, making a hole in the crotch. abby chuckles at your reaction, caressing your face as she coos, "not so tough now, huh?"

you're too caught up in looking at ellie's actions to respond. she puts the knife down, letting a feeling of relief wash over you. she mutters a "fuck it" before placing both hands on either side of the hole she made and ripping your jeans. you gasp, anxiety filling you once more. she smirks up at you, grabbing her knife and running it over your barely covered pussy. she loves the way you try to get away from her knife, silent cries as she gets closer to the meat of your thigh. she slightly cuts into you, small drops of blood racing down your inner thigh. you wince in pain, turning back to abby. "shh, it's okay," she reassures, kissing your sweaty forehead. "just a little cut. you're okay." you feel ellie's warm tongue running over the wound, collecting the red liquid. she kisses near your core, green eyes piercing into you before whispering, "so sweet" and smiling. abby gently kisses you, drawing your attention away from your cut to her and only her. she taps her pointer finger on your chin and whispers "open up", which you obey to. her lips purse together, gathering the liquid in her mouth before a ball of saliva drops into your mouth and onto your tongue. "swallow," she commands, and you close your mouth and swallow it, feeling it slip down your throat. she smiles, tapping your cheek lightly as she praises you. "good girl. she's doing so well, isn't she, el?"

ellie hums, hyper-focused on your pooling pussy. "so wet," she says in awe, "all this gets you off, doesn't it?"

you're oh so needy, cunt begging to be touched in any form. you nod ferociously, whining for any friction on your puffy clit. "you want it, yea? beg for it."

"p-please, ill do anything, just fuck me- ohmygod-" you babble, hips bucking up into ellie's face. she chuckles before looking up to abby, meeting her gaze. "she's been so good for us. give her a lil' reward."

with that, ellie cuts your underwear with one swift movement, completely exposing your pussy to her. she gasps at the sight, glistening skin in the low light. she whispers a spew of curses, spreading you apart as abby kisses you passionately. you moan into the kiss as ellie rubs your bud with her thumb. your noises go straight to her core, making her slightly whimper. she lays a flat tongue on your core, soaking up all of your juices on the pink muscle. abby wraps a firm hand around your throat, restricting airflow enough to make you completely feel ellie on you.

"fuck- oh, my god-" you cry, tears welling up in your eyes once more. the feeling is too much; abby kissing you, ellie eating you out- everything is overstimulating you. ellie smiles against your pussy, sucking on your clit while shoving two fingers in you. you whine and squirm away from her, but her other hand keeps you in place.

"i'm gonna- m'cumming- !!" you breathe, clenching around ellie's long fingers. abby praises you through it; "oh, so good for us, baby." "cum all over her fingers f'me, yes." small kisses are planted on your face once again, soothing you through your orgasm. ellie slowly takes her fingers out with a pop! before shoving one glistening finger into her mouth. she moans at the taste of you, maintaining eye contact with you. "shit, so sweet," she murmurs, looking over at abby. "wanna taste?"

"of course," abby says slyly, glancing over at you before sucking on ellie's middle finger, completely cleaning it off. she moans at the taste, finally letting ellie's middle finger go after a couple of seconds. she pulls you into another sloppy, heated kiss, making you taste yourself on her tongue.

"such a sweet thing," she coos, wiping your face. "too bad we gotta take you in now."

"can't let me off with a warning?"

"we would, but we'd be here for much longer and you'd be more bruised up." abby frowns in a mocking manner.

"so you're taking me in with no pants or underwear?"

"yup. don't underestimate us and, more importantly, don't sell drugs."

a/n: this was so fun to write omg ... part 2 will be coming me thinks

[menlove]

i saw on some of your posts that you say you aren’t an india truther, out of curiosity what do you think caused john and paul to have a fallout? do you think the resentment was more gradual and happened over 68-69? im sorry if you’ve answered this before but i love hearing about people’s theories of what happened in india and the aftermath.

sorry I totally forgot to answer this but for me.... hm. tossing under a readmore bc it got long oops

I think it was more gradual. like the way they act w each other in the get back sessions & just in general speaks more to something more unspoken happening than some big dramatic break up or rejection, at least to me. esp given how john & yoko lived with paul for a while in the summer of 68 (and talk about the world's worst throuple)

I wouldn't say I don't think Anything happened in india, but imo it seems more like.... I saw someone talking about how up until that point they were all on a lot of drugs & india was them getting off them for a minute & they sort of looked around and went "what the fuck are we doing? do I even know these people?" and that rings the most true to me I think.

some of the bigger reasons I have my doubts abt india being some huge thing where they fucked for the first time and paul rejected john are a) they still got along after that. things were weird but not much weirder than they'd been after brian's death b) paul wrote "i will" in india and I've talked before about how I'm 100% convinced that's about john and to me "will I wait a lonely lifetime, if you want me to I will" doesn't sound like the words of someone about to do any rejecting c) the infamous blowing the mic scene in get back is way too lighthearted and makes paul blush and giggle like they're just referencing fucking as a part of their relationship that happened enough to not be disarming. doesn't seem like john is being bitter or trying to egg him on and paul isn't reacting like someone that got called out for fucking john and then rejecting him. it reads more, to me, like just two lovers slyly joking around about a time they fucked that no one else can know about

which brings me to d) I'm also a "they had a sexual relationship" truther (which would be a whole other essay tbh) and so For Me Personally that just doesn't jive w smth big and dramatic happening in india. I just don't think they ever talked about what the fuck was going on between them, whatever it was, and then the typical band breakdown reasons coincided w a breakdown of their personal relationship as well. like just sort of dying out without much fanfare which can honestly be worse than some big rejection or breakup. and then ofc john goes full in with yoko and paul flounders around trying to settle down with a woman and marry her in such a weirdly frantic way. like that quote where he asks if he was supposed to be a 26 year old queer that never got married....... I would wager, imo, that things breaking down w john & then jane would've lead him to a bit of a Crisis about all that. but he found linda and went all in w her and she wound up pregnant so there you go.

which would lead them to a really weird place by the get back sessions, which I at least feel like is reflected pretty well- this awkward tension, paul's nervous desperation, nostalgia for the old times, lingering sexual tension. but not the attitude like they hated each other yet or had some big breakup or rejection. they're still joking and flirting, it's just awkward. the Big Moment would've been something else after that imo, probably john announcing he wanted a divorce but could've also been something more private that would go a long way to explaining why they were basically not on speaking terms at all by the abbey road sessions

again this is all Purely Speculation. mostly based on my more conflicting view from the fandom at large that they did have a sexual relationship and paul isn't as repressed/clueless as he puts on. so w those Two Beliefs in mind, this is sort of the trajectory that would make the most sense to me!

of course, without those two Core McLennon beliefs of mine I can see why people would point to india as the game changer if they think paul is a repressed bisexual who thinks he's straight while john pined over him. like it would make sense in that scenario if that's where the tension snapped & it was just a mess after that. but I very firmly and adamantly don't believe that so it's just hard for me to see the india theory as anything solid when there's a lot of other explanations for why india was such a shitshow

but all that is just me personally! don't have shit to back it up beyond what I can bring up about the evidence of a sexual relationship and paul being closeted that then lead me to these speculations based on that but yeah lmao

(and fun fact lmao whenever we publish it this is gonna be like half of the story of "i need you" so yall will get to see my fully baked opinion there mixed w just what I think would be fun or angsty dbshsjss)

[1whore1gang]

it's the little things 🤍

This is part 4!!

Read parts 1-3 HERE

Warnings: more angst, I'm so sorry BUT BUT BUT theres sickeningly sweet fluff at the end so bare with me ;), cussing, emotions, mentions of SA

I tried to make this one longer bc i feel like part 1 was so good and then 2 and 3 kinda flopped so heres me trying to write more than I usually do.

Also, I'm surprised no one has noticed a small writing detail I did last chapter regarding Price. I'll do it again in this chapter to see if anyone can catch on hehehehe :)

EDIT: not me saying I wanted to attempt to make this as long as part one when part one was 2,437 words and this one ended up 4,314 words....oops

Taglist: @gaymistakeboi @batw3nch @thedevillovesflowers @almightywdm @ghostslittlegf @sketchyfandomgirl @under-the-dirt @clear-your-mind-and-dream @darkangel4121 @vreselia @llemes @stargaliz @rockcollector3000 @nottrosaxx

(sorry if i forgot anyone!!! please yell at me if I did!!)

"Stop that!" Your voice was almost begging as Soap kept grabbing at Ghost's little hoodie strings. Soap kept fighting with Ghost all day and you couldn't handle it anymore. You finally picked up Soap and put him alone in the playpen. "You're in time out."

He began to wail, making you shed tears of your own. You were exhausted from the three little boys. They'd been causing trouble lately and keeping you up all night this week.

Gaz looked up at you with a little toy car shoved halfway in his mouth, blinking innocently as Ghost continues to play with his blocks as he was before Soap grabbed him. "At least you two are giving me a break today." Soap continued to wail dramatically, not even crying, just wanting your attention.

Laswell had told you that he needed to learn that he's not the only one you take care of, so you sometimes have to leave him to cry it out on his own to teach him. She'd stopped by the other day to brief you on a new group of recruits.

She was definitely questioning why you of all people had your Captain's so-called 'nephews' and you had to think on your feet, but she didn't buy it.

"Tell me the truth, who's kids are these Y/N?" Her voice was in that motherly tone she had mastered with all of you.

"You wouldn't believe me." You said, trying to quiet Soap's crying, which led to her advice about letting him cry it out.

"If you're going to tell me they're yours, yeah I won't." She shook her head, becoming increasingly more annoyed with you.

"Promise you won't report me for drugs?"

"Depends."

You had told her everything about finding the boys like this, and she had to take some time to think it over until she noticed how Soap only plays with Ghost, and how Gaz keeps to himself and didn't cry once while she was there. She took a day before she texted you again telling you she was there if you needed any help.

That was 3 days ago, and you didn't want to bother her since she had taken over some of your duties since your hands were quite full.

You leaned against the foot of your bed as you finally heard Soap's cries die down, turning around to see he had tuckered himself out into a sleep. You took a couple of deep breaths, trying to dry your tears when you felt little hands on your feet.

You opened your eyes to see Gaz and Simon grabbing at your toes. They both sit down at your attention. You went to go move to see what they needed when Gaz gave you a goofy smile.

Smiling back, you swopped him up to your chest to rock him, almost thanking him for bringing a smile to your face. You heard the familiar little grunt from Simon as you looked at him.

His hand was just outstretched towards you with one of his little blocks, offering it to you. Laughing a little, you took it and noticed the letter on the block was your initial.

Your eyes went wide as you looked back at Simon. "You know...or do you?" The question was more for yourself than him. You knew Simon couldn't understand you, he was a baby, there's no way he could.

"Is this me?" You cooed, pointing to the block he gave you. He grunted in response. "There's no way." Was he actually coherent? Was your Simon in there, he just couldn't express properly? Or had little Simon heard your name enough times that he knew? You felt something wet on your neck and saw Gaz drooling, thanking the universe that two of the boys so far have gone down for a nap.

Setting him in the playpen, you return to Simon, wanting to see if there was any way you could find out if he was cognitively adult Simon. "Do you know what's going on?" Your voice was gentle and quiet. Watching adamantly, you waited for him to give you any reaction. "Simon?"

His wide eyes looked up at you, focused shifted from his toys. "Do you know?" He blinked a couple of times, then looked around the room. He grunted a couple of times before looking down at his blocks.

"Simon?" You said again sweetly. You watched as Simon's lip began to quiver as he looked over his blocks, he began to cry, grabbing at the blocks and then throwing one before beginning to cry. "Oh honey, I'm sorry."

He reached out for you and you picked him up, comforting him. "It's okay honey, I'm sorry." You could tell something had bothered him, but what?

He wasn't wailing or screaming, just a silent whine of a cry. Almost like he was sad or frustrated. "Are you mad at something?" You moved to where you could see his face, cradling him.

You watched his breathing catch in his chest at your question. You ran two of your fingers over his little chest, rubbing circles to calm him. "Breathe Simon, don't hold your breath on me. You're okay, work through the cry sweetheart."

Your touch immediately helped him take in a good sized breath. "That's it." You watched him slowly calm himself down as you shushed him and held him. "Did your blocks make you mad?"

He crawled out of your arms clumsily, the most movement you've seen from him. He threw another block, not aggressively or at anything, but at the ground. "Yeah? Do you not like your blocks?" You reached for another toy for him to play with but he grunted.

You snapped your attention back to him, "What's wrong? I wish you could tell me." You felt helpless. He clearly was distraught over something, and you had no way of knowing what was happening.

He stared down at his blocks again, breathing in huffs. He held one out to you after picking it out. It was a 'Y' block. "What does this mean? Does this mean you understand?" He grunts.

You feel tears sting your eyes. "You know..." He grunts again. "Oh my God!!" You pick him up and stare at him. You bring him to your chest in a small hug, teary eyed. "I'm gonna get you boys back to normal, I promise."

Some hours passed and you had attempted to get a sign out of Gaz or Soap to no avail. It seems as if Simon was the only one who was cognitive of what was going on, but you still were unsure of the extent of his knowledge and awareness.

It's been a week since you had seen the Captain, and as much as you told yourself you wanted to keep it that way, deep down you wanted the softness he had when the boys were were first found. At night, you'd catch yourself dreaming about the way he looked that evening he popped into your office to ask if you were hungry, or the way he speak quietly to you in the mornings knowing you were up late with one of the boys.

Laswell hasn't mention anything about him either but you didn't know if that was a personal choice, or if she actually had no information regarding him.

You wanted to know where he was. Not only did you miss the warmth he held when you two were handling this situation, but you missed his help. He would always let you sleep in or let you take a rest. He cooked and stepped up so you weren't overexerting yourself.

You missed the companionship.

You glanced over to the clock to see it was nearly midnight, but when you scanned the time stamp on your phone, you saw a message from your email.

It was from General Shephard. It was sent hours ago.

Dear Lieutenant L/N,

I am writing this to you to pass it on that the Private you sent to me regarding sexual harassment has been found innocent. There was no camera footage found after review and he has no background violations or any previous infarctions.

Best Regards,

General Shephard

You felt your heart sink in your chest. There's cameras all over the training room, how could they not see it? The familiar sting landed in your throat as your emotions took over you.

Innocent? After what he did? How could Shephard not see that?!

You felt like you were going to scream, the pain unbearable.

It made you think back to Dubai. The severity of that event would've landed that man in jail. The way you had bruises on your neck and hips from the harsh grip of his hands for weeks, the way you limped for days. You remember the cold stare of your Captain when you told him, the nonchalant "Brush it off."

You were crushed.

You had lost.

The sun shone through the windows of your room as you woke up, looking over to see Gaz and Ghost already up. You picked them up to change them and then situated them in holsters, one on your chest, one on your back.

You did the same with Soap and then placed him on your hip, taking them to the kitchen to feed them.

Taking a moment while the bottles warmed, you took in the sight of all three boys in their highchairs, drowsy. Their little eyelashes fluttering as they struggled to stay awake, babbling and cooing.

It made you take a step back and really breathe in the moment, this may be the only time in your life that you're able to have this motherly role, even if they aren't your kids.

The microwave beeped and you shook the bottles, handing each one to the littles, watching as the half-hazardly drank the bottles. You felt a joy spark in your chest, enjoying this time with them despite the trouble they cause.

And here you thought they were troublesome as adults. Jokes on you.

You sat down at the breakfast bar as you waited, your mind drifting to distant memories.

"Y/N!!!" You could hear Soap's voice as you fell to your knees clutching your shoulder in pain. Removing your hand, you saw the blood seeping into the cotton material of your uniform. The sounds of warfare around you felt muffled as the pain radiated through your body from the gunshot wound.

You leaned on your hand to steady yourself, trying to breathe through the pain as the sound of skidding sounded in your ears. Looking up, you saw Soap sliding over to you, firing to cover you. "Get on my back! We gotta get ya outta here lass!" You moved slowly, trying to stay off your right arm. You winced as you climbed onto his back, squeezing your legs to keep yourself up as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

He had carried you out of the fire into a safe house not too far away as he immediately performed first aid to your shoulder. You remember the way he remained calm when his face was in your eyeline, but you could watch his muscles tense as he worried about your state.

The memory made you smile. Soap was always there for you, like he had eyes in the back of his head. Anytime you got hurt out in the field, he was worrying himself sick. He cared so much, and had such a big heart of gold.

"How dare you?!" You laughed, slamming down your Uno cards.

Gaz taunted you as he celebrated his win. You two were in a tent on a mission trying to boost both of your morales. Uno was your favorite game, but he was too good at it for your own good. No matter how strategic you were, he would always win.

Gaz was like that at every game, the rest of the team dreading game nights. Once in awhile though, you'd catch him letting you win because he enjoyed seeing you rub it in everyone's faces. It brought him joy to see you smile, so if he had to take a loss, he would.

You heard a whine as Soap finished his bottle. The other two boys were still working on theirs, so you went to go wash out the empty one.

"Ghost! How copy?" Your voice was panicked as you frantically looked around Las Almas. You were completely separated from Soap and Ghost. Soap had ended up around two miles from you, but Ghost wouldn't come through the radio. It had you so anxious you were going to be sick.

"Soap, do you have visual on Ghost?"

"No," his voice was strained from his shot wound. "There's a church about halfway between us, let's meet there and regroup."

For the next hour and some, you and Soap worked together to find a church, and when you did, Soap was already there. You rushed to him, relief washing over you until you heard a familiar hum.

Turning around, you say Ghost. "Don't fucking scare me like that ever again!" You punched his chest. "I thought you were dead!" You were angry with him, trying to land a hard hit on him.

He grabbed his arms and wrapped them around his waist as he silently brought you into an embrace. You cried into his chest as he brushed his hand over your head, the other drawing shapes into your back. "You're not gonna get rid of me that easy." He let out.

"You scared me so bad, I thought I lost you." You said through sobs.

"You'll never lose me."

Once the boys were finished with their bottles, you washed everything out and put the boys in some fresh clothes. You had decided you were going to take them out as you needed more supplies.

Maybe you'd stop by a park on the far end of town so they could get some fresh air too.

And everything had gone according to plan while you were out.

You even stopped to get ice cream, giving the boys a bite or two each of your own cup.

The day was full of fun and laughter, the sun was bright and the boys were well-behaved.

When you arrived back to base, you opened your door and set your bags down and put the boys in their playpen when you heard someone clear their throat.

"Y/N..." You turned around to greet the person in your room.

"Laswell, what's wrong?" You saw the solemn look ridden on her face.

"It's John, we need to talk about him."

You had brought her into the kitchen of the compound, brewing some coffee as you both sat down. "I don't really wish to talk about him right now." You said as you scoot your chair in.

"I know what happened, he told me everything. But, there's something you need to know. I know where he is, and I'm worried about him." She looked at you, silently asking you to hear her out. "I know he's not your favorite person but-"

"He disregarded my sexual assault in Dubai and prevented me from reporting it and when I called him out, he walked out on me. On top on everything else he's done, of course he's not my favorite person, he never has been." You were already fired up.

"I know what he did. I found him yesterday in his office, passed out drunk. He had your file pulled up on his computer. When I finally got him up and had him sober up, he spilled everything. He was crying. John doesn't cry Y/N." Laswell was trying to get to you through your emotions. You weren't falling for that.

"Why would I give a shit?"

"I've never seen you this fired up over him, there's something you're not telling me." That motherly tone is back. Your mind went to his kind smile, the gentle look in his eyes.

"He let me in." Your voice was quiet.

"Excuse me?!"

"When I brought the boys to him, hoping to find some help or answers, he wasn't the man I've come to know through my time of service. He wasn't Captain Price anymore, I saw John. He was kind and warm and gentle. He was sweet to me and helped with the boys, always letting me rest. I saw his smile, and the look in his eyes was unlike anything I've seen before. I've had a glimpse and now I'll never see it again." You felt hot tears sting your cheeks.

"I wouldn't say that." Laswell shook her head. "There is so much you don't know about him dear, you should go talk to him."

"I can't even look at him after he walked out."

"Give him a chance to explain himself." Laswell put her hand on yours. "Let him tell you for himself."

Your eyes widened at the gesture. "Tell me what?"

"What's got him so in his head. Please." She begged you to go see your Captain in his office. After some convincing and more tears, you finally gave in, just to get her off of you.

Your footsteps were loud in your ears as you approached his door, knocking lightly. There was no response. You slowly turned the doorknob, entering the room, closing the door behind you.

You froze at the sight before you. There were files all over his desk, most of them with your name on it. Your Captain was sitting with his head in his hands. "Captain?" Your voice was meek.

His head shot up, wide eyes staring into you. You could see the bags under his eyes, his eyes red from crying. He had a bottle of bourbon on his desk, only a droplet or two left in it. "Laswell said you had something to tell me." You said, not wanting to make anymore eye contact.

He remained silent, the room thick with it. You heard him stand from his chair, but you remained with your gaze on your shoes. "I-" He began. "I won you the case."

That's when your head snapped up. "What?"

"The Dubai case. With that guy. I, uh, I filed everything together and he's being put in jail."

You were confused. "You're 3 years too late."

"It's taken me three years." His words cut you deep. "I went straight to Shephard and Laswell when we got back from the mission. I filed a case against him in your name."

You stood dumbfounded. "That doesn't explain the way you reacted, nor the way you walked out on me." You were still hurt. You couldn't forgive him.

"Understandable." He sniffled as he began to fiddle with the files on his desk. "There's no excuse for the way I reacted, but you do deserve an explanation." He cleared his throat and looked up at you. When you didn't say anything, he continued. "When you came to me about it, at first I didn't think anything of it. I had a lot of female soldiers doing that to me that trip just so they could get sent home early or get a fat check. I caught them lying and they'd immediately back down. My mind told me you were doing the same thing." He takes in a shaky breath. "That was until I came to find you one morning and caught you changing. You were putting your shirt on when I saw your bruising. It looked like you had been beaten, I watched your walls come up that day and I watched you cower into a shell of yourself. That's when I know you were telling the truth."

"Why didn't you say anything?" You spoke up.

He sighed and took a second to collect himself, on the verge of tears. "I knew the statistics of women winning these types of cases, especially with the lack of proof. I snuck pictures of you to document your marks, and I asked every soldier I could to find a witness. No one came forward. The case would've never won, and I knew that. That's why I never said anything to you, I couldn't stand to watch you feel the pain of not getting the justice you deserved. Shephard and Laswell told me how poor the evidence was, and the three of us spent years trying to dig up anything we could." He paused, pulling out a piece of paper. "6 months ago, a witness came forward. That put the case over the edge and we won. I found out this morning."

You scanned the paper, the woman was a victim of the same man, same situation. Reading over it, you related to every word. This woman won you the case. "So what's your reasoning behind you being an asshole the entire time I've worked with you? Even as a Lieutenant yourself, you were always an asshole to me."

Price sighs, then walks around his desk to face you. "I was angry. All these years, I've been angry. Before my promotion, when I met you, you were just a Sergeant. I watched you in the field and around the male soldiers and I felt angry. I knew you'd be a problem and I knew I'd have to deal with it."

"Then why did you invite me to join the 141?" You were confused.

"The anger only multiplied when your case came to be, I was angry at the thought you'd lose and the son of a bitch who hurt you would still be loose to hurt others. I've been angry with you all these years because I knew one of these days, I'd run the risk of losing my rank." Price took a step towards you. "I was angry at the thought of losing you."

You continued to stare at him in confusion. "What're you on about?"

"I would never be able to have you the way I want, it'd be frowned upon." Your eyes widened.

"What do you mean?" You took a step backwards as his hand cupped your face.

"You haunt me. Your smile, your eyes. The way you laugh from your chest. My dreams are littered with images of you, reminding me of what I can't have."

"Why can't you 'have me'? I'm on your squad?" You were oblivious to his insinuations, confused as could be.

"Because I could never ask you to love a man you hate."

His words shook you to your core. "I love you Y/N, I have since I found you out in that shack in the mountains abandoned by your unit. I love the way you effortlessly care for others, the way your perfume lingers in a room. As soon as I thought I had suppressed by feelings, you show up at my door with three children. Yes, they're our coworkers, but I couldn't help but see the big picture. I see the way you interact with them, the way you molded into this figure that had nothing but admiration and love. It was so different from the woman I know in the field, the woman behind the rank."

He was staring into your eyes when it all hit you.

The way you played images of him shirtless that one night you opened the door, his kind smile, his gentle eyes. The way you dreamed of him in the kitchen cooking for you.

You loved him too.

You glanced down to his lips and without another word, John pulled you into a kiss. Your lips molded into his, his kiss warm and passionate. He kissed you like he'd never get to again.

The kiss slowed down time, and all you could think of was his hands holding you tightly against him like you'd disappear if he let go.

"John..." You said as you backed away. "I love you too, I've missed you." He kissed you again before sliding his hand down to hold yours.

"Let's go home."

The ride was silent back to the compound, even as you both approached your room. Laswell left with a nod and a wink to you.

You thanked your lucky stars you listened to her.

All three boys looked up at John from the playpen, wide eyed. Gaz began to cry as John swooped him up and comforted him. "They missed you too. It was tough doing this alone."

"I'm so sorry I walked out, I should've told you then and there, stayed around."

"You're here now." You smiled up at him as he leaned in to plant yet another kiss to your lips. You giggled as you heard Gaz giggle and Soap and Ghost let out little babbles and flailed their arms in excitement. John chuckled too.

"Do you think they saw this coming?" He asked.

"Probably." You moved to go change into your pajamas, John doing the same. Coming out of his bathroom, you saw him shirtless and wearing his signature flannel pants. You took in a deep breath.

"Like the view? Cause, I'm loving mine. C'mere." John sat on the edge of his bed as his hands ran over your thighs. "Do you feel comfortable sleeping here? Or do you still want the couch?"

You thought for a moment. "Can I have one more night on the couch?"

"Whatever makes you feel at home." John smiled as he crawled back into bed, wishing you a goodnight.

You smiled back as you climbed under the blankets on the couch. As much as you wanted to sleep next to him, it was intimidating for you. You needed to muster up the courage to be that close to him like that.

For now, you were just happy you found your feelings for him and you learned how his behavior all these years was because he was fighting for your honor.

You had John back, and that's all you could ask for.

[whatthebodygraspsnot]

totally random and don't know if you've been asked this before, i've read your fics and drabbles, i absolutely love your voice in them, considering how you write Ian and Mickey so well, i'd give a penny for your thoughts about Mickey's lil bridezilla notebook. do you think it's full of collage pages? mostly text? magazine scraps? does he color code shit? ugh i love him sm 😩

oh my god i forgot the most important thing!!!!!!! did he ever let Ian have a complete sneak peek through it? cause i think he probably skimmed through it with Ian while the planning was on board, but Mickey probably stored it somewhere safe as a keepsake after the wedding....what if one day Ian just happens to find it and looks through it fondly and Mickey catches him on the act, oops, they have a talk about it, idk, Mickey having a lil notebook just does something to my fragile heart 🤧🤧

hello 😌 thank you for asking - i do actually have some thoughts on this, in the way that i think mickey's wedding notebook goes through several stages.

i think at its creation, it's more of a dump-book. mickey's at his stream-of-consciousness, hunting-and-gathering phase. there's no organization - no rhyme or reason - mickey is stressed and overwhelmed and he's just gluing shit right into that motherfucker, filling the pages as quickly as he can turn them. he doesn't really have a Vision yet - he just knows he's gotta prepare for it, especially since ian doesn't seem too interested in making decisions.

come to jesus moment. mickey slaps down a stack of pictures he's cut out and goes to start adding them, only to realize he has no blank pages left. he's filled the whole thing. that can't be right, can it? it's a big notebook, and the stuff he just cut out for it is real good shit so he's gotta make room. gotta start from page one. gotta thumb through it and pull a 'wtf' face because he doesn't even like some of this shit? why'd he put it in here? tulips??? who did that! okay, time to pump the fucking brakes.

paring down. re-evaluation. ian walks into the living room one night and mickey's cross-legged in the middle of a sea of ripped papers. like some sort of hamster. ian thinks perhaps divorce is on the table, only to come closer and realize mickey's cutting shit out and pasting it into a new notebook, the glue stick caught between his teeth like a cigar (Alternate Title: Ian's Come To Jesus Moment.)

notebook 2.0 is born. there's significantly less...everything. the Vision is starting to come together. debbie gives him these little color tab bitches that he can stick between the pages so he knows where to put things. Music. Food. Flowers. etc. mickey sits down with ian again and flips through it, getting his thoughts on different things. out comes the big red marker - circling - crossing out - starring. he can see ian trying to sneak closer looks across the table, but mickey's grown very attached. it's his hopes and dreams in here, motherfucker! ian can look at it later. after he finds the chiavaris.

That Bitch. this baby is in her final form. mickey knows what he wants and knows he's got the power to haggle, secure, or steal it all when he's got his notebook tucked under his arm. she's also good and solid when he smacks lip over the head with her after he makes a passing comment about being a groomzilla. she is everything.

when he does finally see his notebook again after many years, it's because ian is thumbing through it, this teary, fond look in his eyes as he sits in a sea of boxes. mickey doesn't know if he should be embarrassed or proud or what. a lot of their wedding day ended up shifting on its axis for a ton of fucked up reasons, so as gorgeous as she is, a lot of her didn't actually get to see the light of day.

but ian is innnn lovvvve (aaaaat laaaaast my looove has come alonnnggg). so much so that for their ten year anniversary, mickey walks into their little get-together and immediately recognizes a ton of the details. like they've jumped out of the pages of his notebook and into reality ten years later. ian is a sneaky fucker! and mickey has excellent taste.

and he's just really glad that he cut out that disgusting tulip arrangement in his first notebook purge.

[chaotic-orphan]

Hero and the infant part four

Read part one here

TW: suicidal ideation, suicidal ideation implied, mentions of suicidal thoughts, borderline depressed Hero, mentions of death, mentions of hopelessness

*~*~*~*~*

And they popped out again on the ground, next to the police and the reinforcements that were called in. Sidekick gasped in a harsh breath and coughed it out again, wheezing. Hero forgot to tell them about the whole deep breath thing before teleporting. Whoops. Hero groaned as someone helped them to their feet and brought them to the back of an open ambulance.

Paramedic was there waiting, glaring at Hero.

Wonderful.

“Ah. Paramedic. You look radiant today,” said Hero as they sat down on the back of the ambulance, nodding their thanks at the Officer that helped them over.

“Are you going to hospital this time?”

“No.”

“Of course not,” Paramedic grouched, nodding at the officer that assisted Hero to step away. “I’ll just wait here while Villain kills you, shall I? Make sure we get you to the morgue straight away.”

“Villain won’t hurt me, Paramedic,” Hero said and then hissed as Paramedic’s gloved fingers pressed down hard on Hero’s broken fingers. “Fuck!”

Paramedic was deadpan as they said: “Yes. They would never hurt you.”

“Can’t you just wrap them up for me and let me go again?”

Paramedic laughed, a short, derisive sound. “Yes. I can just keep patching you up while you for round two and three and twenty.”

Hero sighed, putting their elbow on their knee and pinched the bridge of their nose with their good fingers, head tilted down. So, they didn’t see the concern knitting Paramedic’s eyebrows together as they bandaged the two fingers together. Then bandaged them to Hero’s pinkie for support.

“Did you bang your head?” Paramedic asked and Hero nodded slightly. Their headache exasperated by the movement. “Show me.”

Paramedic’s cool fingers pressed lightly on Hero’s scalp. “Yeah there,” said Hero as Paramedic hit the sore spot. Paramedic pulled their hand back and said: “okay. There’s no blood. Most likely bruising. Just try to not get hit on the head again, okay?”

“Okay,” said Hero standing. Paramedic pushed a packet of pills into Hero’s hand. Hero popped out two and swallowed them dry before handing Paramedic back the foil packet.

“Keep it. You’re gonna need it.”

Hero nodded and slipped into the packet into one of their coat pockets. “Thank you, Paramedic.”

“See you in five.”

“Ah, come on. At least give me ten,” Hero said with their usual big smile, and Paramedic just shook their head.

Sidekick was speaking with Superhero fervidly when Hero strolled over, languid in their pace. They pulled their packet of smokes out and their lighter, lighting the cigarette as they walked. Superhero was the first to notice Hero stopping beside them, blowing smoke in the big shot’s face with a grin.

“Howdy Superhero,” said Hero with a grin, lapping up Superhero’s disgust. Hero nodded at Sidekick in greeting, taking another slow drag.

“Hero, I don’t have time for your shit right now. Why don’t you go crawl under a bar somewhere?”

“I was trying my best, but your delightful new sidekick here came and ruined all my fun. Why is that Superhero?” Hero asked, turning their head to look at Superhero again. “Is it because you’re too chicken shit to face Villain yourself? Maybe you should tell your new Sidekick that so you don’t kill another kid because of your cowardice, hmm?”

Superhero’s glare would have burned a hole through Hero if it got any more intense. Their lips pursed; nose held high. Hero felt sick as they let the smoke out through their nostrils.

“Oops,” Hero said, voice deadpan. “Looks like I just let the cat out the bag, huh?”

“Villain only wants to talk to you. Word is you haven’t been answering their texts.”

“Yeah, that’s a nice excuse—” Hero grumbled to Sidekick, then tilted their head at Superhero. “Listen, are you gonna help me stop them or are you gonna sit down here, safe and sound and send your Sidekick to do your dirty work?”

“This temper tantrum is your doing Hero. Clean up your own mess,” said Superhero squaring up, stepping closer to Hero’s face. Hero didn’t flinch. They didn’t do anything but follow the movement with their eyes, raising an eyebrow in challenge. Hero exhaled the smoke through their nose, and let their voice drop a tone lower. Something cold and vicious behind it.

“Villain’s a villain because of your doing, Superhero. How ‘bout you clean up yours, before you end up killing another—”

Before Hero could finish the sentence, Superhero wrapped a hand around Hero’s throat and drove them backwards until they were pinned against the front of a fire truck.

“Superhero!” Sidekick cried, running over and trying to take Superhero’s hand off Hero’s throat. Hero’s head was aching, but they didn’t let it show, just glared at Superhero. Sidekick stepped between the pair when they failed to remove Superhero’s hold, and Superhero was forced to let go of Hero. “This isn’t the time. Villain’s still up there!”

Hero stepped forward, fixing their long duster and took the last drag from their cigarette, savouring it before flicking the butt to the ground and twisting the ball of their foot on it to stomp it out.

“I’m going then,” said Hero.

“I’ll come with you,” Sidekick said immediately, but Hero shook their head, letting the smoke out through the corners of their lips.

Hero put a hand on Sidekick’s shoulder, and said: “you’re not coming this time.”

“What!”

“Villain doesn’t like you and you’re just something they can leverage against me if they catch you again. You’re staying put,” Hero ignored their protests and turned their attention to Superhero. “Don’t let them follow me unless you want them dead like the last one.”

Superhero’s hard stare melted away with a pop. Then Hero was on the roof again, facing Villain’s back. A metre or two between them. “Sorry for the delay.”

“Not at all, Hero,” Villain purred, turning to face their favourite reckless hero. Dishevelled, bags under their eyes, hands deep in their signature brown trench coat they wore over their black combat trousers and black sweatshirt. Villain couldn’t help but smile. Hero never changed.

Villain’s eyes searched the empty space behind Hero. “Where’s your friend? Haven’t scared them away already, have I?”

Hero shrugged, easy, blasé. “Nah, I put them in timeout. Left them with their babysitter.”

Clever, violet eyes settled on Hero’s. Oh, so alluring and bright at having Hero’s entire undivided attention. “Good. I always preferred when it was just the two of us. Come closer, I won’t bite.”

“No, but you’ll break,” Hero said, holding up their bandaged hand and tilting their head to the side. A soft, fond smile slipping onto their lips. Hero felt an invisible hand slide around their own. Inspecting at first. Gentle, then guiding Hero, pulling them closer to Villain, bridging the gap between them without Villain moving an inch.

Villain raised their own hand, palm facing up. Hero felt a phantom hand in theirs, guiding them gently towards Villain, closing the gap between them. When they were close enough, Villain took Hero’s hand in theirs and began an inspection of their own. Hero watched Villain’s violet eyes scan over the fingers bandaged together, inspecting the wrapping around their palm and wrist then back up again for support.

Violet eyes meeting theirs was the only warning Hero had before Villain pressed down hard on the injury. Hero hissed, yanking their hand back but Villain kept Hero’s hand locked in their iron grip.

“Does it hurt when I do this?” Villain asked with a sly smile, eyes never leaving Hero’s. Taking in every small twinge of pain, every squirming effort to hide said pain from Villain’s prying eyes. Oh, how they loved Hero’s small reactions.

“If you don’t want me to abscond you could just ask me to stay,” Hero told them honestly. Pained eyes meeting Villain’s, pleading for them to let go. Hero raised their other hand and placed it on Villain’s probing wrist. “It doesn’t always need to be pain that clouds my judgement, Villain.”

Villain smiled, a little genuine, before finally letting go. Their hand went to Hero’s cheek instead. Pads of their fingers digging in, gentle, with the smallest amount of pressure, because pain always came with Villain.

It was in Villain’s nature, Hero told themselves, they couldn’t really help it.

“I know,” said Villain, “but I do so love to watch you suffer, dear Hero. You make it into an art form.”

Hero pulled Villain’s hand away from their cheek at that, chest tight. “Perhaps you should witness me in my everyday life then. I suffer eternally.”

“Maybe you should start answering your phone when I call.”

Hero scoffed, turning their body half away from Villain, pulling the box of cigarettes from their pocket. Their hand was shaking after Villain’s inspection so they were happy to block Villain’s view of it with their body. Hero took a cigarette between their teeth, dragging it out before flicking the lid closed. The click of the lighter was reassuring, reliable.

Hero cupped their hand around the flame, a delicate thing to coddle especially on a roof where the wind was raging against their hair and their clothes. Hero could control the flame, let it burn enough to light their cigarette or they could smother it, the only thing they could control right now. They flicked the old zippo lighter closed, looking at the small black engraving on the side.

“You’re not special, I don’t answer anyone anymore. I put the stupid thing on silent. It kept incessantly buzzing,” Hero grumbled, looking over the wall of the roof down to the commotion below. Police lights and emergency services below, the street cordoned off from the public. They couldn’t make out Sidekick and Superhero below, but they could see Paramedic in their uniform and maybe pick out police but other than that it was just busy.

Hero heard Villain moving behind them, walking up to Hero and reaching over their shoulder, plucking the cigarette from Hero's hand. Hero grumbled out a half protest, hearing the flame ignite right by their ear, like a soft gasp of air. Villain slid it back between their fingers again.

“Cheers,” said Hero, flicking the ash off onto the wall. Villain exhaled a couple smoke rings then let the rest of the smoke out through their nose, the smell and smoke entrancing Hero. Hero watched the rings dissipate into the sky, as Villain’s hand stretched around Hero’s torso and pulled them both back away from the dangerous edge of the roof. Away from the prying eyes of back up below. Ensuring Hero’s attention could be focused on Villain completely again.

Hero rubbed their temple with the pad of their thumb, irritated. “All this fucking mess for what? Because I wasn’t answering your every whim? I’m getting too old for this, Villain. As are you.”

“Perhaps I should kill you and be done with it then,” said Villain, tightening their hold on Hero, tone cool and cutting. Hero couldn’t deny the chill that ran down their spine at the easy threat.

Villain could just throw them off the rooftop. Granted, it wouldn’t kill them, Hero had learned to quiet the panic when it came to life-or-death situations. Panic they could deal with, pain… well, pain was like Villain; it demanded Hero’s undying attention.

Hero shook their head, slinking out of Villain's hold with ease and popping up to the top of the wall, walking to the edge of the building and standing on the ledge.

“I can’t keep doing this Villain,” Hero repeated, chest tight. Behind them, Villain tilted their head at the Hero, their Hero. “You killed that kid.”

“That kid, was Superhero’s little psychopath. I was doing everyone a favour.”

“You could have saved them, Villain,” Hero said, half turning their body towards Villain, looking down into those violet eyes that used to give them so much comfort. “You could have tried to help them. We were once Superhero’s little psychopaths, no one put a bullet in us.”

“Maybe they should have,” said Villain tightly.

The wind whistled through the area between them on the roof, rustling their clothes and their hair as they let the weight of the words fall over them. Hero held Villain's unflinching eyes and some part of them wanted to scream. In another life, maybe they would be meeting on rooftops for secret midnight rendezvous, or to share a cigarette. The possibility broke Hero's heart, so they buried the thought and looked away from those piercing eyes.

Hero glanced down at all the commotion in the street below. They plunged a hand into their pocket, fist tightening around the cool metal lighter, while their other drew the cigarette to their lips. They nodded as they raised their head to the sky.

“Maybe they should’ve.”

Silence ebbed between them for a moment.

Then: “How are you, Hero?”

Hero laughed at the question. A loud, humourless laugh. It was such an absurd question coming from the Villain who had ruined how many people's day? Worrying about Hero, wanting to know how Hero was.

The worst part was the fact that Villain didn’t sound like Villain when they asked that question. Their voice was softer, quieter, more genuine. It was Hero’s best friend that asked how they were doing, not Villain. Not the scourge of the city, not the name whispered by civilians just in case it summoned the demon to wreck havoc on them.

It was just Villain.

Hero's Villain.

The one they had met in the early days at the Hero academy. The one who created schemes on how best to annoy the Heroes. Always getting them into trouble, always a little too clever for the Professor’s tastes — always questioned them a little too much. The one who took a punch for Hero, and threw a punch for them. The fastest, fiercest friend Hero had ever known. The quiet voice in the night when neither of them could sleep asking if Hero was still awake. The rebellious teenager who somehow managed to drag Hero into everything with them. The quickest study of them all, and it still wasn’t enough.

It was hard to distinguish Hero's friend from Villain these days, the waters were too muddled with Superhero's Sidekick's murder still fresh in their mind.

It tarred any fondness Hero harboured for Villain.

“I’m tired, Vil,” said Hero, their words clogging their throat and coming out thick. “I’m tired of this. I’m tired of being a Hero. I’m tired of drinking and smoking to keep my head clear and my hands steady. I’m tired of not being able to save everyone. I’m tired that I am the one that is called to your every public beck and call. I’m fucking tired of it all.”

“Maybe if you just picked up the phone, I wouldn’t have to resort to these extreme measures to see you,” Villain snapped.

Hero whirled on their heel, eyes ablaze, cigarette dangling from their lips, feet balanced precariously on the ledge. Villain’s body twitched as if they wanted to step forward, something like protectiveness winding their body on instinct, that Hero refused to notice.

“You know where I live,” said Hero through gritted teeth. “You know where to find me. Don’t you try and justify your actions by blaming me! Don’t you dare!”

“Hero—”

“He was seventeen!” Hero cried, throwing their arm wide just to do something. Fury and guilt were battling for dominance in Hero's bones and blood and left them with this frantic, frenzied energy. Hero's hand went to their cigarette, a shadow crossing their face and molding their features into a stoic expression, hard stare almost startling Villain as Hero took a long drag and then stepped back off the ledge.

Villain's hand shot out and Hero drew the cigarette from between their teeth, grinning wildly as they nodded, as if they understood everything all of a sudden. Hero heard screams below that died down quickly when they didn’t fall, but looked as if they were floating on air above the roof.

"You can control life and death, Vil,” said Hero, voice low and rough. They dropped the cigarette onto the invisible platform Villain constructed for their reckless Hero. Hero’s eyes narrowed when they met Villain’s, before they said: “and you let that kid die.”

Hero sucked in a breath through their nose, chest expanding, and that was all Villain saw before Hero disappeared before their eyes.

Hero popped out beside Villain, whistling as they drew back their good fist, sending a devastating right hook to Villain's jaw. Villain's head whipped to the side from impact, and when they righted themselves they turned on their heel, but Hero was gone again.

A whistle behind them and a kick to the back of their knee and Villain fell to one knee, catching themselves on their hand. The second their hand made contact with the ground, Hero's feet were in front of them and there was a swift boot coming for Villain's chest.

Villain didn't have time to react before they were staring at the sky, lying on their back and Hero popped out on top of them again. Their fists bunched into Villain's sweatshirt, pinning them to the ground while a knee straddled each side of Villain's waist, keeping them trapped beneath a particularly lethal Hero.

"I'm here now," Hero hissed, digging their knuckles in painfully to Villain's chest. "What the fuck was so important and pressing that you wanted me here, Vil, hmm? Did you want to kill another kid? Want to make me watch, again? Fucking break a few of my bones instead, hmm?! WHAT IS IT?!"

Villain, to their credit, didn't flinch at Hero's emotional outburst, they just stared up at Hero, trying not to startle them too much. Villain swallowed before they spoke, Hero could feel the motion in their hands and they waited.

"You were MIA, Hero," said Villain softly. Their voice was calm and soothing, as they reached a gentle hand up to wrap around Hero's wrist. The violet melted from Villain's eyes returning them to their normal light brown, trying to show Hero that they were no threat. "No one could contact you, I hadn't — well, other villains said that you weren't yourself. I was worried about you."

Hero's hands began shaking in their hold, their adrenaline slowly leaving them in shock. "You... you were worried about me so you threaten and disrupt a block of offices to get my attention?!"

Villain tried for a smile. "It worked didn't it?"

Hero tightened their grip on Villain and lifted their torso off the ground before slamming them back against the rooftop, leaning in closer and growling: "You were so worried you nearly killed another kid, is that it Villain?”

"I knew you would reach them in time."

“But you knew I wouldn't reach the other one, right?” Hero asked, the words that haunted them the last few weeks spilling from their lips. Villain relaxed in their hold and Hero let out a scoff, sniffing back the tears that wanted to fall as they narrowed their eyes down at Villain. Villain their best friend. "I— I fucking knew it. You knew I wouldn't—”

"Hero, that was different."

"HOW?!" Hero demanded, lifting Villain up again just to make sure that Villain would look them in the eye when they told them. Tears gathered behind Hero's shining eyes, glazing over just waiting for Villain to release the dam.

“He was going to kill you, Hero,” said Villain softly.

Hero shook their head, “no. No, you did it for a reason.”

“You are enough of a reason for me to kill, Hero.”

“I don’t want to be,” Hero said with a strangled whisper, not trusting their voice enough to speak.

“I know,” Villain cooed. Their hand tightened slightly over Hero’s wrist, not painful. Not yet. “But when there is a rabid dog, it is a mercy to put them down.”

“He was Seventeen,” Hero said again, their grip loosening slightly on Villain as they spoke as if the words were Hero's only defence to Villain's honeyed logic.

“And Superhero sent him after us,” Villain told Hero, like it was the most important thing in the world. “If the blood is on anyone's hand it's Superhero's! Superhero sent him after us, Hero, not just me. Me and you, they wanted that kid to kill us. To kill you.”

Hero tightened their grip in Villain's sweatshirt, twisting their fists further and pulling Villain closer. Hero's eyes were dark, hooded, desperate — they scared Villain.

"Maybe you should have let him," said Hero, voice devoid of all emotion. The words hit Villain like a truck and left a heavy lump in their throat. This was exactly what they were scared of. Hero being so beat up about not being able to save the very person who was ordered to kill them. To kill both of them. Villain did the right thing putting the mongrel down, even if Hero was upset now. They won't be in the future, Villain would make sure of it.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Taglist: @d-cs @somebodytolove31

[wingedecho]

New Narrator?!

okay for those of you following me (I appreciate you guys sm) who know of my main Narrator, don't worry I'm keeping Henry, this is just more of a side project because I love villain narrators

That being said, this is Cross. A highly intelligent, highly egotistical BASTAR-

I mean uh evil man

His backstory/origin will be posted eventually when I can be bothered to write it all up but in the meantime I'll give you a short rundown (hey future me here it's a lot longer than intended haha oops) of who exactly he is and what his deal is, if you can't be bothered to read all of this rambling that I'm typing I am so sorry I am just kind of brainrotting a lot right now and I was supposed to post this yesterday and I forgot

Alrighty so:

Cross is unfortunately a good actor. He's cunning, sly, manipulative and overall he does not care what anyone thinks of him so long as he gets what he wants. However, with simple acting, he can conceal all of this and come off as the sweetest person you've ever met, despite the many ways he's thinking of to kill you while he tells you just how 'great' he thinks you are. Stanley sees him as what he pretends he is. He's unaware of the shit he's in.

Cross prefers people to not know his name, getting Stanley to call him X to keep his mysterious act up. Cross doesn't have an office to write his stories, despite having one backstage for other uses. He has a theatre. A huge, huge theatre where he demonstrates his acting to the shadowy figures that were once people he totally did not murder in a totally not extremely brutal way

His scripts go into shows, and the shows become the story. Whatever Cross does in the theatre, is however things are formed in the parable

He has some levels of necromancy, and also has the ability to create spikes made of citrine. When he's in a calm state the citrine is clear. When angered, the citrine appears cracked.

Another important thing is the shadow over his eye. Its not an art style, it's a design choice. He's hiding something under there, but I'm not revealing that just yet, and the only person who knows doesn't know how bad it is because there's one thing I haven't told them (you know who you are)

Anywho, yeah! Hope this wasn't too much to read, and I hope I didn't bore you, but thank you for reading if you made it to the bottom and I hope you guys like him!

P.S he is 7'2 okay bYE

Quick edit: I forgot to mention, he has black gloves with gold claws on them I just really can't draw hands hel, he also has big black boots (just putting this here because I saw a reblog of someone saying they wanted to draw him and TYSM GENUINELY)

[evablueblanket]

Will you tell me about an LU character you love and why you love them? Please please please ramble on and on! It's my favorite! I get so many fun ideas when people gush about their favorites.

I (think) I've said this before, but I am not the most analytical/observ person ever so most of what I say is probably kinda shallow :') BUT THIS IS MY RAMBLE SO OH WELL

Okay so recently, I've been on a Warriors kick. I just super love how like, everyone portrays him! Most see him as big brother shaped, which I super love. His background is just so vastly different than every other Link, which serves as a very cool contrast imo

The way @somer-writes makes Twi and Wars idiodic brothers is like, my favorite ever. I love love love LOVE how he writes Wars and Twi it's so insane the comedy that unfolds when they're just messing around xD

Warriors has this air, this *vibe* which I'm just super drawn too, I think it's just how my personality vs his works (you could theoretically draw *some* parallels with Sokka from ATLA, at least the way they each hold themselves I'd say. Also big bro stuff) (ALSO how both of them are portrayed as 'smart', which is a trait I typically relate too in characters)

When I like a character though, it's more based on the different types of relationships everyone writes them as though, I'd say. Wars and Time and Wind have this super intriguing bond that I think is cool to see how everyone interprets it! For the most part people write them as they're all aware of the War of Ages and whatnot, which lead to some nice fluff and/or angst. But when there's some time paradoxes, it makes it every so more tragic and it's really interesting to see how that can get written. I recall a fic (I FORGOT THE TITLE AND THE AUTHOR NOO) where Wars was teaching Wind medic stuff, but it was like a year before Wind meets Wars in the war. So Wars is all "sob this is why Wind is such a good medic? *Bc I taught him?*" THIS IS SO COOL AND INTERESTING

Also when there's War of Ages fics that have Time/Mask being a stupid child (/aff) they're just super hilarious. There's a series out there that has the Fierce Deity (sorry forgot the author again xD) act as Wars parent figure/older brother figure and it's just really funny to me bc ofc Wars would be a stupid overworking idiot. Loser smh

Four is also another one of the sillies that live in my brain, and I kinda wish there were more fics on how they interact. Though, if I'm being real idk how they really would cause they don't really have the same synergy as any other Links. I just like my favorites to interact, but I super understand how they wouldn't ^^

Small side bit on serious Wars (the biggest example is "Call Them Brothers" by wutheringmights which I'm almost 100% certain you've read that already cause it's soooo long and it's SO GOOD AHH) and ugh I wish I could pay attention more to get every complexity that this Wars has but the brain kinda hates me. I think it makes a lot of sense for Wars to have a grittier characterization, war does that to people. The entire fic is so visceral to me, I just vividly remember reading the flashback section about the long winter, and I don't even know how to really describe it xD

Wars has such a broad range of emotion, if one were to put him under and microscope and study him there would be SO MUCH.

HAVE I TALKED ABOUT THE AESTHETIC

HES THE FUCKING PRETTY BOY OF THE GROUP AND THAT'S SO VALUBLE TO ME FOR NO REAL REASON

Ik Wild is seen as the one with like, outfits and Legend has his jewlery, BUT WARS HAS HIS FUCKING SCARF. THERES SO MANY POSTS ABOUT WARS AND HIS EMOTIONAL SUPPORT SCARF AND I AM SO FUCKING FOR IT YOU HAVE NO IDEA

THE SHADE OF BLUE IS AWESOME, ITS SO COOL, ITS SO COOL HES SO COOL RAHHHH

*oops tehe I rambled like a lot* ty for this opportunity :D I'm super glad I decided to type this on my laptop and not my phone xD

[glatisant-questing]

Hijikata's Short Story from the Manyo no Shou Special Edition Booklet (Translation)

I think this story deserves a CG: It’s got that cinematic quality.

No one can survive Hijikata’s stare unless it’s Chizuru near the end of Edo Blossom:)

(As stories from this particular booklet can be read either before or after playing the Manyo no Shou game, I’m not adding spoiler alerts. If you need spoiler alerts in future translations from this booklet, please let me know.)

This story was written by Izumi Nagano (長野和泉）.

“Hijikata-san, I brought you some tea.” 

As usual, I was working on some documents in my room when I heard Yukimura’s voice from outside the shoji. 

“Yeah, come in.” I replied, still busy with the documents. 

I felt the shoji open behind me, and Yukimura came to my side of the desk. 

And then, as she tried to put the teacup on the desk——

 “Oops……！”

My elbow knocked against Yukimura because I was trying to write a character.

“Ouch…!” 

Yukimura slipped her hand and dropped the teacup on the tatami floor. 

“It's hot…!” 

“Hey, are you okay?” 

I quickly took Yukimura’s hand and checked the extent of the burn. 

“Ah, I’m fine. It didn’t get on my hand.” 

Yukimura said, trying to pull her hand back, but——

 “I’m just doing this to make sure that you are alright.”

 I grabbed Yukimura’s wrist and stopped her from pulling back. 

And then, I made sure that she didn’t get any burns on her hands.

 “Good, it looks like you didn’t get burned.” 

“Y-yes…” 

While I felt relieved, I noticed that Yukimura’s hand was trembling in my grip. 

Yukimura’s cheeks were turning red, and she looked embarrassed as she avoided my eyes.

(I’m in trouble. I thought it would be awful if she should get burned, so I forgot myself and grabbed her wrist, but Yukimura is after all a young girl…)

 I should have a proper sense of the subtle boundaries between men and women. 

“…Sorry, I suddenly grabbed your hand. I don’t usually do such a thing, but I just forgot myself earlier.” 

I apologized just in case, and Yukimura nodded, all blushing. 

“I, I understand. I’m…fine.” 

She said with a face that didn’t look fine at all, which made me more worried. 

But she just kept her head down and stood up. 

“I’ll get a rag for the cleaning. I spilled tea on the tatami.” 

“Go ahead. Sorry for making you go through the trouble.” 

“No…it’s my fault.” 

After saying that, Yukimura left my room as if to escape.

After that, Yukimura came back with a rag in her hand. She wiped up the spilled tea, and put the tea she just brewed on my desk. 

“…Please enjoy your tea. I’m sorry for taking so long.” 

“No, it’s not like I have any urgent work to do, so don’t worry about it…but it’s rare for you to make such a mistake. Is something wrong?..Huh?” 

When I looked at Yukimura’s face again, I noticed that she had an odd complexion, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

“You don’t look well, are you getting enough sleep?” 

“Ah…” Yukimura lowered her head awkwardly at my remark. 

“You’re not sleeping, are you? What were you doing? Did some of the soldiers tell you to do some chores for them or something?” 

“No, that’s not it…!” 

“Then why? You can’t  fall asleep?”

Her father was still missing and his whereabouts unknown. I thought to myself that it was understandable that she couldn’t sleep because of the anxiety. 

But Yukimura said, “Actually, the other day, I borrowed a book on medicine from Dr. Matsumoto to read and… before I knew it, it was morning.” 

“From Dr. Matsumoto?” 

“Yes. I thought that if I learned some medical knowledge, I could help treat the injuries and illnesses of the soldiers. It would be best if we could always get Dr. Matsumoto to visit us, but he is busy. ” 

“…I see.” 

I was somewhat amazed by her reasons. 

(She’s in a position where we’re holding her captive, and yet she says she wants to help us. How nice can she be?) 

But still, I couldn’t help feeling glad that she sincerely wanted to contribute to the Shinsengumi. 

 “I understand your feelings very well. But if you overdo it and end up like this, you may cause trouble for the Shinsengumi instead.” 

“…Yes.”

“From what I see, you are doing your job conscientiously. Just take it easy. Got it?” 

I regretted sounding like a moralizer. 

“…Yes, I understand.” 

Yukimura also seemed to think she was scolded, and looked down with a solemn face.

 (This is awkward, somehow…)

 As I was thinking so, I sipped the tea from the teacup. 

It was the same tea she always brewed for me, with just the right strength and temperature. After moistening my throat with the mellow bitterness of the tea, I said, “You can go now. And go back to your room and take a nap. Okay?” 

“But…” 

“If you have something to do, ask another soldier to help you. If you don’t learn to delegate work to others, you’ll never reduce your workload.” 

Then Yukimura looked at me with her eyes wide open, as if she had heard something surprising. 

“…What’s wrong?” 

“No… I just remembered that Sannan-san said something similar to Hijikata-san before.” (perhaps this is a flashback of one of the tsukikage no shou drama CDs...but the problem is Chizuru is not present in that story)

“You don’t have to remember unnecessary things. Just return to your room, okay?” 

“Ah… Yes! I will take my leave.”

 Yukimura said in a flustered manner, then bowed her head lightly and left the room. 

(True, I’m not in a position to nag Yukimura either.)

I thought I’d go for a walk for a change of air, and I stretched lightly. 

A few days had passed since that incident.

I was working in my room when Yukimura brought me some tea, as considerate as always.

 “Excuse me. Hijikata-san, I brought you some tea.” 

“Thanks. Just put it there.” 

Yukimura heard my reply and was about to leave after putting the tea down. 

I suddenly remembered what had happened the other day and stopped writing. 

“Wait a minute.” 

As I turned around, I saw Yukimura’s face and she looked surprised.

 “Don’t move.” 

“Y-yes…” 

I ignored Yukimura’s trembling reply, brought my face closer, and stared into her eyes. 

“Hmm… You don’t look like you stayed up late last night... You can go now.” 

“…Y-yes!”

 Yukimura’s cheeks turned red in an instant, and she ran out of the room after this strained reply.

 “Ah…” 

I realized that I had made the same mistake as the other day, but it was too late. 

While sipping the tea that Yukimura had brought me, I absent-mindedly wondered what I should do. 

(The end)

[robintherobiner]

Types of fics i need more of:

de-age fics. Baby Bruce? Teen Bruce? Baby Dick? Teen Dick? Baby Jason? Teen Jason. The list goes on and on. deage them all. is it sad? is it funny? is it cute? is it traumatic? i dont care, make them all little.

ghost fics. i want Jason to haunt the shit out of his family. he sees them all grieving, comes back to life, and instead of killing people he just leaves ominous notes like "i saw you trip on your cape." or "leave fifty bucks at *address* or i'll tell everyone about your superman body pillow."

Tim being an utter loser. I love him, but he should be incredibly put together in public and then he gets home and just... is a mess. never felt the touch of anyone, woman or man. can do complex mathematical equations but needs a calculator to solve 4 x 3. think Sherlock Holmes, who can tell everything about you from one look but doesnt know the earth revolves around the sun.

Alfred being called out for being an enabler! fuck that old man, i hate him. however if he made me a cup of tea, i would die for him. Im a very complex person.

Dick being Damians dad. so cute, i love it. Damian deserves to have his own taste of found family. fuck blood of the womb, lets go with blood of the covenent or whatever the quote says.

Jason being childish!!! i think his mental age should younger than his physical one cuz, trauma, being dead, being catatonic in some cases, also just being pretty young anywas? gimme a fic where he comes home covered in blood cuz he just killed four guys and then goes to have a shower so he can play with his rubber duckies.

kiddie crushes!!! gimme more Jason loving Wonder Woman and being an utter fanboy when he encounters her. "Oh em gee you're here to apprehend me? Wonder Woman, this is such an honor, can i have your autograph-" Young Dick meeting Superman for the first time and hiding under Bruce's cap because "He's so pretty Bruce, he's gonna hear my heart go fast!" Tim meeting Constantine and, to everyones despair, somehow adoring him. "So you do magic? Thats like, so cool! Tell me all about it. My parents were archeologists, we probably have loads of of magical objects, do you wanna check them? Do you like coffee? Did you really sell your soul to multiple people? Thats so hot- I MEAN COOL SHIT FUCK-"

Literally anything about Dicks time in the circus. I think i've only read like two fics about it? Compared to the hundreds going indepth on Tim and Jason's childhoods?

Similar to the last one, but gosh the culture shocks they all probably had! Dick was used to constantly moving from city to city. Jason going from being on the street to a mansion. Tim going from boarding school, a place full of kids his own age, to being alone in his house so that he could be Robin. Damian was used to being respected and honored, he was a prince after all, only to suddenly be told that everything he knew was wrong.

Babs and Tim. I think they would get along, i wanna see them bonding!

Joker Junior. i know its not canon and it was only in like one cartoon but oh my GOD i love it.

Trauma reveals!! i love them. Dick's time in spyral, his apprenticeship with Deathstroke, the multiple fucked up relationships he's been in. Everything Tim did during 'Brucequest', Jasons time with the LOA, literally anything from Damians childhood.

Jon being aged up and his relationship with Damian! i dont even need to add anything, you get the point.

Dana, Jack, and Janet. I want it so bad!!! Dana is implied but never confirmed to be dead so bring her back and let her and Tim mourn!! let Tim find out his parents both slept with Bruce and have Bruce be like "oops i forgot about that, soz sweetie-" let tim hate christmas eve because thats when his mother was buried!

if anyone has recs for any of these sort of fics, PLEASE GIVE THEM TO ME. i've probably read most of them already, but i have a terrible memory so i love re-reading fics. just, gimme gimme gimme

[oriley42]

Tl;dr: here's the chart I made, react at your own time if you'd like<3, sorry for the bible below.

Hello again legend, I present to you my magnum opus relationship chart, updated to where I reached when I started it which was about early-mid s7 (I now finished) and therefore does not feature Park or Addams.

You can probably tell which parts might be inspired by your fics (the og ducklings polycule, House and Wilson married, Cuddy and frankly any woman, 13 and Amber etc), which parts are rooted in canon (Cuddy and House, Taub and Rachel, 13 and Foreman etc) and which parts are fully just me going ham (some friendships and ships with people who never met in canon, some of them sharing homes oops).

I would absolutely love to read a live reaction from you on stuff you agree and disagree with and what makes no sense to you because I honestly think your brain is huge as far as dynamics go. Feel free to add anything you can see I blatantly missed, I for sure didn't include everything here.

I know most of your fics don't venture outside of the earlier seasons regarding characters and dynamics but I've been having brainrot about the whole lot of them, I have loads of headcanons regarding the chart:

- It took Foreman a long time to give up his house but because he literally cannot do casual relationships and is hardcore married to 3 people and dating 13 he just sleeps wherever

- Kutner and Masters have a crazy bonding arc that ends with them sharing a house and they balance each other out

- Stacy and Cameron used to fuck over shared weird ass relationship with House

Anyway seriously ama I can explain everything even why Lin Manuel Miranda's character made it to the magnum opus I'm being so fr

No pressure at all to respond unless this brings you equal brainrot, at your leisure boss

Wahoo! This is so cool! I’ve only seen charts like these occasionally, and never gotten a chance to really dive in. I love how this visualizes the complex network of relationships and their nuances, and crystallizes a particular snapshot of them. And I’m so flattered that my stories could play a role in how you imagine these relationships! I do tend to favor the early seasons, so this is a good chance to think about the later fellows as well, who I also love <3 (Will attempt to put my response under a read-more...if I can figure out how these work...)

Starting with Foreman: I love how he’s his own big nexus! The show has such intense main character syndrome with House, but I totally agree with how you’ve framed Foreman and Thirteen as other key spokes in the bonkers wheel of toxic polycule-ism that is PPTH. Foreman wants to be a responsible homeowner but he’s got marriages all over town! And really he’s married to his job! How’s a guy supposed to manage a mortgage situation like that? 😅 Foreman and Kutner (I almost just misspelled his name as Kuntner, which, honestly…serve) didn’t really get to do much together in canon, and I love to imagine them getting to have a relationship of their own, not just in the context of PPTH. Would they chill and play video games, and it would be a chance for Foreman to just be a person, instead of A Doctor? Would he get to enjoy Kutner’s laid back nature, but because they keep things casual, he doesn’t have to deal with the stuff that would absolutely drive his ordered mind crazy—you know he wouldn’t stand for a fridge that’s empty except for a jar of mustard and one (1) liter of Mountain Dew. Also I can’t believe I forgot about that plot point that Taub roomed with Foreman, oh my god. Yes. And Foreman and Rachel Taub secret pals? Delish!

Thirteen has pulled every young, gorgeous, eligible person in her orbit, as she should. Sampled all the flavors, as it were. Except C&C—I agree, she doesn’t vibe with the blonde twins, especially as a set, though I think there could be something interesting in the whole ‘Thirteen is House’s metaphorical daughter’ vibe that Cameron would just go apeshit over. ‘Oh, it’s House, but he’s a hot, impressionable young girl who’s also dying?!’ ß catnip for that messed up gal! (Sidebar: I am fighting for my life every time I try to make Cameron sapphic because that actress simply reads as unbearably het to me. It took everything I had to write explicit Cuddy/Cameron. I’m so sorry to all the lesbian!Cam truthers out there, you’re stronger than I! Especially considering Jennifer went on to be half of such a powerhouse WLW ship on OUAT…I don’t know why, but the only kind of queer for her that really works in my head is aro-ace. That girl just wants to save lives, she doesn’t have time for any other nonsense!) On that note, love the idea that Cameron/Stacy had a thing. Go girls, the best way to get over House is to get under someone else (who also wants to fuck him!) Cuddy/Amber is galaxy brain, god, let these powerful yet deeply insecure and structurally maligned women try to step on each other, fail, and fuck nasty about it 😭 I’m also glad you fit sweet little Masters in, I’ve only written her as a cameo because s7 is so…Like That…but she’s delightful and deserves the (intimate) attentions of beautiful and terrifying women such as Thirteen and Amber. And Kutner & Masters friendship, what a delight that would be! I think they would both bring eldest sibling energy to it that would turn out to complement one another, as Kutner shows her the ropes of having fun and learning when to bend the rules, and she can help him buckle down and connect with the times when the rules are actually important to follow. Kutner was always the youngin’, so he didn’t get to mentor anybody, and he should have gotten that chance!!

I think Cuddy and Wilson have a Something…that cannot be defined. Is it sexual, platonic, friendly, familial? Are they besties, are they both just good at being social, are they bonded primarily over their UST for House, would they have been the world’s most perfect Lavender Marriage??? (Which raises the point of kids, yikes! That would need to be a whole other chart, of kids had, imagined, and desired…) Similarly, canon implies that Wilson and Stacy are good friends and have been for quite a while (though we don’t get to see it enough!) and I always wonder how that went for James ‘Trips Over Friendship Into Marriage’ Wilson. Was his friendship like Stacy like his relationship with Cuddy? Are they surface level friends who really bonded over House—or over the kinds of things that draw them to someone like House, e.g. the dark unspoken desires they both paper over in their pursuit of appearing “normal”? Maybe it’s like what Bonnie said, if she’d slept with Wilson right away, she could have gotten over him…maybe Wilson slept with Cuddy and/or Stacy and they were like ‘that was fine, but what if we just did brunch once a month and gossiped instead.’

I agree that Cuddy should have gotten to keep Lucas, like a pet. He was delightful! House Lite, a little scamp, but one who could be kind and relied upon when it was important. And totally agree that House should get to keep Alvie, that musical theater freak helped him keep it together in one of the worst times of his life! Those episodes of s6 are a fever dream that I wouldn’t trade for the world. House needs his emotional support boy best friend (there’s that one post that says without Wilson, House flees to the nearest manlet…so real.) It’s so natural, then, for the two manlets to bond. Lucas and Alvie have killer karaoke sessions together that are as humiliating to witness as they are incredible to experience.

Thank you for sharing this inspiring chart (and for referring to me like I’m a mafia don, it makes me feel so butch and famous) 😎🥰 Please do reblog or reply if any of this stream of consciousness sparks clarifications/questions/additions!

[thezoraprince]

As promised, I'm here to yap about one of my newest Zora head canons! :D

I love watching videos about sharks and aquatic mammals like orcas and whales. Due to my short attention span, I see a lot of them on TikTok, but that also leads me down the rabbit holes of Sea World and their orcas and beluga whales.

In the wild, these animals rely heavily on their food for their hydration. Sea World, however, refuses to give them live fish to hunt for themselves because they believe it would be abusive and cruel to the fish, despite the benefits it would give to their dehydrated aquatic mammals. In attempts to make up for the lost water intake, Sea World feeds their orcas and belugas buckets on buckets of ice.

Seeing as the Zora are an aquatic / semi-amphibias race, I like to believe that while they expect to be on land for extended periods of time, they'll either have their own isolated cups that they carry on a strap ( kinda like a purse ) filled with ice to munch on if they start to feel dehydrated.

On top of that, I feel like swallowing liquids would be hard and unnatural for them. They spend so much time in the water that they likely get most of their water in take by eating so many fish, snails, etc. Occasionally, taking large gulps of water while catching smaller fish in lakes and rivers.

That isn't to say I feel it impossible for them to drink, more so that it's a learned skill that they probably have to think about as they do it.

I like to think of Bazz as one of the few Zora within the Domain that regularly drinks coffee, and due to his size, he drinks it in very large quantities. While I feel most would turn their heads at the bitter drink ( unless they were trying to be polite, we know how they are with their manners ) Bazz would have the aquire taste for it due to Seggin refusing him sugar as a child.

The only time he would get any would be if Rivan or Gaddison snuck him some when they were little, and eventually, after so many decades of just not eating it regularly, Bazz lost most interest in sweet treats. What some Zora may consider under sweetened or perfect, Bazz may consider it to sweet more often than not.

I've also made a bunch of head canons on why I think they would have a sweet tooth, they're smell and how it could change while in different climate conditions and a bunch of other stuff! :D

i read this on friday while i was eating a candy bar in my car, told myself i was going to post it when i got home, and then immediately forgot i existed for 3 days. ... oops...

i FULLY support these. and now let me go on a tangent about why lmaooo

i feel like the biggest reason we don't see many zoras outside the domain is because of the climate in the regions of Hyrule. even in outher games, it's a rarity. we see gorons EVERYWHERE! we see gerudo and hylians EVERYWHERE! but the zora's remain in Zora's Domain (with the exception of Lake Hylia and if they're called into action elsewhere). i also have a theory that they absorb hydration through their skin like most amphibians. so even if they don't eat as much, the humidity helps them stay hydrated.

Bazz drinking coffee is 10000% canon in my mind and no one can convince me otherwise. it's a habit he most definitely picked up from Seggin, mainly due the amount of work they both put into their guard duties. Bazz would often see Seggin drinking it in the early morning before starting his day. and let's be real here, that's the only time of the day where Seggin is truly chill.

i also agree that Bazz wouldn't have much of a sweet tooth, and not just because of being denied sweets from Seggin, but because of HOW MUCH Rivan and Gaddison would sneak him. i think after a while, he'd lose interest in sneaking such simple treats and find it boring. i also think he'd feel a little guilty. he'd get a knack for something sweet sometimes, but it's rare or on a special occasion. and it would probably be something like dark/semi sweet chocolate, fruit, or a flavored coffee.

please feel free to send in more of these!!! hopefully i won't forget to respond :')

[sewersewersewercouch]

things from the psychonauts art book that I found interesting

putting this under a cut so people who are getting it but don't have it yet don't get spoiled! also some of these might have been said outside of the art book and I just forgot

Tim wanted to go inside Lili's head but they decided not to for time

There was a concept involving rescuing a dying brain

One of the unused concepts was aura reading, where "Truman's" aura would be around his suitcase rather than his body, and Milla's would change when she was around Sasha...hm

There were also plans for Claymation style animations

Gristol was, ironically, based on Grigori Rasputin

Maligula wasn't always going to be Raz's "grandma"

The Psychic 7 were originally going to be all from different time periods

An early concept of Compton was blind

Nikki Rapp drew from her own experiences of losing her dad when voicing Lili

Adam almost had facial hair, but it made him look too much older than the other interns

Character artist Zahra Amirabadi, who's from Iran, came up with Gisu's name and the cultural aspects her design

This isn't a fact really, but it's important to me that Dona is described as "a loving mother and talented performer" and "deeply attuned to her family's feelings" thanks for that Ashley Esqueda

Quote from Tim: "Dion and Mirtala might still be hiding something" hello???

Frazie originally had a bigger role and I know they had to cut it for time but I'm still sad!!!

Tim won't confirm or deny whether Queepie is psychic

Unused enemy concepts include "death wish" "root of the problem" "high horse" and "defensive turtle"

The restaurant is called the Noodle Bowl because noodle is slang for "brain" which...I honestly did not realize until now and I've been into psychonauts for about 2 years, oops

A concept for Millas room had candles everywhere, which, uh, I can see why that one didn't make the cut

Coach originally had his own garage where he made his mech

The through line they had for Hollis' brain was being a woman in a male dominated profession

The initial concept of Compton's mind was a trivia battle between the Booles and the Aquatos where we'd learn more about their families--man I'd kill for that!

They originally took Raz's powers away in Ford's mind, but decided that made for boring gameplay

There were plans for an abandoned summer camp in the Old Colony

Part of the reason you're locked in the Old Colony after Tomb of the Sharkophagus is because if there was an option to talk to the Aquatos then Raz would have to lie to his family's faces about Lucy and that just seemed too cruel

Cassie's mind was modeled off of 1920s Shanghai

They recorded voice lines for the moth dragging Bob into the sea during the Truheltia Memonstria battle, and Amber Hood cried while recording them, which, fair honestly