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oddinary4bts · 1 year

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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

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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

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wangxianficfinder · 8 months

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In the mood for...

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1. Hi! This is weirdly specific but I’m looking for modern AU fics set in China, written by Chinese authors preferably because I’m hoping to find the very accurate, realistic representations of China, with all those little “daily life” details that make the setting feel more real. I hope this makes sense, and thank you in advance for your help! ❤️

There's definitely Chinese diaspora collection(s). Give me a minute and I'll see if I can find some for #1 Like this one

I am not sure how many of these are set in China but it's a collection of non canon-set fic recs made by Chinese diaspora fans in two different Diaspora servers

this is another diaspora collection!

The Fifth Type of Non-Contact Force by Caixx (Not Rated, 83k, WangXian, Modern AU, High School, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Fluff and Humor, Actually Somewhat Canon, Mutual Pining, Horny Teenagers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Non-Graphic Smut)

oh #1 even modern day cdrama are not all that accurate for daily life stuff. If you're feeling like branching out from wangxian fic to a cdrama with modern china daily life vibes that isn't 100% romance. Can try "Heart of Genius" it's a time/parallel world travel to the past.

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2. Hello again!!! Thanks for the recs, they're so goooood! I recently read two fics that involve catfishing, how to fall in love with a catfish: a guide by wei wuxian (disaster rat) by bwyn, Yuisaki & we'll get him falling for a stranger (or a catfish) by sweetlolixoand I'm hooked! I'll definitely recommend them to everyone!

Ok so I'm craving for more catfish fics. Preferably wangxian but I'd love Sangcheng or Xicheng too! Thanks again ❤️ @dizzydandelionsandhyperhydrillas

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3. ITMF: I'm very, very picky about modern aus but figured I'd give it a try. I want a modern au where they're already adults, it's angsty, and they're in character. My fave is when the angst kind of mirrors canonverse (ie WWX being "disowned," framed for something or disappearing, miscommunication, whatever so long as it isn't kind of just random melodrama) but I'll also just accept if the angst is in a breaking up -> getting back together/exes to lovers arc. Sorry if this is too picky!

These Things Stay the Same by notevenyou (E, 29k, WangXian, Modern AU, Kid Fic, Canon-Typical Violence, Minor Character DeathInjury, Natural Disasters, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hospitalization, Accidents) kinda

These all involve breakups/canon-level misunderstandings:

Tempo Rubato by Spodumene (E, 107k, WangXian, Modern AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Romance, Persuasion au, Separations, Mutual Pining, Depression, Miscommunication, Emotional Roller Coaster, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Reconciliation, Eventual Smut, Jane Austen Fusion, Underage Kissing)

💖 Pentimento. by orange_crushed (E, 73k, wangxian, modern, college/university au, art conservation, museums, pining, not actually unrequited love, angst w/ happy ending, misunderstandings, smut, major character injury, hospitalization, hurt/comfort, past incarceration, forgery)

Waiting for Spring series by thievinghippo (E, 225k, WangXian, Modern AU, Mutual Pining, Pining while fucking, slight angst, Happy Ending, for a baseball fic, there’s not a lot of baseball, Sports, Baseball)

Dirty Little Secret by ilip13 (E, 67k, wangxian, Modern, Angst with a Happy Ending, Unreliable Narrator, Post-Break Up, Friends with benefits / Exes with benefits / Fuck-buddies, Implied Cheating, Also possibly some cheating kink, Self-Worth Issues, WWX is strong with the self-hatred here, trigger warning: suicide and mental illness (background of minor character), Graduate Students, Liberal use of the word 'fuck', Semi-Nonlinear Storytelling)

The Right to Care by travelingneuritis (E, 61k, wangxian, Modern, Mood Whiplash, musician LWJ, nanny WWX, Developing Relationship, Breakup, Texting, Pining, Eventual Happy Ending, Adoption, Child Abuse, abuse intervention, Miscommunication)

moonlight falls Series by RoseThorne (T, 19k, WangXian, Modern, Found Family, Corporate Espionage, Bunnies, Adoption, Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, References to Depression, Anxiety, Blind Character, POV Third Person, POV WWX, Confrontations, Bad Parent LQR, Dissociation, Mental Health Issues, Anniversary, Food, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Emotional Constipation, Communication Failure, JC is Bad at Feelings, JC is Trying, WWX Needs a Hug, Implied/Referenced Sex, Food Sex, Friendship, Reconciliation, Psychological Trauma)

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4. Hey, any fics where wwx's (and lwj's) parents are alive. Absolutely no omegaverse thanks

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5. Hi! I’m looking for modern AU wangxian and I’ve searched far and wide for new ones. I don’t have anything specific except I looking for multichapter / longer than 15K! If there’s anything not talked about enough and AMAZING or something new etc. If there are any authors that write modern AU wangxian I’d love to know. Thank you so much for your page!

once upon a time, 很久很久以前 by gentil-minou (Flyingsuits) (M, 40k, WIP, WangXian, Modern AU, Canon Divergence, Transmigration, of the townwide variety, Amnesia, of the nearly everyone variety, Mystery, of the shenanigans variety, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, WWX Has Self-Esteem Issues, Single Parent LWJ, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Minor Character Death, Angst with a Happy Ending) this is my fic, it's modern au and pretty new. still ongoing though, idk if that's a turn off for you

Just Ask Me To Stay by mrcformoso (M, 20k, WangXian, Modern AU, Former JZ/WWX, Minor NieLan, Minor XuanLi, No Powers, Dancer WWX, Musician LWJ, Roommates, Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, Break Up, Post-Break Up, Recovery, WWX Has Self-Esteem Issues, Fluff, Light Angst, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Oral Sex, Domestic Fluff, LWJ Has a Big Dick, WWX Has a Breeding Kink, Size Queen WWX, Belly Bulge, Porn With Plot, WWX Has Friends, LWJ Has Friends, Hurt/Comfort, A lot of comfort, Romantic Comedy, Cuter story than the summary makes it out to be, Feel-good) bestfriends to lovers and oh my god they were roommates.

eyes closed for you by soultana (E, 36k, wangxian, modern cultivation, POV LWJ, Cultivator LWJ, WWX is a spirit/yao, Dreams vs. Reality, basically WWX haunts LWJ's dreams (lovingly), Sexual Tension, Pining, YLLZ is misunderstood, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, WWX is a Tease, Getting Together, Supportive LXC, LQR Is So Done)

take my hand, will you share this with me series by doodlebutt (E, 137k, wangxian, JC/WQ, Modern, figure skating, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, Major Character Injury, Recovery, Getting Together, Background Pregnancy, the mortifying ordeal of Talking About Your Feelings, sexually tense pair skating, and tbh. sexually tense everything else too, past trauma, public displays of affection aka canon wangxian behaviour, u dont need a sex tape when the cctv footage is Right There!, There Was Only One Bed, Pre-Relationship, TEEN WANGXIAN MY BELOVED, Semi-Public Sex, sleep deprivation and irresponsible decisions can be sexy sometimes, with additional warnings in start note, Domestic Fluff, Burnout, Yúnmèng Siblings Feels, BSSR knows everything, angst! softness! tender yearning!, demi wwx)

Players gonna play by Scrippio (T, 41k, wangxian, JC/WQ, JYL/JZX, Modern, College/University au, Theater AU, Director WWX, Faculty advisor LWJ, grad student JC, Baker JYL, grad student WQ, Fluff, First Meeting, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Depression, WIP)

Truth Will Out (when caught on video) - End_OTW_Racism! by KizuKatana (E, 108k, wangxian, WN & WWX & WQ, graphic depictions of violence, modern cultivation, canon divergence, YZY abuses WWX , caught on camera, partial core removal, WWX kicked out of Jiang sect, livestreamer WWX, meet ugly, dual cultivation, smut, no war, WIP)

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9. Hi! Hope you guys are okay <3

For your next itmf, I was hoping you could rec me something a bit more particular? Something that highlights Yi Ziyuan's abuse and makes wwx leave the Jiang sect for good. And then as time passes YZY tries to bring wwx down, or just regrets doing what she did. Can be modern, or not, I really don't mind. I just wanna see genius wwx standing up for himself and getting the love and appreciation he deserves!

Thank you again!! 🩷 @flexible-racoon

💖 Lessons relearned by Iamnotawriter (T, 44k, WangXian, LQR & WWX, Not Madam Yu Friendly, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inventor WWX, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, No Golden Core Transfer, YZY Bashing) It's not the focus of the fic, but it does feature characters reacting to YZY's abusive treatment of WWX & has her try to bring him down after he leaves the sect, though that part happens late in the fic

Debts of a Child series by Hauntcats (M, 115k, WangXian, dark, YZY Bashing, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Angst and Feels, lots of anger, JC Bashing, not Jiang friendly, Angst with a Happy Ending, Content warning for icky spiders in later chapters.)

If Wishes Were Donkeys by NightOwl1 (M, 61k, WIP, WangXian, SVSSS, Time Travel Fix-It, Case Fic, Mpreg, Fluff and Humor, Dysfunctional Jiāng Family, Bad Parent YZY, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Period-Typical Homophobia, Crossdressing, LWJ and WWX Have a Breeding Kink, It's All The System's Fault, Post-Canon, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Warning: JGS, Good Uncle LQR, LWJ and WWX Are LSZ's Parents, Inappropriate Humor, Family Feels) If Wishes Were Donkeys, kinda. YZY gets caught between her hatred of WWX and knowing he's talented when LWJ comes to get him to bring him back to Gusu as a bride, forcing her to accept a single copper coin and handing over the rights to all of WWX's inventions and blowing her top when it comes to light WWX's inventions are actually incredible

~*~

10. Are there any fics that contain WWX resenting/hating on the Jiangs? Maybe he'd do revenge after he's out of LP or something similar with that would be ok

~*~

11. itmf fics where JC is raising baby JL as a single parent. modern au preferred, but any is good! he could have support from others or not, but im looking for fics where he does most of the day to day parenting

To lurk, to lie in wait by trippednfell (M, 124k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Huli Jing, strangers to co-parents to lovers, Strangers to Lovers, Dragons, Kid Fic, teenage juniors, background NieLan, Angst with a Happy Ending, Case Fic, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Not Really Character Death, Fox Spirit WWX, Dragon LWJ, Blood and Injury, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note)

~*~

12. For the next itmf, I’m looking for fics where wwx gets turned into child/baby @selkie-hi

found your writing on my wall by howodd5ever (T, 25k, WangXian, Accidental Baby Acquisition, De-aged WWX, in which jc and lwj have to learn to deal with each other, Post-Canon, Getting Together, Referenced Child Neglect, discussion of parental loss, child food insecurity, Case Fic, kind of, Nightmares)

no time for crying by Narci (T, 10k, WangXian, Wwx protection squad, Age Regression/De-Aging, Kid!WWX, kid!lsz, night hunt gone absolutely right, (lowkey golden core fix it), Fluff, Angst and Feels, Humor, Juniors)

grow by cafecliche (T, 14k, LSZ & WWX, LSZ & LWJ, WangXian, Age Regression/De-Aging, Character Study, Post-Canon, [Podfic] Grow by jellyfishfire)

❤️ in case of fire, break glass by Jenrose (T, 65k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Post-Canon, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, Genius Inventor WWX, No Women Die, Background XiYao, Second Chances, unless they're too evil to save, Canon-typical Temporary Major Character Death, First Time) this has some physical deaging via time travel

A Tiny, Untimely Mess by Hauntcats (T, 26k, WIP, WangXian, Child WWX, Canonical Character Death, Accidental Baby Acquisition) this is a WIP

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13. I've had a craving for a D&D AU for a while, but haven't come across any of them naturally so far. I don't mind it being them playing D&D, but preferably it would be a D&D styled fantasy AU. I just want silly Wangxian in Faerun tbh. @littlemintrose

🧡 Where’s Your Emergency? by trippednfell (M, 64k, WangXian, 911 Dispatcher WWX, Single dad LWJ, Kid fic, Modern AU, D&D Games, Angst with a happy ending) has WWX as a D&D player, and he creates characters based on himself and LWJ (and later creates his own fantasy D&D game)

~*~

14. Itmf wwx's motherly instincts towards his ducklings pls

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15. Hi! I love love LOVE fics where Lan Zhan gets badly hurt and Wei Ying gets all protective over him. Bonus if Wei Ying goes all angry/dangerous to those who hurt Lan Zhan. Basically any fic where Wei Ying is protecting Lan Zhan who is in a bad situation is welcome 😂 Do you have specific tags or posts like that? @acklesforlife

❤️ Rabbit Heart by Suaine (M, 57k, wangxian, yearning, family issues)

moonlight caught in mutton fat by Raitelzen (T, 45k, WangXian, Case Fic, Curses, Curse Breaking, Transformation, mild body horror, Hurt LWJ, Ghosts)

the field meets the wood by astronicht (T, 7k, WangXian, BAMF WWX, slight whump, Ritualistic Self Harm, Canon Era, Tang Dynasty style, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, salt economics, Post-Canon, [Podfic] the field meets the wood by semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona), [podfic] the field meets the wood by jellyfishfire)

~*~

16. hello! nothing in particular, just wangxian fics where lwj calls wwx his airen (i read it once in a fic and i am obssessed)

what price is duty, what cost is love by thunderwear (G, 18k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, WWX was never adopted by the Jiang Sect, War Prize, YLLZ WWX, Mutual Pining, First Kiss, First Time, Falling In Love, eventual dramatic confessions, Angst with a Happy Ending)

Stop (But please don't) by Silvers_Hidden_Corner (Silver_Flame_2724) (E, 1k, wangxian, Dubious Consent, Somnophilia, technically non-consensual somnophilia because they didn't discuss it beforehand, Bite Kink, Overstimulation, Size Kink, Strength Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Belly Bulge, Dirty Talk, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot)

~*~

17. Hello there! First of all Thank you for all the fic that all of you have recommended, it was very helpful and interesting. Please take care of yourselves well.

For the next ITMF, i would really appreciate if you could recommend me something that is truly heart-wrenching. I want fics that will destroy my feelings and heart.

Thank u so much! Have a great day.

When the Words Stop Coming by mrcformoso (T, 7k, wangxian, major character death, Canon Compliant, POV WWX, POV LWJ, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Pre-Sunshot Campaign, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Canonical Character Death, Love Confessions, Rejection, LWJ is a Panicked Gay, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Trauma, WWX confesses early on, But canon still happens, LWJ starts confessing after, but the tables have turned, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sad, LWJ rejects WWX, Then gets rejected by WWX after, "Get Lost") because I love breaking and mending hearts apparently

New Perspective series by mrcformoso (T, 35k, wangxian, LSZ & LWJ, WN & WWX, LSZ & WWX, LJY/LSZ, major character death, Angst, Hopeful Ending, Fatherhood, Regrets, Flashbacks, POV LWJ, LWJ-centric, Canonical Character Death, Pining LWJ, LWJ Has Feelings, LWJ Needs a Hug, Character Development, Dead WWX, LWJ deals with the death of his love, And learns to be a father along the way, Introspection, Feelings, LWJ is Bad at Feelings, Character Study, Regretful LWJ, Breaking Toxic Cycles, Canon Compliant, LWJ in Seclusion, Post-LWJ in Seclusion, Child LSZ, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence but only the ending, Because can we agree that The Untamed Ending was bull, LWJ regaining Wei Ying's Trust, Golden Core Reveal, Good LSZ; Snippets, Post-Time Skip, Love Confessions, Requited Love, Trust Issues, WWX Has a Fear of Dogs, WWX Has No Golden Core, Jealousy, Fierce Corpse WN, Protective LWJ, Post-Canon, WWX Has Chronic Pain, WWX Has Issues, WWX has Phantom Pain, WWX was Malnourished, Sad LWJ, POV WWX, WWX is always cold, migraines, Suicidal WWX, Suicidal Thoughts, Implied/Referenced Suicide, mirror therapy, Good Friend NHS, Crying, WWX's body is normal but he still feels as if it isnt, POV LSZ. Found Family, Toxic Elders, Growing Up, The Lan Juniors, LSZ's parents suffered, And so he starts a revolution, Bringing about change, LWJ Adopts LSZ, WWX is LSZ's Parent, LSZ is a polite menace, HGJ raised an army of Lan rebels and we're here for it, Good Uncle WN) can guarantee has made multiple people cry

to the act of making noise by words-writ-in-starlight (WordsWritInStarlight) (G, 19k, WangXian, Grief/Mourning, Father-Son Relationship, inquiry, Music, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, CQL Verse, [Podfic] to the act of making noise by Ceewelsh, flamingwell, kisahawklin, Rionaa) This one is totally heart-wrenching (and heart-mending), bring your tissues! Gotta especially recommend the podfic version, especially the one work music added. Absolutely shreds your tear ducts. The whole series is incredible tbh

Home Front by flamingwell (T, 1k, LSZ & WWX, Post-Canon, Angst, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Death, Qiongqi Path prison camp references, hence the referenced child abuse and death, Grief/Mourning, a lot of angst in a small package, War Crimes)

and the calm is deep where the quiet waters flow by izanyas (E, 308k, WIP, WangXian, A/B/O Dynamics, Rape Recovery, Unplanned Pregnancy, Discrimination, Slow Burn, the slowest burn imaginable, Violence/Gore, Child Abuse, Suicide, post-partum depression, a painful but gentle journey into the intricacies of bodily autonomy) one of the most heart-wrenching and disturbing fics I’ve ever read full stop. please mind the trigger warnings. it’s a/b/o but is very much a dark fic that takes it very seriously, to the point that i would hardly consider it an abo fic anymore 😭 incredible world building and deals with themes of sexual abuse, discrimination and all those lovely things </3 unfinished atm but the author has plans to continue

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

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kestalsblog · 5 months

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Thoughts on "Loser, Baby" Song

From what I’ve seen, viewers are extremely divided on the impact of the song “Loser, Baby” in the fourth episode of Hazbin Hotel. I’ve decided to share my own thoughts on the sequence below. Warning that this is a long post, and if you are triggered and upset by the song and/or episode, I encourage you not to read. I understand and respect any individual analysis, and if you were hurt by the song in any way, you are 100% valid. Others who feel differently are also valid. All I ask for is that same respect.

I don’t believe the only people qualified to speak on media are those who can relate to it, but I feel, given the conversation surrounding the episode, I should briefly mention my own background, so people don’t assume I am trying to speak on behalf of other survivors here. As a preface, I was in a severely abusive long-term relationship, so I can understand multiple perspectives here.

First, since Husk is a gambler, it’s safe to read the song as an extended metaphor for gambling too, in which case “loser” takes on the literal meaning– someone who has lost the game. Husk reminds Angel that many of us are dealt the shitty hand in life, and that the best way to get through the game is simply to go together. That’s probably the simplest positive analysis, but I think it's important to keep in mind throughout the whole song so that we don't read "loser" only as "failure" or "scum of society."

The most understandable criticism, though, is that the piece is blaming victims by attacking them and trivializing their experiences. I’m the most on the side of this argument at the words “whiny bitch,” which feel like an odd choice considering Husk has been nudging Angel to open up throughout the entire episode. It’s not my favorite line, but I can handle it only if we read the song as Husk actually singing to himself and calling himself these names as a means for Angel to see that he feels the same.

I do have some fondness for the song’s language as it continues, though. Excuse me for referencing my own personal experience here, but it’s relevant to my understanding.

Eventually in my healing journey, I realized writing and speaking affirmations to myself like “you’ll get better soon!” and “time heals everything!” were making me feel worse and frustrated. I felt like I was just waiting around for this magical deadline when I would “improve” or “recover,” and when that didn’t happen, I felt terrible about myself because I felt like a failure on top of damaged goods. I was letting myself down.

I reached a cathartic moment one day when I admitted to myself, “Maybe things are never going to get better, and I am always going to feel ruined by this.” Confessing this possibility allowed me to realize that, despite the fact that I am a “loser” in that I lost time, innocence, my old sense of security, and my carefree nature from before, I can still experience meaningful and even joyful moments in this new, altered condition.

At one point in the sequence, lots of flashing signs point terrible, degrading names at Husk and Angel. I can see why this might be upsetting to some viewers who are adamant that the characters do NOT represent those labels, but there is an obvious alternate reading that these are just the names both have assigned themselves over the years. By putting them bright and on display, they can face their self-hatred directly and reclaim their honest selves. (Let me pause here to say it's also crucial to remember Husk is not directly calling Angel any of these names). The solo lights then disappear and are replaced first with the soft blue raindrops moment where Husk shields Angel with the umbrella, and finally with the single LOSER where they both can dance together.

Most importantly, the lyrics gesture toward surprisingly affirmative by the song’s conclusion: “Eat shit together, things will turn out differently / It’s time to lose your self-loathing / Excuse yourself, let hope in, baby / Play your card, be who you are.”

Husk isn’t disregarding the possibility of hope, even in the gutter for the losers. In fact, he directly welcomes the possibility that the game can change with company, and self-hatred won’t be beneficial toward supporting that change. Even if we are dealt the losing hand, he reminds us the game is still worth playing. He reminds Angel again and again that it's okay to be who he is. And now "loser" assumes a new connotation - losing the negativity, the hatred, the things that are holding them back.

Significantly, after this point, no more self-negatives are even spoken, not even "loser" again because Husk and Angel are interrupted before the crucial word “me” when they sing that final line “loser just like—” Any connection to the self now has been effectively erased, reminding us that Angel and Husk may have made poor choices, may have been given crappy cards, but they are not losers in the sense that they are not less of people.

Last, it’s important to remember that the song is not meant to speak for everyone. It can't. If we’re going to be strict about it, it’s not for any survivors except Angel, and as we can see by his shifting mood, it certainly helps him feel better in the moment. The whole episode has been about Husk trying to encourage him to “break down his walls” and stop feigning the super inflated ego act he typically puts on, so, in one way, it becomes a “let’s get Angel past the self-loathing that’s preventing him from being his real self so we can move on to something more genuine and happier together" tactic.

I know it’s hard to separate our lived experiences from media. Judging from the disparity in opinions I’ve read from survivors on the song, I’d say it’s been therapeutic for just as many as it’s been damaging.

Before I conclude, it's worth mentioning I also have my own critiques of the song. I mentioned one with the word “whiny.” Another potential issue is the difference between Angel and Husk’s problems. I’m not trying to minimize gambling addictions by any means, but I know many of us feel that Husk’s loss of a cushy social position because of gambling pales against the extreme bodily violence Angel faces. I think it would be odd for Husk not to attempt to comfort Angel in some way, and trying to relate is one of the most common ways of doing so, but I admit that the discrepancy in their situations bugged me throughout the number. Husk reminds Angel he's "not unique" in his problems, which is important for survivors to remember (to know they are not alone), but it might mean a little more coming from someone on a similar playing field. The one redemptive thing I can say here though is that both characters sold their souls to someone with a tyrannical hold over them, and even though we know Alastor isn’t abusing Husk in the same way Val hurts Angel, we have yet to see the connotations of his power within that specific dynamic.

When push comes to shove, the song overall works for me, and I admit I felt seen while watching/listening, which isn't even something I really care about in media, but it was an interesting experience nonetheless. If you felt otherwise, I am sorry, and I encourage you to do your best to separate yourself from the media you consume and remember that every story, every song, is written by flawed people for flawed people. I mean it as fondly as possible, but we're all just losers "living in the same shit sandwich." Nothing will ever perfectly represent or encompass your own experience and healing. Analyze art respectfully for what it is, what it isn't, and what it can be.

What else can you do?

#hazbin hotel #loser baby #hazbin hotel loser baby #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel angel dust #media analysis #hazbin hotel spoilers #thoughts #sensitive topics #kestal #huskerdust

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thecraftyninjacat · 3 months

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shoutout to @princeasimdiya12 for their super cool matakara utena analysis, check it out i am chewing on it as i write this!!! i was honestly blindsided by how much the two had in common and it really made me think about why my interpretation was the way it was in the first place, so this ended up being…about a lot of other things, and a lot more complicated than my arajin utena post.

anyway, you wanna see me go fully off the rails? *slaps matakara = reverse anthy ramblings on the table*

(i would recommend reading my reverse utena arajin post first for slight context for this insanity. also some major utena spoilers below the cut, so be warned!!)

Now I can hear you asking: How is Matakara the reverse Anthy to Arajin's reverse Utena? How is Matakara an Anthy in the first place?? crafty how the fuck does this make sense to you this show is not that deep??? I can answer two of those questions!

First we gotta bring up princesses again. Princesses do not have a tangible equivalent like how honki people = princes, but they don't have to have one. After all, princesses plays a vital role in the Aladdin allusion. And yes by the logic of Utena all girls are princesses, but Matakara is specifically the princess to Arajin's 'prince', which from an meta perspective is what makes him special. But he's not the only princess. Let's talk Arajin and Mahoro!

(there was a tangent here about how the show defines strength, but it was kind of off topic so I cut it. TLDR, uhhh despite some evidence stating otherwise strength in bucchigiri exists separately from gender, something something girls can be honki people men can be princesses etc.)

In RGU, the student council members and Utena see worth in claiming Anthy because to them the Rose Bride is a symbol of something they wish to attain. Their wishes stem from events from their past, and since they all refuse to grow past these events they remain stagnant characters, trapped within the academy.

Guess who also remains stagnant because he refuses to mature past his wish!

(what i'm getting from this is that a reverse anthy is a lot like an utena lol)

Let's focus on Arajin for a second. Arajin, as the reverse Utena, abandoned the honki person dream as soon as he realised he couldn't save Matakara. Mahoro is a symbol of the ordinary life as a teenage boy he wants to have, and Matakara symbolises the fairytale he doesn't feel worthy of and wants to leave behind. Mahoro is like Anthy (and Matakara) kind of in the way that Nanami is like Anthy. Essence of Anthy. Rose Bride Lite. Which makes Matakara more of an Anthy imo.

(I think there's something to be said about compulsory heterosexuality if you consider how Mahoro being a girl makes her a conventional princess for Arajin to chase, while Matakara may be everything Arajin wants, but his gender and closeness to the fairytale Arajin is trying to escape bars him from being an option. Also interesting how no matter how Arajin tries to distract himself with Mahoro, everything he wants Mahoro to be eventually circles back to Matakara.)

(something could also be said about the mahoro/matakara and nanami/anthy parallels, but i Do Not have the brainpower to unpack that atm lmao)

Anyway, Arajin is just so, stupidly determined to achieve his dream, which I think makes him a lot more Utena-like. Matakara...not so much? Before Arajin comes back into his life, it's the community of Minato Kai that gives him the stability he needs to largely ignore his monster, so he kind of puts his dream on the back burner.

He was doing fine...then Arajin fell back into his life and he got reminded of the promise he left behind.

So, Matakara is a princess! He's literally the princess of the fairytale allusion and he's someone who wants to be saved from a monster (the nebulous driving force for princes to save girls and turn them into princesses). In Anthy's case, the monster Utena wanted to save her from was the burden of humanity's hatred. Matakara's monster is a product of his own inner darkness.

It’s established that while Matakara may have a strong will, he’s too weak-hearted to become a honki person on his own. In fact, his weak heart is exactly what makes him a princess. But even then he doesn't fully fit into the mould. Princesses are supposed to be pure and passive, and Matakara is neither (at least not completely). His darkness may manifest as a monster, but before his recruitment into Minato Kai he goes to pretty morally dubious lengths in his attempts to become ‘strong’. Furthermore, not only is he rejected by his prince, it's revealed to him that his prince never existed. Arajin was a liar, and he was never going to save him. And so Ichiya uses that against him. He acts as Matakara’s saviour and threatens him with the idea of the monster to get him to kill the 'false' prince.

As powerful as she is, years of trauma have made it impossible for Anthy to break from the cycle of abuse on her own. Isolated from all support, Matakara is not in a mental state where he can break free of his monster either. Ichiya and Akio have free reign to manipulate Matakara and Anthy into becoming vessels for their revolution because at this point in the plot, they're all they have left. The twisted visions of the once-noble prince and honki person.

In Utena terms, Matakara is a princess who wants to defeat his own monster by becoming a prince. Anthy is a princess who doesn't think she should be saved at all. Matakara is someone who fights tooth and nail to be free from his demons at all costs, while Anthy simply allows hers to consume her out of guilt and love for the monster she used to know. Both need help from someone who understands them.

But killing the fake prince won't turn Matakara into a prince himself. What was that saying about girls who can’t be saved by a prince? What's left for you if you're not strong enough to be a prince and not pure enough to be a princess?

Anthy could tell you.

Matakara from Episode 1-7 reminds me of the version of Anthy from Adolescene of Utena. Dios and Akio can no longer directly influence Anthy, so she gets to be far more strong-willed and assertive. However, she’s still ultimately trapped within mental barriers she’s set for herself, hence why she still wants Utena to become her prince (like how Matakara still wants to become a honki person with Arajin). If you interpret Adolescence as a sequel to the original series like I do, then you can picture Matakara's descent from Adolescence Anthy to RGU Anthy due to Ichiya and Akutaro's manipulations as the reverse of Anthy’s character progression.

so...matakara is basically a reverse anthy.

Incredibly jaded Anthy neck-deep in manipulative abuse from a higher power gradually warms up to Utena because of her genuine kindness and inner strength. Incredibly naive Matakara is manipulated by a higher power into losing faith in Arajin through the revelation that his strength and bravery were an illusion. Through their abuse and suffering both characters attain power that stored/drawn from their chest/heart from someone emotionally manipulating the absolute shit out of them to serve their own selfish goals. Almost the whole cast victimises Anthy and considers her lower than them, while Utena alone treats her like an equal. Matakara alone believes he’s inferior to Arajin and strives to be on even ground to him, while Arajin pushes Matakara away because he believes he’s not good enough for Matakara. Anthy gives Utena a respectful title that she gives to all of her grooms, only to call Utena by her name without any honorifics once she’s freed herself from the Rose Bride system. Everyone who wants to get close to Arajin gives him a nickname, but Matakara’s is particularly childish and personal. Anthy's older brother is a manipulative monster, and Anthy’s ultimate revolution is her emancipation from him and the system he perpetuates. Matakara's older brother is so ideologically good it ultimately becomes his downfall, and his injury becomes the catalyst for Matakara’s descent into despair. Anthy constantly changes how she acts depending on who she needs to manipulate into the duels. Matakara is the only main character who always presents himself with utmost sincerity. They’re both full of love at their core, but their circumstances fill them with hatred and hopelessness. Their first reintroductions to Utena and Arajin are them being observed through a window. They both suck at cooking. i have to post this before the next episode proves me wrong-

#bucchigiri?!#matakara asamine #anthy himemiya #revolutionary girl utena #reading way too far into stories through an utena-ist lens can be something so personal #i need utena anthy matakara and arajin all in a room together. see who kills who first #crafty speaks

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citrus-cactus · 2 months

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There are NOT!!!!! enough posts on this webbed site talking about Antiope and Alesand. FRIENDSHIP OF THE MILLENNIUM, I am LIVING!!!!!!!!

Dark Ages issues 5 and 6 highlights (plus some very narrowly-focused musings and speculation) under the cut.

I did NOT expect two new characters (who are really only fleshed out in the last three issues) to be my favorite part of this miniseries, but here we are. This series scratched a very specific itch I’ve always had about Gargoyles regarding the “on-screen” relationships between female characters, and between these two kiddos and Sacrifice’s mentorship of Desdemona, we FINALLY made some headway into where I always wanted to be!

First of all, SHE GOT TO FLY FOR REAL!!! Congrats, Alesand, you did it. You’re living 10yo Citrus’s ultimate fantasy and I’m SO INCREDIBLY HAPPY FOR YOU! Out there living the 10th century dream, fr fr 💛💛💛

Antiope’s FACE!! Sorry, Brooklyn and Broadway, but you aren’t getting any credit apparently, bahahaha XD

Antiope always being the one to tell Alesand how to be careful in the cave (around a bunch of stuff Alesand doesn’t understand) and just generally looking out for her safety and well-being, with Alesand trusting and heeding her friend’s warnings without question 🥺 Plus, the way she tries to shield Alesand from the dragon’s view for just an instant longer with her wings to give Alesand as much of a head start as she can is such a fantastic detail 🥺🥺🥺

The way that both Brooklyn and Antiope remain (relatively) calm under pressure and are the ones to have the most common sense when trying to reason with Wyvern, plus them being the ones who shape the quintet’s exit strategy from the cave 🥺

“I swear I’ll let no harm come to, friend Alesand!” GIRL!!!!!!!!! 🥺💖😭💯

ANTIOPE IS QUICKEST TO SPEAK AND COVER THEIR TRACKS WHILE SPECIFICALLY LOOKING AT HER FRIEND, PLUS THAT LOOK IN THE LAST TWO PANELS, I’M!!!!!!!

The last speaking lines they have, second to last panel of the miniseries. I love Alesand’s exhuberance, it’s clearly not something that Antiope is used to. Their relationship dynamic is gold, A+ no notes.

~~~

Ok, so Watsonian speculation time! I know it’s foolish to hold out hope that the friendship between these two will last, as-is, until 994 (or beyond… hey, I can dream, can’t I?!?!!). Even if they were the same biological age at the time of the miniseries, this is just a snapshot in time for them, since they age at different rates (absolutely heartbreaking information that I’ve been keeping in the back of my brain this whole time, thanks I hate it). Even more heartbreaking is that we know what Robert will do, how disillusioned he is with the inhabitants of the castle by 994, and of the cracks and fissures in the human-human relationships and human-gargoyle alliance that began forming long before the day of the massacre. I have to think that Alesand’s death at some point before Episode 1 would be a huge catalyst, if not the primary motivation, for Robert’s betrayal of the castle, under the right circumstances. Assuming that is what happens, I would predict that the gargoyles do what they can to help/save her, which is why he really digs in to the “humans are not my kind” sentiment, but my latest hypothesis is that the sympathy(/lack thereof) he receives from either Prince Malcolm or Catherine/the Magus is such that the man he once was, the man who was so unwaveringly loyal to the crown, dies at the same time she does.

It’s even possible that the Archmage is directly/indirectly responsible for her death, and part of the reason he’s banished. Maybe Robbie wanted to execute him for his crimes, but Prince Malcolm refused? I don’t want that story to be told because I would be emotionally wrecked if true, but it also seems incredibly possible… not to mention a potential path for the villagers to arrive at the point where they call the gargoyles beasts and monsters to their faces. What better reason for open hatred, fear, and bigotry than the death of one of your own? :(

That, or Alesand and Antiope really do disappear to join the theater troupe Illuminati, and everyone just thinks they died. I would prefer that by a mile, but I won’t explicitly count on it (surprise me, Greg. Let them survive somehow, I double-dog dare you) ;)

~~~

A couple more wrap-up thoughts:

- I’m absolutely gobsmacked that Lex knows how to read already. Whom did he learn from?? I had previously assumed Demona was going to be the literacy vector for everyone in the clan who was interested in learning (since, iirc, word-of-God stated she taught Goliath) but clearly that’s not true! I still love that Alesand is going to learn from Lex, though. Did Brooklyn learn from him as well? 🤔

- I am absolutely not normal about widower Hudson. The last two-page spread stabbed me right in the heart.

- I feel like there’s a lot more to say about Verity, since her attitude was so very, very different from the stated origins of her clan, and none of the other gargoyles really even acknowledged Wyvern’s opinion of humans as they fended him off. Is “human problems become gargoyle problems” a philosophy that the clan had adopted decades before the alliance with Prince Malcolm that Verity was merely reminding Hudson of in Issue 1, or was it a belief that was primarily only held by herself, which became part of Hudson’s guiding principles as he was forced to carry on without her, and thus he made a conscious effort to make it part of the clan’s common culture only recently? What did “protecting the castle” mean to Hudson before there was an actual castle to protect? Their home along the cliffs? Wyvern’s cave? The rookery? Did he literally make up the saying “a gargoyle can no more stop protecting the castle than breathing the air” as the castle was being built? There are SO many little Wyvern-gargoyle-culture questions to chew on here. 🤔🤔🤔

- Looking back at the TV series, I find it interesting that Demona places such a significant amount of blame on Goliath’s leadership/philosophy specifically, when their clan throwing their lot in with humans was a decision made by Hudson during his leadership tenure. You’d think she’d have way, way more to say to him about that in hindsight… but maybe it’s yet another example of how incredibly short-sighted she can be.

#gargoyles #gargoyles dark ages #disney’s gargoyles #all this to say:#THANK YOU DARK AGES #I REALLY REALLY ENJOYED THESE COMICS #FIELDS WATERED CROPS THRIVING #the cactus speaks

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brandstifter-sys · 9 days

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A Misunderstanding

Word Count: 2741 (Ao3)

Rating: T+

Characters: Remus, Roman, Virgil

Relationships: Dukexiety, Creativitwins, platonic prinxiety

Warnings: Intrusive thoughts, mild gore, innuendo, panic attacks, remus angst

Remus is convinced that Virgil hates him. Roman is tired of hearing about it, and gets to the bottom of things. And Virgil, well he's been desperate to keep a secret for a while, but he might be willing to share a little...

(Inspired by this post before it flew off the rails)

---

Anxiety. That was Virgil’s specialty, whether he was feeling it or causing it in others. So naturally it made sense that Remus would feel anxious about Virgil at least sometimes.

Roman, however, could not afford to handle Remus' personal woes while he was trying to work. The flood of all the horrible ways Virgil could kill him or abandon him was far too much for one prince.

“Stop lurking and tell me what you expect me to do about this—I can only listen to your rambling for so long!” he huffed and set his quill in the inkwell on his desk. He then spun to face his bed with the taste of strawberries ghosting over his taste buds.

“I don't know!” Remus whined and appeared, flopping on the royal sheets, “I'm not trying to think about how he hates me! If I were, you know I'd be thinking about his ass too!”

“He does have an impressive posterior,” Roman mused before shaking off any of his own lewd imaginings. If Remus could project his thoughts, there was a chance Roman could too.

“Exactly! Which is how you know l’m not trying to think this stuff!” Remus groaned and rolled on his back.

“Why are you thinking these things? Surely there's some root cause,” Roman sighed.

“Probably because I scared him really bad a couple years ago. I didn't think it was scary, I just thought it was funny to see how grossed out my fun ideas made everyone.”

“You were obnoxious back then—I still have nightmares about the talent leeches crawling in my ears!”

“I'm still obnoxious!” Remus laughed and sat up, “I wish that was the reason he hates me instead!”

Roman blinked owlishly at him. As the romantic side, he could always tell when someone had strong feelings for someone. He could practically taste the palpable energies in the air. Virgil’s hatred was akin to old gas station coffee, and he used to think he was the one who made that taste the strongest, at least until he saw Virgil interacting with Janus. Not even once did he get that taste when Virgil interacted with Remus.

“You think he hates you?”

“Duh! You didn't see his face when I shared my brilliant idea!” Remus pouted.

“What was the idea?”

“Basically me getting wrapped up in a spider web and then getting sliced into cute little duke chops when the webs got too tight. Oh! And then a giant spider ate me! It was so ridiculously cartoonish, I figured it wouldn't be too bad! There wasn't even any blood!”

“And you think that—out of all of the horrors you've shared—that is what he hates you for?”

“Well I don't share them willingly anymore, so yes, and I don't make it any better! I try to keep it in and it doesn't work!”

“You actually try to keep those thoughts to yourself?” Roman scoffed incredulously and rose from his chair. His script would have to wait, and soon, so would Remus.

“You might not believe it because I share with you all the time, but you can poke around in here whenever you want, so I have no problem putting it out there!” Remus retorted and sat up.

“Then let me poke around before my appointment shows up,” Roman said and sat next to him.

“You might not like what you find!” Remus teased but let Roman grab his hand. They immediately fell into a trance.

Sifting through his brother's cluttered mind was often a challenge for Roman, but the memory he wanted was at the top of Remus' mind. Once he found it, he could see everything.

He found himself looking through Remus' eyes in the common area. He was hiding behind the couch, waiting to strike. Roman could taste Red Bull Blue Edition in the air. He knew that taste was Virgil's platonic appreciation. So he was nearby.

Remus screeched and jumped from his hiding spot, startling Virgil so badly that he leapt back into the wall.

“Dude what the fuck?!” Virgil yelped, his voice distorted by the memory.

“Check this out!” Remus laughed and projected his intrusive thoughts onto Virgil. Roman opted to avoid that part of the memory. The description was more than enough.

Remus was cackling like a hyena as he released some of his stress. Roman could see the horror taking over Virgil’s face, the blanched skin, the wide eyes, the obvious jump in his heart rate showing in his neck.

But the taste that he got was far from Red Bull Blue Edition or old gas station coffee. Roman swore it was Monster energy drink. And it became stronger as Remus' laughter died down.

Remus couldn't taste it, all he could see was the horror etched onto Virgil’s face. This poor idiot had no idea.

Roman came out of his trance and let go of his brother’s hand. Remus looked miserable, slouching and more tired than a moment before.

“I have to go,” Remus sighed, “I have to feed Winnie, Sarah, and Mary.” Roman said nothing as he sank out. If he needed some time alone, Roman could respect that.

Plus he was going to ask Remus if leave. He was expecting company.

And who should show up at that exact moment?

Roman could taste Red Bull Blue Edition before there was a knock on his door. That was Virgil, of course. He skipped over to let his guest in for their movie night.

“Ah, Virgil, come in!” he said as he opened the door. Virgil was just standing there with his hands in his hoodie pockets.

“Is it just you in there?” Virgil asked and stared through Roman, daring him to lie.

“Yes, Remus just left.”

Virgil tensed but followed Roman inside, sitting on his bed. He was uncomfortable, more so than usual, as he watched Roman set up the TV.

“How can you stand having him in your room?” Virgil finally asked, with as much bitterness as he could muster. Roman swore he tasted Monster.

“He barges in so often I got used to it. As long as he doesn't make a mess it's manageable,” he shrugged, “It's just what brothers do.”

“But what if he does that thing with your thoughts?” Virgil persisted. Roman glanced over his shoulder and studied Virgil. The man was chewing his thumbnail and curled into himself. Perhaps it was a slip of the tongue, since he and Remus kept their connection a secret.

“Well, if it's on purpose, we fight. A proper duel. He can't always help himself from projecting his thoughts onto others.”

Virgil stared at him for a moment, processing his words. Roman finished setting up, oblivious to his confusion. Only when he sat beside his guest did he see that they weren't on the same page.

“No I meant when he reads your mind and forces you to confront it,” Virgil muttered shyly as the opening credits to Alice in Wonderland played.

“Remus can't read minds, Virgil. He can't literally get into your head and mess around.”

Virgil shifted uncomfortably and stared at the screen. Roman knew he was thinking hard about something, something about Remus.

Roman knew better than to interrupt Virgil’s musings, at least not when he was calm. And he had to watch his movie!

It was just after Alice got away from the caterpillar that either one spoke.

“Do you hate him?” Roman asked Virgil, pulling him from his trance.

“What?”

“Do you hate Remus?” he repeated, already aware that Virgil didn't.

“No? You know what my hate looks like.”

“Then you avoid him because you think he can read your mind?”

“Exactly. He did it before and I don't want him to do it again.”

“Virgil, he cannot read your mind. Remus has no idea what you're thinking. In fact, he is convinced that you hate him.”

“But I don't. I don't hate Remus,” Virgil huffed and curled into himself.

Roman could taste a hint of Monster in the air. He could see the faint blush under that white foundation. And then it clicked like a dislocated bone getting reset.

“Then tell him that. I can tell when someone is in love or loathing and he doesn't believe me!” Roman groaned and flopped on his back.

EEP

Roman let out a manly squeal and Virgil yanked him up by the shirt collar.

“What did you tell him?!” Virgil barked, his eye shadow turning as black as pitch and his eyes blazing with rage.

“That you don't hate him!” Roman retorted and pushed him away, “I know what your hate tastes like and I know you don't hate him! What more is there to tell?”

Virgil let go of his shirt and blanched.

“You like him,” Roman muttered, “Don't you?”

Virgil stayed silent and unnervingly still.

“I swear on my beloved sword that I won't tell anyone, and I won't tell anyone if you decide to clarify.”

“I—uh—” Virgil hesitated and squirmed towards the edge of the bed, ready to make a quick escape.

“You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to,” Roman added.

“I like him, a lot. And that's terrifying.”

“It is. But it can be exhilarating if you give it a chance,” Roman agreed, “As long as you don't let that fear control you.”

Virgil visibly relaxed and shook his head.

“So he can't read my mind, and he thinks I hate him. Fuck, I have to be the one to fix it.”

“Should I pause the movie and we finish it next week?” Roman suggested, all too aware that this would eat away at Virgil for a while.

“Yeah. I'll talk to him soon, after I—” his spine went rigid and his irises flashed violet, “—shit.”

Roman watched him vanish in a puff of wispy black smoke. Someone was having a rather anxious time and Roman would not get in the way of Anxiety stepping in before it got bad.

---

Remus kept his room clean and orderly because he couldn't do the same with his head. But as he lay on his bed, Remus couldn't stop the chaos from leaking out.

The misty figures flitting in and out of sight were agony incarnate. Dozens of his own corpses littered the floor and reanimated themselves to play back their gruesome deaths over and over. And then causes were all the same, even if the methods weren't—different versions of Virgil, pissed off and sickeningly satisfied with the bloodshed.

Remus curled into a fetal position and squeezed his eyes shut. He could still see everything that was happening. He couldn't escape.

Why did Roman have to look at that memory? It was like pulling a cork on a sinking boat, and Remus was drowning.

Virgil hated him. It was all his own fault! He had to live with that while his heart yearned for that edgy snack. Was he so vile and fucked up that the universe wanted him to suffer? Wasn't it enough that he lost his best friend? Why did his chaotic ass have to catch feelings for the one person who despised him?

If Virgil knew, there was no doubt in Remus' mind, that he would torture Remus and kill him, without any of the fun stuff.

Remus trembled as the visions and thoughts got louder, clearer. He was gasping for breath, praying for his heart to slow enough for him to sleep through these waking night terrors.

“This doesn't look like the BDSM you're into.”

Remus' eyes shot open. That voice couldn't be real but he knew it wasn't imaginary.

Virgil, the real Virgil, was approaching him, walking through the mist and clearing it like some sort of fallen angel.

Remus swore he hadn't been crying before Virgil arrived and yet his cheeks were wet. Did he accidentally summon him with his own anxiety?

“Hey,” Virgil said and knelt by him, “You're okay, you're safe.” Remus sniffled as Virgil thumbed away his tears.

“You don't have to stay,” he muttered and closed his eyes. Virgil could leave and bleach his mind to forget everything he saw. And he wouldn't have any excuse to enjoy Remus' suffering with that escape.

“I want to,” Virgil said softly, “Let's get you calmed down, alright?”

Remus dared look at him, expecting all the smugness in the world to be plastered on that face. He was surprised to see the apologetic half-smile and worried brow framing those tired, sad eyes.

“Just breathe with me, follow my lead.*

Remus followed Virgil's steady rhythm. In and out, like the tides. His visions faded, even if they didn't disappear. The screams and agonized wails quieted, though they weren't snuffed out.

“That's it, you're doing good,” Virgil hummed and placed a hand on the duke’s side.

“Why—Why are you being so nice to me?” Remus hiccuped.

“Because you're having a panic attack,” Virgil said softly, “And I'm tired of running.”

“What?”

“I’m tired of running. And Roman told me something that made it easier to stop.”’

“What did he tell you? That I'm pathetic enough to beat down without poisoning you?” Remus sighed. He was too exhausted to bring back his bubbly attitude. He was doing his best to keep from getting gruesome, if only so he wouldn't fall back into panic.

“No, he might be that mean to your face, but he's not that cruel,” Virgil sighed and gently rubbed Remus' side.

“He told me you can't read minds.”

“You thought I could read minds?” Remus gawked, “What gave you that idea?”

Virgil took a deep breath and swallowed his fears. Remus deserves to know the truth, or at least part of it.

“Do you remember a few years ago, when you jumped out and tried to scare me? I thought you got in my head and pulled out one of my darker thoughts,” Virgil admitted shyly, “I was surprised when you started laughing at the sight of your fileted body. I was scared that you could invade my mind.”

Remus sat up and stared at Virgil.

“You don't hate me?” he gawked.

Virgil shook his head and sat next to him. Remus' heart thundered in his chest. Virgil never got this close before, and Remus couldn't be sure if this reaction was based off his feelings or the simple fact that Virgil was anxiety.

“Believe it or not, I can't hate you. You're the only person I know who isn't scared of my thoughts. You might be annoying sometimes and I get frustrated but I don't hate you.”

“Does that mean you like me?” Remus asked and leaned on his shoulder.

“It doesn't mean that, but I like you,” Virgil admitted and wrapped an arm around him, “You’re exhausted.”

“Mhm,” Remus nodded and closed his eyes, “Panicking makes me tired. How do you do it?”

“I’m always tired,” he shrugged, “If you need to sleep I won't stop you.”

“Can you stay with me? If I have a really bad dream I might drag you back anyway,” Remus muttered, already fading.

Virgil smiled to himself and coaxed Remus to lie down again. He relaxed beside the tired menace and ran a hand through his skunky hair.

“I'll be right here, Reek.”

Remus giggled and hugged him, nuzzling his chest. This imp knew just how to keep him on edge! But this time, Virgil didn't mind.

“I’m snuggling a Scare Bear!” he cooed, half aware of what he was saying, “You’re warm and comfy when you're not trying to kill me for crushing.”

Virgil knew his eye shadow was sparkling purple even if he couldn't see it. Remus certainly couldn't, not when he was drifting off so peacefully.

Virgil was almost sad Remus couldn't read his mind, at least in that moment. He had so many things jumbled in his head that he couldn't put into words. He was too elated to think, too overwhelmed to leave and scream into a pillow like some lovesick teenager.

So instead, Virgil pressed his lips to Remus' forehead and pulled him closer. He could tell Remus the whole truth when they woke up.

Not long after the pair fell asleep in each other's arms, Roman decided to check in on his brother.

He rose up and instantly gagged at the horrible flavor assaulting him. Cocktail sauce and Monster. The poor prince got one look at the sleeping gremlins and sank out.

There wasn't enough mouthwash in the world to cleanse his pallet!

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #dukexiety #creativitwins #platonic prinxiety #intrusive thoughts tw #gore mention tw #remus angst #panic attack tw #sex mention tw #sandyscribed

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prodigal-explorer · 11 months

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i feel like i'm seeing a lot of this in the sanders sides fandom lately, so i just want to let everyone know:

there is nothing wrong with being a patton hater.

absolutely nothing. you don't need a reason. you don't need to say "oh it's a trauma thing" for your hatred of him to be valid. you're not a bad person. you're not allergic to fun. you don't "just need to understand his character better". you're not any less of a fander if you hate patton. you're just a person with an opinion.

as a patton hater myself, i've seen so many people treat fics where patton is the antagonist, or posts that critique patton's actions, or just any content that doesn't treat patton like some noble sweetheart like they're wrong, or bad, or even sinful. but this is a fandom. you're allowed to create whatever content you want and that doesn't make you a bad person.

now, you do need to tag appropriately and avoid hating on patton around people who really don't like hearing patton hate. like don't hate on him in places where you know it'll make people upset. that's just not constructive.

also, critiquing is not the same as hating?? so me critiquing patton doesn't make me a patton hater? i am a patton hater, but not because i critique him. does that make any sense at all? anyway moving on...

it's okay to be like "i don't like patton", or "i hate patton", or "my god this fucking four-eyed, hypocritical, gets-away-with-everything, manipulative, guilt-trippy son of a bitch is making me go feral and i'm gonna write a 500k word fanfiction about him being an asshole because looking at him makes me mad". THAT IS ALL OKAY, and it's perfectly valid to feel/do all of these things.

i feel like so many patton fans just take their love for patton too far, and try and police people who have different opinions from them, and i see it with patton way more than any of the others because of the nature of patton's character. since he's the "good" one, a lot of people like to frame the narrative like "if you don't like patton, the good one, then you're not good yourself". which is just so fucking stupid.

anyway i hate patton!! and that's okay! and if any patton lovers come on here like "um actually it's really offensive to people who like patton-" shut up. my opinions and the way i engage with fandom does not affect you in any way. i try to put down adequate warnings to the best of my ability, so if you keep reading, that's on you, bud. not me.

may the spirit of life and love light your path, and may you be met with whatever you deserve. :D

#ez's rambles #ez's opinions #sanders sides #tss #thomas sanders #patton sanders #patton sanders hate #unsympathetic patton #sanders sides fandom #sanders sides critical #sanders sides fandom critical

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crisiscutie · 9 months

Note

Recent comments on your blog makes me want to request a scenario where Sephiroth learned that darling is an adoptee and also has parental problem, if that's okay with you?

The request is a bit too close to home since I'm also an adopted child, and I used to hate the world just as Sephiroth do (probably still do now, but I somehow slowly manage to outgrow that feeling the older I get). My biological mum didn't want me, I never knew my biological dad. My adoptive parents aren't the best at parenting as I grew up with many physical punishment, and gaslighted into thinking everything is my fault. My childhood were riddled with racism and sexism. SA'd when I was in elementary school. Fear and hatred were the only thing I knew. I have no one to talk to or lean to, and my only escapism was drawing and video games. I remember wishing I could turn into a werewolf and just ripped apart everyone. Silly young me under the influenced of games has too much imagination. But sadly (or luckily), I don't have that kind of power, nor Sephiroth's power, so the world is safe. LoL.

Sephiroth is so relatable for me in many ways, I guess that's part of why I got attached to him and able to see his side of perspective.

Thank you for the request, anon.

You are valid and so is your relatability to Sephy. I understand some people may find it ridiculous to relate to someone "perfect" like Sephiroth, but he is far more human than they realize. Pre AND Post-Nibelheim. But when you spend years being exposed to him as a stock character with only small glimpses of his inner self revealed, this is inevitable.

I appreciate how the EC writers are highlighting his humanity, both the positive and negative aspects, and I think this will help some folks see Sephy is just as complex and multi-dimensional as the other members of the FF7 main cast. He's the Crisis Cutie for a reason! If you are interested, I also written a prompt with Fluffy Sephiroth supporting a darling with anxiety here!

Onwards to the prompt! (Wrote it in bullet points)

Content Warning: Mentions of Abuse and Trauma.

After finishing the mission debrief with Sephiroth and Lazard, you opened up about your background to Sephiroth.

You had a sudden flashback about your upbringing during the debrief.

Sephiroth had noticed a change in your mood during the debrief and decided to stay back to talk to you.

You tried to mask your sadness, but Sephiroth is no fool. To him, you wear your heart on your sleeve.

Upon hearing about your upbringing, he was taken aback to discover that it was difficult, despite assuming the opposite initially.

He may not be the best at finding the right words to comfort you, but he's willing to be there for you when you need a shoulder to cry on or lend a listening ear.

He has always deeply resonated with you, but your story has subconsciously caused him to experience vicarious trauma.

Mainly because of the similarities he found with your story: he too, had faced a difficult childhood filled with lies and abuse.

However, it also infuriated him you, his precious darling, were subjected to such cruel treatment.

After being there for you, he needed some time alone to reflect on what he learned about you and his own emotions.

You almost regretted telling him your history when you noticed he became slightly distant a few days later.

Upon telling him, he swiftly apologizes and reassures you what you've told him doesn't change his view of you. In fact, it deepened his bond with you.

He was on the verge of sharing his own struggles, especially his longing to discover his true parents, in particular, his mother.

But the words were stuck in his throat. He wasn't ready to share them just yet. Part of him thought it might be meaningless, anyway.

He would be worried about what you thought of it, and he wouldn't want to trigger any unpleasant memories for you.

As you resonated with him as well, you sensed his inner turmoil. You reassured him he could take his time to express his feelings.

You've barely scratched the surface of telling him your difficult upbringing yourself. It's clear that it's hard for both of you to share more.

But you and Sephiroth are there for each other. Your strong bond gave you both the time and space needed to heal and open up to each other.

Hitting a major development checkpoint in your relationship doesn't mean that the journey is over; there is still much comfort and trust to be built between you and him.

But if you stay patient and supportive, then Sephiroth will return that tenfold. The unbreakable bond you share with him will give you two the strength to face the world together. 💜

Remember, the Crisis Cutie loves you~!

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jordyn-degas · 2 years

Text

Characters: Portgas D. Ace x fem! reader

Warnings: 1. most important - !spoilers! fic based on the events of Marineford - if you have not watched/read that part, I'd recommend you skip over this fic. 2. angst; bit of fluff to help; emotions from top to bottom; under the cut is literally me trying to process the events

Author’s note: NEVER planned on actually posting this but @uchihabbynic truly loved it. it gave me the confidence boost i needed to not throw it somewhere into the void - thank you once again for being such a supportive bestie 💕 especially since this is my first time writing for One Piece. Closed my eyes and pressed “Post.”

Amber ashes were swiftly, quietly, carried by the wind of a change that was yet to come in the mere few minutes left of a world that feared itself, of a world through which the harsh reality drew a line, separating two very distinct entities clashing against each other since the dawn of time. Drought, bearing the semblance of a Summer too long to bear through without the sea, ravaged mercilessly past your strained vocal chords, grasping the sensitivity of a throat that has not known water since the beginning of an unexpected end has graced a land where life and death are judged, decided and ordered around as mere tokens of a ruthless powerhouse – Marineford.

Chanting, screaming, cheering and threats were all that your being could comprehend at the moment, unable to sense the pungent smell of gunpowder, unable to feel the viciousness of the world grasping what was left of your battered skin, unable to see what was happening into the epicenter of what was going to change every single life that dared to breathe in the blood coated air of the Marine Headquarters. A wall of fire circled around you, serving as a protector in the face of a brewing fight that had suddenly been cut off, its blazing heat being all too familiar, all too soothing, pinching your senses with nothing but the calm feeling of home. Blood coated teeth peeked from under a pair of lips that curved upwards into a fond smile, slowly melting into a quiet laugh, right palm raised to ghost over the flaming wall in front of you before fingers returned to brush softly over the letters carefully etched under the left collarbone. A sign of the times that went with ease while into the grasp of the man you so feverishly loved, a sign of the times that were yet to come into the arms of the person you called home.

“Alright!” laughter slipped past chapped lips, arms stretching out as their bones cracked softly. “This is enough already! Let me out so I can break some legs!”

Words falling on deaf ears – crushing voice powering through the wall of fire, ruthless and unwavering in its mission to tear through the thick skins you all have built along the years, aiming to diminish and destroy the victory you all have recently acquired. Foul words, disgraceful behavior of a tongue laced with nothing but pure hatred punched through the cracks to unveil a rage that had settled inside of your heart.

“Akainu ..” whisper of a name that slashed across your tongue bloomed inside the fiery confinement.

“Ace!” Luffy’s voice tore through the flames, battling between concern and warning, heartbeats picking up in their pace recognizing the tonality in an instant.

“Let me out. This is not funny.” your voice called steadily, one step being taken further as if trying to approach whatever was going on outside.

“Don’t give in to his taunting!” another voice thundered, eyes blooming with horror — sensing, knowing, ears picking up faintly on a harsh turn of a pair of heels that suddenly were a stranger.

“Jimbei ..” you swallowed harder than ever, gathering all the power that was left under the skin of a fight you could no longer carry. “LET ME OUT! ACE LET ME OUT! PLEASE, PLEASE LET ME OUT!”

Indistinguishable shouting melted into the constant gunfire grazing the battlefield, screams of encouragement and pain lacing the sky above the flames. Skin began crawling with unleveled anxiety, foot slamming against the tiles, teeth pushing into the lower lip with such force another split carved the blood’s way out. Ragged breath crashed viciously on its way out of lungs that seemed to shrink with every passing second, quiet growls stumbling past teeth that felt as if belonging to another. For a woman that has never begged for a single thing since being old enough to sail on the unknown sea, it was now happening with a desperate need, wishing to have the ability to slip past the blazing fire without as much as a scratch.

“Fuck this!” rage bounced back off the wall, frown dipping into a threatening stance, teeth clashing against each other as the courage bubbled up to the surface. “I AM COMING OUT EVEN IF IT MEANS I’LL MELT TO DEATH!”

As if on a cue signaled by the highest of Gods overseeing a ruptured desperation, the infamous fire extinguished in the blink of an eye, leaving you bare and exposed to the cruelty of Marineford. Heavy smoke engulfed the surroundings that seemed to be unknown at the moment, eerie silence falling upon the battlefield, surprise twisting your angered features into confusion and wonder.

“When I’ll find you, I’ll ..” words filled with amusement tumbled back down a sore throat, gaze following what seemed to be a crystalized drop of blood rolling quietly at your feet.

Picking it up into your palm, head cocked from one side to the other while studying the unusual apparition, legs moving on their own accord in an attempt to find a way through the smoke. With each confused step, a friend or ally was revealed from within the intoxicating fog, peace and calmness entrapping your heart at the sudden feeling of being in between the ones that represented safety. Playing with the crystalized drop, eyes caught immediately on the all too familiar straw hat secured on Luffy’s back, noticing him kneeled and still, an arm draped over his shoulder, one you could so easily recognize even in between a thousand others.

“How long were you planning to hold me there, ha?” bright smile cutting through the smoke that began to clear up as each second passed by, ready to walk next to your person and out of this God forsaken place. “I know we agreed to protect each other but today I’m here to protect ..”

Brush of violent wind traveled across the battlefield, dragging along with it the cloud of heavy smoke that seemed to be endless, exposing the people surrounding you to light, unveiling a scene that caused cracks to appear into the smile you so carelessly threw around when feeling once again the sweet taste of freedom.

“ .. you.” broken voice laid out its glass pieces on the blood drenched ground, crashing abruptly against the harsh reality of what was to come.

This cruel, hateful life you adored, oh, so much when with him, was drained instantaneously, pallor taking over the features of what was once pure happiness, fingers trapping into the palm the drop of blood that began cooling down. As if turned to stone for the remaining time the Earth was going to sustain its life, trapped into a present that shackled the remnants of your being, you could not do anything but be graced with the horror lunging forward to wrap its heavy hands around your throat.

“A-Ace?” lips allowed themselves to part, the name of the person you loved most gliding across a heavy tongue with an unrecognizable softness hiding the painful beginning of agony.

Adrenaline, shock and moments of a lifetime were carried along the reddish veins stretching across a pair of glassy eyes solely focused on the face that was not quite ready to become a memory. It was quite astonishing how only three mere steps separated Ace from you, yet paralyzed legs felt as if melting into the ground, incapable of moving even an inch. There was no more sound, perishing along with Luffy’s voice as it lost itself into an inhabited void, one in which the millions of shattered pieces of a broken heart fell.

Dust coated freckles were exchanged for the pair of lips that used to be the storyteller of great adventures, hiding in between them wit not many could handle, keeping for themselves the whispers shared under bright constellations, only the sea being the sole witness to two people tying themselves to each other and allowing for their hearts to be bound together. Now, the same lips that etched their mark on yours, were whispering into Luffy’s ear, a certain amount of words left up for chance.

“W-wait ..” shaky breath followed what seemed to be the pleading tonality you were unable to hold back, arm raised, begging for what was not within its grasp, fingers pinched with falling ashes. “Please ..”

Erratic heartbeats carved their way through the thickness of a rib cage that felt as if caving inwards under the pressure of fatality, shackles of shell shock breaking as your first step towards Ace was dragged across the ground. Why was he so close, yet feeling as if far away? It used to be different. It used to be about closeness in separation, him so far away, yet so unbelievably close, tucked into every single crevice of your aching heart.

The last of the steps attempting to be taken in its desire to reach what was now slipping slowly away from you, abruptly crashed against the ground, two pairs of eyes meeting in the middle of it all. All too familiar dark gaze pooled into yours, reaching as far as humanly possible to take into its grasp what was going to be the last remnants of a shattered soul. Trapped between the back and forth of a past melting into the horrific present, all of Luffy’s pleading to Ivankov in a desperate attempt at saving his brother, perishing into a mute background that encircled just the two of you as it always did — Ace and Y/N, a brief story to last a lifetime.

That was when you realized.

That was when you knew.

That was when you remembered.

Not all stories last a lifetime.

“Hm?” hum slipping quietly, teeth nipping softly at the bottom lip, a sign of an unwavering concentration as you expertly allowed for the quill to trace its patterns along the page.

“You didn’t hear a thing.” Ace’s chuckle fanning against your ear, arms tightening their grip around the middle of your warm body, tucking you even closer to him than possible.

Feet dangled off the edge of the ship, your favorite place to sit when the sea was calm and welcoming, Ace’s figure shielding you from any possible slip, muscles tensing with each sway of the waves, that might end in a saving attempt. He often found it amusing how much you hated to be saved, to be saved by him.

“Was it important?” cheeky smile tugging at the corners of your mouth while setting the quill on the edge next to you, head falling backwards to rest on his broad shoulder.

“Everything I say is.” defeated sigh stumbling past the pair of pink lips marked completely as yours and yours only, childish pout bringing forward the sun kissed freckles you adored more than he even knew.

“I forgot that whenever the mighty Fire Fist Ace speaks the world falls silent.” sarcasm dripped off your tongue while raising the recent drawing into the air, blocking the sunlight completely, shaky breath brushing across the sensitive skin of your cheek. “Mighty indeed.”

“That’s how you see me?” Ace’s voice faltering with each note, gaze snapping upwards to be met with an expression filled with nothing but pure shock, mouth agape and chin quivering.

“What do you mean?” brows furrowed in confusion, not understanding where all of this was coming from as you drew him many times before. “Yes, this is how I see you.”

“It’s different from the rest.” he swallowed hard, the sound pinching your eardrums with a never heard before heaviness.

“It’s gonna sound so cheesy but ..” taking a deep breath, burning blush creeping upwards along the neck and settling on your cheeks, tucking the drawing into the chest as if afraid of losing it into the wind. “This is what I saw the moment I told you that I love you that night.”

Deafening silence.

Ace sucked in a breath, body tensing abruptly while erratic heartbeats thumped loudly against your back. Slight tremble was unleashed from the top of his fingertips that dug into your sides, rushing along the protruding veins scattered across the hands, sadness flashing into the eyes that captured your entire being since the moment you’ve met, mere teenagers with dreams bigger than life itself.

Undeserving, you thought while noticing the all too familiar signs Ace displayed whenever you proved that such words, full of a deeper meaning, were indeed meant for him and no one else. Lips pressed with care on the soft skin of his neck, pulsepoint feverishly throbbing at the most simple contact, before traveling upwards to brush against the ear of a pinkish tint.

“That’s how you look when you’re loved.” whispers carrying a sweetness you not so oftenly showed to others, except him. “Calm and clear like the night sky that holds its stars most dear.”

“Y/N ..” Ace rasped quietly, head leaning in for its ear to press against your lips.

“At peace. Like when the sea had finally set you free.” you continued, carving yet another path towards the heart of a man that could not comprehend how anyone was capable of loving him. “Beautiful. Just like the man I love.”

“You know .. who we are, what we do .. the dangers we live through ..” the deepest of breaths escaped the man many feared, many admired and many hunted. “Not all stories last a lifetime.”

“Hm, that so?” you smiled when being hit with his self-protecting stance – he loved you, there was absolutely no question about it, and that frightened even the Fire Fist. “Depends on how they’re told.”

“Come ‘ere.” Ace laughed quietly when being met with the classic “I’m having the last word” trait that was troublesome to an unimaginable extent, spinning you around with the ease of a feather taken by the wind – now face to face with the boyish grin you adored, lips meeting so briefly it felt as if they never touched before his bright features fell into an expression on which sadness, determination and seriousness battled. “I have something to tell you.”

“You found Teach.” a knowing smile stretched across your lips, knowing the man that was now tucked safely in between your legs, hips being squeezed gently, better than you knew yourself. “This is something you have to do on your own.”

“Yeah ..” Ace nodded slowly, eyes avoiding direct contact, focused on the tattoo etched under your left collarbone that beautifully spelled the three letters carrying his name. “It has to end.”

“Hey.” palms cupping his sun kissed cheeks, gaze instantaneously meeting yours in what seemed to be a silent apology he could not utter. “He has nothing on you and, before you know it, we’ll be back here again.”

“I’m not worried about him!” Ace jumped as if burned, even the slightest implication that he could be afraid turning him into a king no mere person could reach, appalled expression taking over before settling with a sigh. “It’s just that it might take some time and I can’t tell you how long it’ll ..”

“Here, take this.” abruptly cutting the sentence off before falling into the endless void of missing him before he even left, quickly pressing the drawing against his chest. “Not all stories last a lifetime but this one will.”

Staring at each other as if meeting for the first time in your lives, sadness melting into an overflowing love not many could consider themselves lucky to have encountered, hot fingertips pressed into the chin, pulling you forward to be once again blessed with the kiss capable of twisting your heart in breathtaking motions. Souls hummed in a perfect harmony as the words either of you did not utter were silently spoken through the ardent clash of feverish lips. Arms tightly wrapped around the neck of the man you loved beyond anyone's capacity of understanding, pulling him into you under the hidden fear of losing the person that was your comfort, your home, your endless lifeline.

Waves sang as they crashed against the ship, witnesses to the story of meant to be, laughter erupting into the air as Ace placed his signature hat on your head with a boyish grin that split across his face, flicking playfully at your forehead. Fingers ran through his dark locks, memorizing the softness in which you tangled them every single night when asleep next to him.

“Robin?!” surprise captured your expression, completely stunlocked at the person standing outside the door of your childhood home.

Ocean blue eyes flickered with a hidden enthusiasm, matching the melancholy curving the woman’s lips into one of the softest smiles anyone has ever offered after that dreadful day. Another long, lost friend through the threads of a time placed under lock and key, tucked safely as far as possible into the depths of a mind that did not belong anymore to the person you had become.

Oh, the scent Robin was engulfed with! That of the sea and its welcoming waves, of freshly grown oranges from an orchard you knew too well, and of unknown adventures. Each pinch of the nostrils pulling yet another thread from a time written in the little diary hidden under the floorboards of the bedroom in which you have been sleeping on your own.

“Luffy said that ..” Robin’s soft, soothing voice uttered the name of another person you held most dear, a name that shut your jaw in a tight, painful clench. “.. it’s time.”

Erratic heartbeats bloomed into the chest the moment she held out two fingers in front of your eyes, a neatly folded piece of paper residing in between them. Instinctually, a choked out gasp slipped past the lips, right hand darting upwards to clutch at your collarbone, Ace’s name burning deeply etched into the skin, heart threatening to carve its way out. Fear began spreading the same way a wildfire ravages everything in its path, tears pooling into your eyes as their focus was solely set on the meaningful piece of paper.

Return to Marineford – the place where you parted ways with Ace’s brother, Luffy, in the aftermath of the death of the man you loved more than life itself. Still did, a raging pain nestled into the deep crevices of a heart that was never going to be able to heal. Unable to look into the eyes of the boy whose brother you could not protect, as always sworn and promised, the decision to disappear for the remaining days of your life being taken while he grinned from one ear to the other.

“Luffy, don’t.” quiet, pleading voice cracked when met with the challenge of hearing Ace’s last words meant solely for you, the words he couldn’t bear uttering directly while the last breath was given, entrusting them to the only person capable of getting through to you. “Please ..”

“I’m coming back for you.” Luffy’s certainty shocking you back to a cruel, painful reality that you did not wanted to live anymore – the determination gracing his voice unlocking a wave of burning tears, grazing mercilessly the cheeks that used to hold one of the brightest smiles, one that perished along with the love of your life. “When I do, join my crew!”

“There’s no reason for you to.” an unintentional hiss stumbling past teeth that kept clashing against each other with an anger that seemed to not disappear anytime soon – already knowing that you wanted nothing more than to help Luffy achieve his goal.

“Ace’s last words.” the boy claiming that he will become The King of Pirates opened his palm to reveal a neatly folded piece of paper, signature grin not faltering for a single second before his palm closed, hiding inside the words you wished to hear at least once more — from a voice that lost itself into a grief stricken heart, unable to speak anymore. “When the time’s right.”

Droplets rolled down the cheeks, two year memory vanishing into thin air, eyes darting back and forth in between Robin and the paper, teeth nipping at the bottom lip in an attempt to conceal a suffocating fear. Trembling hand reached for it slowly, carefully, afraid of touching the last piece of him, afraid of unlocking that part of yourself that represented nothing but him.

“Is Luffy here?” words tumbling out shaky, unsure, fearful even, as Robin nodded slowly.

“No one but him knows what is written in there.” she carefully moved the paper closer to you, nothing but the truth present in her eyes. “Luffy knows that you would never refuse him anything if asked. That is why I am the one giving this to you and not him. He said that Ace’s last words are the answer you have been looking for.”

“Ace ..” the name you have not uttered in two years brushed past your tear stained lips, releasing with it a wave of memories that carved their way out of the crevices in which they have been hidden.

“The past and the present are not two separate pieces of a life.” Robin’s melodic voice dripped with the same kindness that matched the smile still etched on her face, offering a safety not felt for the longest time. “One can’t live without the other.”

As the piece of paper slipped in between your fingers, Robin’s eyes closed, deep breath being taken as she took a step backwards before turning on her heels, leaving a dear old friend with the last words of a half that was never going to become a whole again.

Holding in your grasp the last piece of Ace’s heart, shaky fingers began unfolding the paper Luffy has been holding for the past two years, with the same love and care you once used to show the man haunting each dream that dared to grace the lonely nights. When the contents of the message were revealed, knees caved, hitting the floor with a pain you were no longer able to feel, uncontrollable tears overflowing past the point of no return, recognizing right away the lines etched into the paper. One hand held it while the other caressed the surface, touching the passing of time that rested upon it, two years of living locked in a single point in time, shackled by nothing but grief and the all too consuming feeling of losing what you had for not enough time.

“You finally got to have the last word.” happiness laced your voice, head shaking slowly remembering how crazy you used to drive Ace with your ability to always have the last word in front of him.

Without even realizing, laughter bubbled into your throat, allowing it to finally be set free after being held down and forced to not exist if Ace did not. All the pain, anger, loneliness and guilt melted slowly into that pure love you thought was lost two years ago, on the grounds of Marineford, that love you always believed could only be felt if shared with him and no one else. Message pressed against the chest, head tilted upwards, allowing yourself to look at the sky and let the sun caress your face, taking away the pain it witnessed, bright smile spreading across the lips and getting accustomed to them once again.

“Luffy said that it’s time.”

Running as if your life depended on it, which was not far from the truth, crossing across the green planes of the small island on which you grew up, with nothing but a backpack and Ace’s message tightly clasped between the fingers trembling with an excitement that has not been felt in years. The sea was absolutely mesmerizing, quiet waves crashing against the shore in a rhythm only the ones that had set out to sail could understand it fully. It was calling for you, whispers of a story not many knew, about two people whose love was born across the deep blue of a mysterious world.

“LUFFY!” lungs powering through a shout that brought back to life a person you used to know, a person that you missed terribly – the person you used to be when with him. “EVERYONE!”

Cheering ensued in a split second, arms raised to wave, distinguishing Chopper jumping up and down with an intoxicating excitement. Aboard the Thousand Sunny waited the Straw Hats, the people that were about to become the family ready to follow you, to follow each other, to the end of the world.

Stopping next to the ship, silence fell upon the crew as Luffy stood tall on the edge, arms crossed against the chest while looking down at you with a small smile and eyes filled with a pride that had your chest bloom with happiness.

“Ready?” his steady voice hiding behind an excitement that was about to explode at any given moment.

Head lowered, hand raised slightly for your eyes to see the message that gave you back yourself and the answer to all the questions that used to torment every single second of a lonely life.

There it was – Ace’s favorite drawing, the one you quietly finished into his arms, the one in which he was able to see the way you saw him through your own eyes, the one in which the first “I love you” was said on a night where the only witnesses were the stars and the sea you both held dear.

“I’m ready.” gaze shifted to meet Luffy’s, both childishly grinning from one ear to the other, matching in the exact same way him and Ace used to, the Straw Hats returning with their own smiles filled with a sense of accomplishment that could easily be felt into the air.

On the corner of the drawing, Luffy’s clumsy handwriting captured the last words Portgas D. Ace had for the first and only woman he had truly and undeniably loved:

Not all stories last a lifetime. Ours will.

✨ Reblogs & comments would be much appreciated ✨

#portgas d. ace #portgas d ace x you #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace x y/n #portgas d ace angst #portgas ace x reader #portgas ace #fire fist ace #one piece angst #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #one piece x reader

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underratedandoverit · 10 months

Text

You Wanna Wish Away Your Sins (1/3)

After losing to Best Friends at Arcade Anarchy, Kip undergoes shoulder surgery. One person reaching out to him afterwards sends Kip spiraling, turning all the pain and suffering in him into… Flowers? Flowers growing in his lungs?

Kip Sabian/Chuck Taylor. Hanahaki disease. Angst. Hurt/comfort. Emotional hurt/comfort. One-sided attraction.

Marked Mature on AO3 for general content. Warnings for mentions of hospitals, surgery, medical stuff. Described feelings for choking and vomiting.

Other characters include Penelope Ford, Trent Beretta. Kris Statlander and Orange Cassidy are mentioned. Background ship of Penelope/Kris is heavily implied, but never specifically shown.

part 2 || part 3

On AO3

I reeeeally only wanted to start posting this after it was all done, but seeing how I'm two weeks behind on what I wanted the original publishing schedule to be, I need heavy motivation to actually finish this (its about halfway done as of posting this), so! Here's the effort to hopefully help with that! Cause I am planning on finishing this, I have full plans for all three chapters and the epilogue (that'll be tacked onto the final chapter), I just need the energy to realize that its worth finishing so.. I'm getting this up now. To maybe hopefully see its worth it and people want to see this through. Idk.

I have been thinking maybe this concept would have been better with another ship, but I started with this and its very fitting for them, and I need more of this propaganda in my life and seeing how I'm the only one making it… Yeah we're sticking to Kip and Chuck. Sorry not sorry. (also tag list might change a little as i post the rest, tho this should be it generally. i tried to keep it spoiler free for now)

@midnightpretenders0 @stormbornpirate @ss-trashboat

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Beep.

Kip tried to ignore the heart monitor to the best of his ability, and yet his brows furrowed, irritated, at the sound. The soft groan was barely audible in the hospital room that was empty aside from him, as Kip came to witness as he forced his eyes open, returning back to the real world from the sleepless rest he had been attempting to get for the last few hours.

Some would have guessed that sleeping would have been easier when you lost feeling from one of your four limbs, especially from the one going through the extreme levels of pain. But what those same people didn’t understand, was that the medication they put him under with, was amplifying most of his other senses to the point where it was almost painful to just even listen to certain sounds.

Beep.

Kip glared at the monitor, watching the little line on it beep an extra time, almost as if it was mocking him and the hatred raising his heart rate. Kip leaned back on the bed, turning away, eyes landing on the window across the room. The soft rays of sunshine indicated early morning hours, which wouldn’t have surprised him a bit. After coming to from the surgery Kip had been in various states between high alert and sleeping like a log, dozing off whenever he felt like it. Not that it mattered, they didn’t let him go home yet anyway, so he was just taking advantage of sleeping away as much of the irritation and pain he could while he was alone.

Beep.

Slowly Kip’s eyes dragged away from the window, landing on the little drawer next to the bed. Some nice nurse, was his guess unless it really had been Penelope, had left his personal belongings on it on a little tray. Honestly Kip was slightly surprised they had been just left for him like that, out in the open. While sure, he wasn’t sharing the room with anyone else, anyone could just walk in at any time while he was out cold and grab his wallet, keys, and phone and just bail out.

Or even worse, he himself could have used the phone before he was fully aware of himself and his surroundings yet, being under the influence of the painkiller and/or anesthesia. Almost as bad as some of his younger days of drunk dialing.

Beep.

Kip closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as he tried not to get irritated at the sound piercing his ears every couple of moments. As he calmed himself down, he slowly opened his eyes again, landing them back on the phone on the tray. He observed it for a moment, trying to count in his head how long it had been since he was wheeled into the operating room, how long it had been since he had last checked anything.

Really all he could remember was the little kiss Penelope placed on the top of his head, whispering him good luck before he was wheeled away from her too.

Beep.

Kip’s hand slipped away from under the thin covers of the awfully medical feeling blanket thrown over him, reaching for the phone. It was easier said than done to be honest, having to navigate the world now mostly with his non-dominant hand and everything. Kip fumbled a little, almost letting the phone slip from his fingers, letting out a string of quiet curse words from under his breath as he barely caught it again before it managed to fall to the floor, where he most definitely wouldn’t have been able to grab it without getting some help first.

With a sigh he lowered the phone into his lap, brushing a hand through his hair. Everything was just so bothersome and irritating to him, he could barely do things by himself. And every single little bit that he required some kind of help with, Kip hated even more. He understood the situation he was in, absolutely, but that didn’t mean that he was going to enjoy being so dependent on others when he could just as easily do all of this, and more, by himself before.

Beep.

His eyes landed back on the phone now sitting on the bed in his lap, the fingers of his right hand carefully drumming against the dark screen. It felt cold to the touch, clearly not having been turned on for a while or being held in a hand using it. Kip had no idea if there would even be any messages for him to return to, sure there were people like his family, friends, and co-workers who knew he was going through the surgery, but most people he felt like had already been in touch the day before, wishing him luck. He vaguely remembered Penelope telling him she would send him reminders about things he needed to take care of after surgery, but that was all he was expecting.

And yet, there was some sort of odd feeling of hesitation in him as Kip’s fingers kept drawing circles on the screen, only mimicking opening apps and scrolling through them.

Beep.

It was almost as if the sound was mocking him at this point, screaming at him to do something. Kip glared at the monitor on his side, eyes slowly returning back to the phone. He carefully took it back into his hand, weighting it for a moment, his thumb navigating on top of the power button almost on instinct. Kip barely stopped himself from pressing it down, taking a moment to ask himself if it was worth it.

As far as he knew, nobody was going to need him while he was gone. He was going to have to turn it on later to get in touch with Penelope about getting out of the hospital as she had promised to pick him up, but apart from that… Kip didn’t really know what to expect. On the other hand though, this kind of silence gave him a good chance to catch up on other important things he might have missed, if there weren't people he needed to get back to.

What could go wrong?

Beep.

Kip held down the button, watching as the screen slowly lit up, greeting him with the familiar opening screens. His eyes narrowed a little at the sudden bright lighting hitting him, but soon enough he was booted in, allowing him to adjust the screen brightness to his liking. Kip was still trying to get used to being awake and feeling like himself in his own body, and coming off from heavy medication, even if it had been a day since then, it was like a dark cloud hanging over him. He didn’t enjoy it in the slightest, but Kip knew it was a necessary step if he wanted to get through all of this. Unfortunately.

As he got himself back into his phone, Kip absentmindedly scrolled through some of the messages that were popping up little by little all over the place. Mostly it was just few remaining co-workers and friends that hadn’t reached out earlier wishing him speedy recovery and hoping that the surgery goes well, the usual things you’d message to someone you didn’t talk to more than occasionally but who you knew was going to go through something heavy like this and you had their contact info at hand. Kip scrolled through the well-wishes, smiling occasionally a little more as he watched the different names and profile pictures he recognized, wondering how many of these people actually cared or if this was just a cleverly arranged mass ruse so he would maybe feel a bit better after being under the knife.

And then.

Kip’s eyes locked onto one of the messages, starting with a word he didn’t expect to see.

‘Sorry’.

He didn’t notice his grip on the phone getting tighter until holding it actually hurt his hand, but Kip pushed the thought aside. Unblinking eyes stared at the phone screen as it burned the images of the words on his retinas until they were hurting too, but he was too deep in his own head to look away, to stop reading the message he didn’t think he would be getting. Not now, not ever.

Not from Chuck.

‘Sorry about your shoulder. Heard from Kris you were getting surgery. I didn’t mean to hurt you that bad. Hope you heal well. If you need something, let me know.’

Kip’s mind was nothing but static. The phone light hurt his eyes, his grip hurt his hand, reading and processing the words in his head. The pain shooting through him was almost comparable to the jolts he experienced going through the structure Chuck had thrown them both down to from the stage, only this one was even worse somehow.

‘If you need something, let me know.’

He didn’t read that right. He couldn’t have read that right. There was no way Chuck Taylor out of all people would say something like this to him. Or even text these kinds of lines to him. To Kip.

To the man that had been looking at Chuck from a distance with a mixture of interest and admiration for so long without saying any words out loud, without making any moves, without taking any actions to realize the thoughts and feelings he had. There was no way Chuck was doing this, offering help to him if he needed it, without knowing that there was something going on in Kip’s mind that he wasn’t sure was going to be able to handle daylight.

‘I didn’t mean to hurt you that bad.’

Chuck didn’t know Kip was already on his way out when Arcade Anarchy was announced. He had already been told he would require surgery on the torn shoulder, but this match was approved even with the ending spot as it wasn’t going to make his condition any worse than it already was. Kip hadn’t dared to say anything to the Best Friends, in fear that it would hinder their performance; he wanted them at their best, not feeling sorry for him, not trying to be careful with him. Miro knew, but he kept his promise and didn’t say anything either.

For better or worse, Kip wasn’t sure anymore.

Beep. Beep.

He finally tore his eyes away from the phone screen, letting it drop from his hand. Kip curled the fingers a few times trying to ease the pain, eyes blinking as rather painful tears stung in the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was a sign of emotional distress or just a side effect of staring at the screen, but it didn’t matter to him. Whichever it was, he didn’t want it, and it was making him feel awful.

Beep. Beep.

Kip slowly looked over at the heart rate monitor, watching the little line make extra jumps and letting out more irritating noises than necessary. His eyes trailed one of the cords leaving from it, watching it being attached to his chest with a little patch. Kip snorted at it, turning away.

Stupid. It was all so fucking stupid.

Beep.

His eyes landed back on the phone, hand reaching for his face as he wiped away a couple of tears. He wasn’t sure why he got so worked up over this, it wasn’t like this meant anything. Chuck was just worried, offering him his condolences and a little help if he needed it, just like everyone else did. That didn’t mean anything, no more, no less, than that he was being a good co-worker. Not even a friend.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Beep.

Maybe that’s why he took it so hard, to be honest. Kip inhaled deeply, almost frightened over how shaky his breathing sounded. He hadn’t expected this to hit him so hard, but something about seeing Chuck Taylor out of all the possible people reaching out to him after hearing about the surgery just sent him spiraling. Short circuited his brain. His thoughts were all gone. Kip’s mind blank, nothing but a newly debuted white canvas ready to be painted on.

And the only visual that appeared on it was Chuck, the moment he held onto Kip seconds before throwing them both off from the stage.

The words he whispered to Kip when the camera was pointing the other way.

“Are you sure?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

In that moment he had been, only for the fact that he knew Chuck would prevent him from hurting further. At least, in the physical sense. Mentally at that point Kip was already so far down the rabbit hole that it didn’t matter. He would have said yes. Not only to that, but to anything that Chuck asked him.

Was Kip sure? Yes.

Was Kip going to be okay? Yes.

Did Kip want him?

…

Yes.

Yes he did.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He looked back at the monitor, watching the line make extra jumps again. It apparently wasn’t a concerning enough feature, considering how long it had been going on and not a single nurse had gotten in to even check on him yet. Kip understood it though, in a hospital full of patients in worse conditions than what he was in, he was merely a second thought to anyone passing by his room. He didn’t make a sound, he wasn’t in pain, he didn’t exhibit extreme amounts of discomfort.

At least, not on the outside.

Beep. Beep.

Kip leaned his head back against the propped up bed, eyeing the monitor. If he wasn’t thinking about the phone that was still quietly buzzing in his lap, his heart rate slowly went back down. Of course he couldn’t keep this up forever, eventually he would probably have to reply to Chuck, and who knew what kind of fresh hell of wounds that would open on him. How awkward it would make everything if he dared to actually take on Chuck’s own offering and ask him for any help. Of course Kip didn’t need to do that, knowing that Chuck hadn’t actually caused any of this like he was thinking that he did, but…

Maybe it would be a way to get a step closer. To spend time with him. To figure out if Chuck could possibly feel the same way Kip did.

Beep.

Kip closed his eyes, trying to focus on his breathing. It would be all fine, he lied to himself. It wouldn’t matter if Chuck said no, it wouldn’t matter if they became just friends. Another lie. Kip could live with it if he could just tell Chuck how he felt, and whatever came out of that was just perfectly fine with him.

Kip was such a masterful liar sometimes.

Beep.

He hummed at himself a little, obviously satisfied with the way he made himself at least on some level believe everything was going to be okay. A small smirk tuck the corners of his lips, but Kip resisted it, thinking it was a step too far. He allowed himself to be proud of himself in this situation, but showing it outwards was a little too much.

Instead he yawned, followed by a cough as Kip could feel something scratching in his throat.

Beep.

He tried to gently cough it out, only making the scratching worse. Kip opened his eyes, glancing around him, trying to see if there was even a cup of water somewhere close by, but no such luck. Instead he coughed again, the burning in his throat just growing stronger and feeling grosser the more he tried to physically force whatever was stuck in his airways out of his body.

With a few more coughs the feeling was turning unbearable, Kip rather violently jerking forward as he coughed loudly, hand flying on to cover his mouth as he could feel something dislodging in his throat, attempting a forceful exit out of his mouth.

Beep. Beep.

Maybe he wasn’t as over the side effects of anesthesia as Kip thought, or nausea was a side effect of the painkillers. As the thoughts raced through his mind, Kip tried to keep his mouth covered by his hand, eyes shooting around his limited moving space, trying to find something he could safely vomit into. He could feel another scratch on his throat, knowing that he just had to take it and let it all out, Kip shoved the phone from his lap to the floor in a semi panic, barely hearing it landing with a loud thud before he allowed his insides to empty themselves into his lap.

Beep. Beep.

With his eyes closed to bear the pain, Kip could feel the burning in his lungs, but it all felt different than usual. It was an odd sensation, it felt more like something was scratching and crawling its way up his lungs rather than his throat, pushing painfully out of him rather than flowing in the liquid form like usual. It still burned, but in a softer, almost calming way compared to what Kip knew it should be.

Fearing the mess he had made, Kip slowly opened his eyes, thinking that he might have to call a nurse over to help him out, as much as he hated it. But instead he froze in place, eyes widening in shock as he tried to process the small pile of purple shaded rose petals sitting on his lap instead.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Kip carefully reached a hand towards the petals, shaking fingertips tracing along one. It felt soft, like it was freshly plucked from a flower, the kind of fresh petals you’d spread on a bed for a romantic surprise to a loved one. But the moment was nothing but romantic, it was surprising for sure, but it was more making Kip internally freak out than giving him any sentimental feelings over the sudden pile of petals in his lap.

They had come out from inside of him.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Kip had no idea why. No idea how. He could feel something crawling in his throat again, letting out a soft cough, watching a single petal flowing out of him, landing on top of the pile that had already formed.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Kip’s hands slowly grabbed a hold of the petals, squeezing them in his fists. He froze for a moment, feeling the soft petals against the palms of his hands, against his exposed skin, almost tearing wounds onto him despite their petite appearance.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Kip screamed.

#fic #aew fanfiction #wrestling fanfiction #character: kip sabian #character: chuck taylor #ship: chuckkip #fic: you wanna wish away your sins #setting: hanahaki

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