#I’ve still never been able to point at a person or a character and say ‘hey they have the same name as me!’

[writingonleaves]

were you sent by someone who wanted me dead? (did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?) - jeremy swayman

pairing: jeremy swayman x original female character

warnings: swearing, pretty angsty. hopeful ish ending because i can't do sad endings, very personal but i think many can relate in their own way, cliche ish, barely proofread

inspired by + title: "the smallest man who ever lived" by taylor swift

word count: 5.6k

author's note: i'd argue almost every piece any author writes is personal, because it has their life interspersed through the words. but this one really is, because a majority of this is the exact same words i wrote years ago after a break-up. heard the bridge to this song and immediately knew i had to write something inspired by it. also trying a new format of sorts (maybe a bit meta??), so i hope you enjoy and lmk what you think!!

~*~*~

When Noelle Betsko walked away from Jeremy Swayman, holding back tears until the call dropped, she knew it was going to be a tough time for the foreseeable future. 

It didn’t matter that the pandemic had forced them apart. She knew she would still feel him for months to come.

She did the only thing she knows how to do when trying to deal with things. The one thing she always resorts to as an aspiring novelist. Sometimes on her laptop when the words were spilling out too quickly for her brain to catch up, tears littering the keyboard. Usually in her old beat-up journal, scribbling in the cursive that Jeremy claimed he always loved (“It makes your handwriting unique”) with the pens he had gifted her just a few months prior. 

At the age of 21, Noelle got her heart broken for the first time. At the age of 26, she’s about to publish her first poetry collection of sorts, all of the poems modeled after journal entries written throughout her life. So not really poetry, though her mother would say otherwise. 

She swallows as she thumbs through the middle part of the first known and binded copy of “miscellaneous.” There are only eight entries in the whole collection that are taken verbatim from her past writing. These are the eight.

May 13, 2020 (three days post-breakup, crying in my childhood bedroom)

I don’t even recognize who I was and who you were in those writings before these pages filled with love and hope and happiness. I can’t even summon up those feelings anymore that I knew existed at one point. Those feelings of complete bliss and love for someone so deep you can’t explain it. 

I’m mad at myself for not being able to conjure those feelings, because at one point, I did love you. How could something that was part of my daily life for over two years just disappear so quickly? 

But now, I’m not mad at myself. I’m mad, but I don’t know where to direct that anger to. I feel a bit empty sometimes, but then frustrated the next. Sometimes I get sad, but not so much compared to the other feelings. I spent enough time being sad during our relationship.

When we broke up, on an annoyingly beautiful Tuesday in May — over the damn phone, mind you, which whatever, it’s COVID. Fine — You told me you felt like you had been putting more effort into us. 

At the time, I didn’t react, but I’ve been thinking about how angry that statement made me. Makes me, actually. I was always very open with how much I gave to that relationship. How much it meant to me. How much it affected me. But I understand that with some people, sharing everything too much equates to things not meaning anything anymore. But you out of all people should’ve known that I mean everything I say.

I felt like I gave so much. I know I gave so much. When I told you I loved you, I always meant it. Every single time. When I told you I missed you, I always meant it. I wished you were right next to me at that moment. I mentally gave so much, because to me, I wanted to. You were always on my mind, always high up on my list of priorities. I never took us for granted.

I’ve been questioning if that was the same for you. Did you start becoming complacent?

The second thing you said that day that hasn’t left my head is that you knew me pretty well. And initially, I remember not thinking much of it. So I don’t doubt that; you always knew right when I was about to cry, even over the phone. You often knew when I was mad or upset, but when I look back now, you never pushed. Which is a good thing, to an extent. But it was a bad thing sometimes too. I knew you often wanted to give me space, but sometimes I didn’t want space. I wanted you to push. To try to understand. Maybe that’s unfair of me; it probably is. I should just say I want to talk about it more, right? 

But if you genuinely knew me, you would’ve known.

After two years, seven months and 12 days,  I still feel like I didn’t know you. Did I ever know you at all?

When people talked shit about you, I always defended you. And I still would defend you now. But lately, I've questioned what I’m even defending. All those good qualities that I thought you had, were they even real? Of course, I know some of them were, to a certain extent. But as I look back on us, there’s a lot of doubt about whether I even knew the person I called my boyfriend for so long. I know there was a point where you cared about me, but I can’t remember when. 

I often felt like I was letting you know so much about my life, but you didn’t do the same. I get that sometimes a person just wants to forget about the bad and focus on the good with a person you like for awhile. I get that. But once that was happening every damn time? That should’ve been a red flag. 

June 7, 2020 (twenty eight days post break-up, outside my childhood room on the deck) 

I don’t understand how you can give so much to something or someone and have it not be recognized or appreciated or enough. If I wasn’t enough for you, how will I be enough for anyone?

I hope one day you’ll truly understand how much this hurt. Not just the breakup, but feeling like I was always being pulled in a direction I didn’t always want to be pulled in. Feeling I was stuck between a rock and a hard place and never ever being able to win. I hate that I settled so much in the last year. Because I should’ve demanded more, even though deep down I knew you were never going to be able to give it to me.

I think back to our past daily texts, and I just don’t get it. At one point, we both meant the things we said to each other. 

Yet we still hurt each other. 

This fucking hurts.

You’ve hurt me so much, but most of it wasn’t intentional, which I think is somewhat even worse. Because I’m not totally mad at you for causing the pain. You never did anything outright to cause me pain, but I still feel like you did. 

Unintentional pain almost stings more than intentional. 

When I asked you out that night after we were both on an emotional high, I took a chance. For once in my life, I took the leap, knowing that I could get humiliated or hurt or just straight up shot down. 

Where did it all go wrong? Or, more realistically, how did we think that we could go through the wrong when it was there at the start?

I’m trying not to blame myself too much. Trying not to tell myself that I should’ve known better. 

All those times, especially at the start, when I would ask you if you genuinely liked me, you always thought I was just trying to be annoying. But you never understood that I genuinely thought that way. My self confidence from the start was lacking, and you didn’t try to understand that, because I come across to everyone as confident and self-assured. 

It hurt, when you would brush things off like that. I felt like you didn’t care.

And then, it got to the point where I stopped asking that question. Part of that is because I did become more confident and you did show that you cared, and part of that was because I knew it would piss you off.

The amount of things I was scared to talk about with you because I knew it would piss you off? I don’t wish that feeling on anybody.

I shouldn’t have been scared. I shouldn’t have been uncomfortable. But I was. And if you did notice like sometimes you claimed to, why didn’t you make it more comfortable for me? Was that too much to ask for? 

So larger than life that at the end, you faded into just the smallest man who ever lived. Fuck you.

Was it too much to ask for when I just wanted to know why you were upset? You didn’t have to ever tell me the full story (lord knows there were times I didn’t), but was it too much to ask for something? You told me once that I’m the person you’ve told the most to. How? You barely told me anything. And when I wanted to talk to you, whether it was about growing up in Alaska or why you were in a bad mood last night, you always brushed it off. Always. 

So I don’t feel so bad about feeling like I gave more effort. I gave so much of myself to you. If you really cared about me like you claimed you did, why couldn’t you show even just 1% of that care back? Or just meet me in the middle?

I could’ve tried harder to meet you in the middle, I’ll admit that. But you didn’t even give me a map or a clue how to. 

I felt so fucking left in the dark. I felt left in the dark about my own fucking relationship, something that I should be completely sure about. If you really love someone and care about them, how can you leave them in the dark? How could you not even see that I was struggling to find a flashlight?

You did care about me. I know that. To some extent and at some point in time, you did care about me. But caring about someone and their well-being isn’t always enough.

Why couldn’t you have worked with me? When I was extending my hand out, why didn’t you reach for it? How can someone just be so blind? I mean, I’m practically always spelling it out for you. 

Maybe I am being selfish. But fuck, I just wanted to be happy. At some point, you made me happy. When did I start making you feel like I wasn’t enough? Why wasn’t I enough for you?

It’s useless, in a way, to keep going about this. Because I know I deserve better. And we’ll both find people who are better for us. We just couldn’t be that person to each other.

I fucking loved you.

I wish it ended differently.

July 8, 2020 (fifty nine days post-breakup, in front of the lake)

I really really fucking miss you. 

I do. 

I miss being able to text you that i love you and not necessarily expecting a response until the next morning. I miss knowing that as soon as you wake up, you’ll text me back and assure me that yeah, you love me too. 

I’m left feeling bittersweet as I look back on memories that are just splashes and not definite strokes on the canvas that used to be us.

I miss having you as a friend. 

I’ve been having more urges lately to want to text you. And it isn’t even anything important. Just moments I experience throughout the day.

Do you get the urge to do the same?

July 19, 2020 (seventy days post-breakup, still in the same damn house)

It’s hard. It really is. And it kinda just hits you at random parts of the day. Sometimes I wake up from a dream that you were in and have to remind myself that it didn’t happen. 

Sometimes it physically aches when I realize that you won’t ever help me put on my jacket again, or complain that my hair is in your face when we’re lying on the couch watching Brooklyn Nine Nine, or groan when I drag you up to dance with me (which you never improved on, no matter how many times I tried to teach you basic rhythm). I can’t view our song the same way anymore, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to. 

The other day, I read some simple thing on Twitter. I don’t even remember what it was, but I do remember that for a split second, I could see your smile in my mind. But it wasn’t just any smile. It was the smile you gave me when you took me ice skating that first time. I remember asking you what you were smiling at, and you said that you just were taking in this moment. I don’t know if you took a mental picture that day, but I know I did. That day seems so long ago now. 

In almost anything I do, you somehow pop into my mind or into the conversation. And it’s not even in a harmful way either. It’s because you were part of my life for so long. I see a dog on the street, and it reminds me of how you always stopped to pet every single one we’s see I write something in my messy handwriting, and I remember how you always used to complain that you couldn’t read the notes I’d occasionally leave around your place when you went away. I went to the doctor’s the other day, and they said I was 5 feet and 3 inches, which is just definitely not true, and I almost reached for my phone to text you, because you would’ve cackled and insisted that no, I’m 5 feet 2 inches and it wouldn’t even matter because I’ll always be shorter than you. It’s simple and minute things that make me miss you that much more.

I still can’t listen to some songs the same way anymore, but I can at least listen to them now, which is a feat in itself. I was unpacking from college and found the teddy bear you sent me the first extended time we had to be apart and had to immediately put that out of my sight. From those boxes also came photos that I had decorated my dorm room with, and to be honest, I’m glad now that I let you keep our best one. I deal with all my emotions, besides writing, by making Spotify playlists, and I made a new one earlier this week. I think it’s helping. It’s a slow process, this whole moving on thing, but it’s one that I’m trying to be grateful for, because like most things in life, you just don’t truly know until you go through it.

Sometimes, I find myself wondering how you are and how you’re healing. But, even though we’ve both changed since the day we met, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that you’re incredibly strong and stubborn. I hope that you’re finding some growth in this process too. 

October 17, 2020 (one hundred fifty seven days post-break up, apartment in orono)

It’s been almost 5 months, and you still cross my mind everyday. 

Why wasn’t I enough for you? Why didn’t you fucking tell me what you were thinking? Why was I the one who had to approach you just because I was just so done with the silent treatment?

But I’m not mad at you. Not anymore. The mad phase passed ages ago. 

Closure is a fake word. Even a breakup as mutual and smooth as ours was still left me with so many questions that will probably never be answered. 

Any breakup fucks you up to some extent. I knew it was going to mess me up even back when we were together. But not like this. Never like this. 

But like anything in life, I guess you can never really prepare for what you think you might feel, because most of the time, you discover a whole new side of you that you never thought existed. 

I don’t miss you. I don’t. I don’t feel that love in any way anymore. 

But I did once.

You did too, right?

November 15, 2020 (one hundred eighty six days post break-up, fogler library)

I hate Halloween. 

Though, it did bring me to you three years ago. I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you right then and there. 

Three years later, you texted me on Halloween, five months after our breakup. The universe really, really wanted to fuck with me. 

It was a tough night for you. I knew that. Because I know how you are after losing a game you should’ve won. But that didn’t mean that I owed you anything and had to respond. 

We agreed on no contact if we ever wanted to stay friends. Clearly, friends is out of the picture now, but come on. A vulnerable text after a bad night because you know I would feel bad for you?

Fuck, you know how much I would hate that. You had to have known. 

Just because we’re not dating anymore doesn’t mean that everything about you just disappears. I still know your tendencies. I still know exactly how my head burrows into your chest during a hug. I still know the actions I used to do that would be followed by you attacking me with a hug. I still could point you out in a crowd. 

I looked for you in every crowd for years. 

That stuff doesn’t just go away, no matter how much I want it to. But fuck. Fuck. Why did you text me? 

I don’t regret how I handled it. I probably would’ve responded months ago. But just like you, I’ve grown these last couple of months. 

It was comforting, for a split second, to know that maybe, just maybe, these past couple of months have been hard for you too. It makes me feel human. It makes me feel like I’m not crazy.

I’m glad you texted me. You gave me another level of closure I hadn’t known that I needed until then. 

But fuck, dude. You know me better than that. You should know me better than that. 

I hate Halloween.

November 26, 2020 (one hundred ninety seven days, at the coffee shop i brought you to when you came home with me two years ago)

I don’t regret loving you, but I hate you for what you did to me. 

Or maybe not. 

I hate knowing that even though we haven’t been in a relationship in a bit, it feels like sometimes, you’re on my mind the exact same amount when we were dating. I hate knowing that I gave so much of myself and my love to you, and it always felt unrecognized. 

Fuck, will it ever stop hurting? Will I ever be able to have to stop myself from thinking about you? Will it ever stop?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

Happy birthday. I hope you enjoy it.

June 12, 2021 (three hundred ninety five days post-break up, in boston, visiting a friend)

Tonight, when a friend asked me about you and how I felt about how we ended, I was able to articulate my thoughts clearly. I’m really proud of myself for getting to a point where I can take the lessons I learned the few months after we broke up and acknowledge them in a succinct way without breaking down into tears. Just watery eyes and the occasional voice crack 

I’m also proud that I can say that when we were dating, I lost a bit of myself. For months, it was really hard to admit out loud.

I’m proud of how far I’ve come. Sometimes, I wish I could call or text you about it, because I think you’d be proud too. And I know I’d be proud of you. I am, to be honest. I do break resolve once in awhile and check on you through various avenues.

I still haven’t seen you in person since the last time COVID made us say goodbye. Maybe I never will again. But day by day, I’m starting to accept that and be okay with it. I’m accepting that memories that used to be so painted in my mind are blurry or almost completely erased now. But that’s okay. Honestly, it’s probably for the best. 

I wonder, when you think about it, if you think about different moments that I do. That’s the thing when something ends. You have to be okay with letting go of those moments and realizing that just because you forget them, doesn’t mean they weren’t important. 

I don’t think I miss you. I hesitate in saying that. Because I’ve moved on and handled the aftermath of it better than I think both of us ever thought I could. When you hung up the phone for the last time, I proved to myself again that I’m stronger than I give myself credit for. I think we all are. But we don’t realize it until we’re thrown into a situation that we think we’ll never be able to overcome. 

But we do. Whether it’s because we’re forced to because there’s no other option, it doesn’t matter. Because we get through. We move on. 

I hope you're moving on. 

And then it goes into other topics, graduating during a pandemic specifically and losing what’s supposed to be your last year of no responsibilities before adulthood. There are other poems in here that reference a past relationship, but not as much as these eight. 

If there’s one thing that Noelle did change, it was taking out the details. Jeremy may have hurt her, but he doesn’t deserve someone possibly making a connection between these poems and their shared background. She’s not a famous author by any means, but she wanted to be careful.

Not that she makes that part of her life publicly known. People don’t need to know that her brother was Jeremy’s captain for two years at Maine and that’s how they met. 

Noelle grew up going to rinks. She hasn’t gone to one since they broke up. 

But also, what the fuck? It’s been five years since she’s dated the guy. She really is over it by now, even if his rise to stardom in the Bruins flittering on her social media feeds still sometimes has her swallowing a bit before she can continue with her day. 

Brooklyn is far enough from Boston. But sometimes it feels like it’s right outside her door. 

She’s proud of her first published work. She really is. People believed in her and after numerous notes swapped back and forth with her editor, she did it. She always knew she wanted to work in publishing. She never knew she herself would publish anything.

And here she is now, two weeks after the book release, in Boston, about to do a q&a and a signing. Apparently, “miscellaneous” has been on top of numerous lists and it’s flying off the shelves. Noelle can’t really believe it and tries not to think about it too much, trusting her agent with all of that. 

She’s happy to talk about her work and process though. That she can handle. And she’s grateful for all the love.

After a signing at a local bookstore, she decides to walk the 20 minutes home in the Boston fall. It’s a bit brisk, but she doesn’t mind and she just wanders, belly filled with delicious sushi she inhaled for dinner with an old friend.

Of course it happens the one time during her walk when she doesn’t avoid eye contact with someone. The song playing in her earbuds fade out of her focus and she almost stumbles. 

Jeremy’s eyes were always Noelle’s favorite thing about him. She thought she would’ve forgotten what they looked like by now. But clearly she hasn’t. 

Her eyes quickly cast to the person next to him. It’s definitely a girl. They’re a bit too far away for Noelle to pick out details. But it’s enough. He’s walking on the side closest to the street. It’s a Friday Night in a bustling part of the city. 

It hurts. She wishes it didn’t.

Even from far away, she sees his eyes blink in recognition. Noelle puts her head back down and walks faster. 

(She cries in the shower when she gets back to the hotel. She had debated feeling super sorry for herself and going to the hotel bar but refrained)

She has a few free days in Boston before flying back to New York. When she wakes up the next morning, she debates on going home early. But no, she won’t let a three second glance at someone ruin her time here. She used to occasionally come here during her college days. She loves this city. 

The city may be Jeremy’s, but she can make space for herself here too. 

She takes her time at a cafe, people watching and eating some breakfast. As she takes her coffee to-go, she looks out the window at the bookstore she was in the night before for the signing. She almost drops her coffee. 

Jeremy walks into the book store. 

Now, Noelle is debating her options. What she should do is continue with her day and walk in the opposite direction. But she’s always been too nosy for her own good. And maybe a bit self destructive. She decides to leave the cafe and cross the street immediately, so impatient to where she’s almost tapping her foot as the pedestrian signal stays red. 

As a writer, she’s no stranger to movie moments. The scenes written in books or movies where the timing is too accurate to be real. The situation too good to be true. But after a car speeds through an orange and she can finally walk, she stops in her tracks instead, feet glued down to the sidewalk.

Because Jeremy is right in front of her on the other side of the street. Her book in his hand. And he’s looking right at her. 

The first feeling she can recognize in herself is anger. Anger at the way their relationship panned out. Anger at the way they ended. Anger at the radio silence the years following. Anger at him for everything. Angry at herself for everything. 

The second feeling is, weirdly, shame, which she’s embarrassed by. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. But she feels it anyways. 

The third, and perhaps the most prominent, is emptiness. Five fucking years later, and she’s brought back to the emptiness she felt immediately after they broke up. The emptiness that the person you loved isn’t yours anymore — who maybe wasn’t ever yours to begin with. 

Before she can run, he’s already crossed the street to her. He looks naturally different as someone who you haven’t seen in five years would. But he also heartbreakingly looks the same. 

“We should get out of people’s way,” Noelle manages to chokes out. 

Jeremy laughs a bit. Her heart lurches. “Yeah.” He starts walking and she follows him wordlessly. This is his city after all. 

He leads them to a bench under a tree with beautiful fall foliage. She puts at least a foot between them as they both sit down, staring out at the people passing. She can’t take the silence. 

“I see you bought my book.”

“I did,” he replies evenly. “Congratulations. I always knew you would do it.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. Maybe if she squeezes hard enough she’ll forget when she originally pitched Jeremy the bare bones idea of the exact same book that’s currently in his hand. “Thank you. Congratulations to you too. On everything.”

“You’ve been watching?”

She shakes her head. “No. But, you know Seth and…yeah. It comes up during family calls sometimes.”

“Why didn’t you say hi last night?”

She looks pointedly at a couple walking their dog. “You seemed busy.”

“She wasn’t-that-it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Oh. Because that makes me feel so much better,” she spits out, before taking a deep breath. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. We broke up ages ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she gives him a look and is slightly proud of how he seems to shrink into himself a bit. “I-I know it’s five years too late. I know I didn’t handle it as well as I should’ve. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

The thing is, Noelle always thought that maybe hearing an apology someday would make her feel better. But now that’s heard it, she’s not sure she does. 

She swallows. “I appreciate that.”

“I’ve already read it, you know.”

“Read what?”

Jeremy runs a hand through his hair. “Your book. One of my teammate’s girlfriend recommended it and I asked to borrow it. It’s fantastic,” He looks down at the book in his hand. It’s like the cover is taunting her. “I wanted my own copy.”

“Oh.” 

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For letting me off the hook with the poems I know were about me,” he scoffs, shaking his head at himself. “You could’ve written way worse.”

She can’t help but let out a chuckle. “I thought I was pretty mean.”

“Your definition of ‘pretty mean’ is tame compared to a lot of people,” he says, mindlessly flipping through the pages of the book. “You were always the kindest person, even when you shouldn’t have been..” 

He puts his hand out in her direction, the hand with the book in it. She furrows her eyebrows. “What-”

“Could I get a signed copy?”

“Jeremy. What do you want from me?”

He sighs, taking his hand back. “A chance to apologize?”

“You’ve already done that.”

“Not in the way I want to and what you deserve.”

She lets out a sigh, turning to face him fully. “I don’t know if that would be worth my time or yours. I know the book just came out, but that was five years ago. I’m over it. Forgive and forget, right?”

“But do you?” Jeremy counters back. “Clearly, you don’t forget, which I deserve. But forgive?” 

“We’re just going in circles now.”

“No we’re not,” he says firmly. “You’re just shutting me down because you don’t want to talk about it. I’ve had five years to prepare what I would say to you if I saw you again. You’re telling me you haven’t?”

“Of course I have,” Noelle tips her head back. “But also, what’s the point?”

“The point, is that I still love you.”

“Fuck you,” she says in a strained voice. “You can’t just-you can’t just throw that shit out there. Fuck you.”

He bites his lip, and to her annoyance, he laughs. But she listens more carefully, and it sounds very self deprecating. “I deserved that.”

“Yeah,” Noelle looks down at her feet. “So…what? You still love me?”

“I do.”

“And what are you going to do about that?”

“What are you going to let me do?”

“I live in Brooklyn.”

“I know,” she whips her head up. Jeremy looks sheepish, which she didn’t even think was something he knew how to do. “Seth mentioned it when we caught up a bit ago. I also still follow you on Instagram.”

She tries again. “It’s been five years.”

“And I’m here sitting with you and still feel the exact same way I did back then. Even more, to be honest.” He eyes her pointedly. “Any more excuses?”

Her voice softens. “You really hurt me.”

“I know. And I’m so sorry, Noelle.”

“I hurt you too.”

He shrugs. “We were young and stupid.”

“And we’re still not?” Noelle says with a snort before swallowing. “I’m not the same person you fell in love with.”

“I’m sure I’m not either. But I don’t know if there’s a world where I don’t love every version of you.”

“Even after reading the book?”

“Especially after reading the book,” he sighs. “Noelle, I know this is unfair of me. All of this. And I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to reach out. But I always intended to. And then you’re here? And I see you twice in two days? I’d be an idiot to not try. More of an idiot than I am, anyways.”

“Try for what?”

“A second chance? To be friends? Whatever you want.” He suddenly deflates. “Even if you don’t want anything to do with me. At least I’ll know.”

“Why did you never text me?”

“I thought about it a lot,” he admits. “I tried once, actually, after the high of a really good win. But it didn’t go through. I got the message.”

“The message?”

“You blocked me, right?”

Oh. “Yeah,” she lies. “I did.” She reaches into her bag for a pen and gestures for the book, which he gives to her, a curious gleam in his eyes. “I’m in Boston for two more days, including today.”

He takes the hint immediately. Eagerly. “I have a game tonight, but I’m free tomorrow.”

“Who are you guys playing?”

“Toronto. And I’m starting. Should be a good one.”

She hums non-committedly, scribbling on the inside of the front cover. She hands it back to him with a small, close-lipped smile. She nods at him to read the message.

to my first fan, 

i still love you too. 

xxx-xxx-xxxx

yours, 

noelle

He looks up, eyes shining but a bit confused. 

“I never blocked you. I just changed my number.”

“Oh.”

“And even if I still love you, I’m still mad at you.”

“I know. I’d be more surprised if you weren’t.”

She stands up, adjusting the bag on her shoulder and putting her sunglasses on. “Text me?”

His mouth splits wide into a grin. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

She backs away with one last attempt at a smile before turning down the street.

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[actiniumwrites]

𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊

synopsis: you and neuvillette dance among the mechanical dancing robots, copellia and copellius, after a particularly stressful day

characters: neuvillette x gn!reader

wc: 1,066

warnings: fluff, a pinch of angst, reverse hurt/comfort, established relationships, some spoilers for neuvillette’s personality but no major spoilers for 4.0, this follows the theory that neuvillette is the dragon (i mean at this point, hyv is throwing it in our faces)

notes: i’ve had this idea since the trailer came out and i am very excited to be writing it! luckily neuvillette is kinda easy to write since he reminds me a lot of zhongli but in a better way? idk but i love him so so so so much. i actually had to cover my mouth while playing the quest because he made me smile so hard 💀

Little drops of rain dusted away from the wind, falling gently across your skin as you stepped outside of the Opera Epiclese, arm hooked around Neuvillette’s. At the sound of rain, his eyes raised toward the sky before back to the ground, sighing in frustration. Work had been particularly tasking lately, what with the latest homicide case that Lady Furina just couldn’t seem to take seriously. He didn’t need bad weather on top of everything else.

Shaking him out of his thoughts, you pulled him gently along, “Wanna go for a walk?”

“You know I hate to deny you your wishes, but this weather is not suited for walking, my dear,” he gently replied, pulling you back under the overhang and away from where the rain was falling. Of course. Even though he was the one who was not okay, he was still putting you before his own needs.

Your eyes flickered between his, observing the tiredness in them. Dark blue and purple bags formed under his eyes, his hair ever so slightly disheveled. The twinge of red in them made your heart ache, realizing he had been crying again. Who knew how long it had been since he had properly been able to take a break and go outside, enjoy the scenery, or even just breathe.

Making up your mind in an instant, you reached for your umbrella, quickly snapping it open and holding it above you both. Neuvillette quickly grabbed it from you and gently peeled your hands off of it.

Always the gentleman, you think to yourself.

He followed in your footsteps blindly, letting you take the lead during this outing. There was one place you had in mind, one that always seemed to bring you peace. You only hoped it would bring him peace as well, even if it only amounted to a little bit.

“We’re here,” you turned to him, smiling with a glimmer of hope in your eyes. You gestured your hand to the robots in front of you, waltzing around in the rain entirely free from the world around them.

Neuvillette set his eyes on the mechanical couple dancing in front of him, unable to stray his gaze from them, almost as if they were hypnotizing him, “Copellia and Copellius? I was unaware you often came to observe them.”

“I find a certain tranquility in them,” you said quietly, nudging his shoulder with yours and leaning into him a little more, “there’s just something about the way they dance. It’s mesmerizing really, especially when it rains.”

“I cannot say I disagree,” he hummed.

You both paused in your movements as you watched the scene in front of you. Neither of you spoke for a few minutes, just letting the calm silence fall over you like the rain. There was a calming tune playing in the background, echoing from the phonograph broadcast towers by the Opera Epiclese. A classical tune you enjoyed, but one you never bothered to learn the name of.

Quietly, your hand reached up and took the umbrella from Neuvillette. His eyes met yours, alerted by the sudden touch of your hand against his. You gave him a small, but reassuring smile and placed the umbrella down on a nearby concrete ledge. Grabbing his gloved hand in yours, you eagerly pulled him toward where they danced.

“Are you sure?” He hurriedly asked, concerned for your health as the icy rain fell upon your skin, “I would hate for you to get sick.”

You hummed in reply, assuring him you would be okay. Neuvillette nodded back and held your hand a little tighter, pulling you into him so you could fall into step with the clockwork meka.

Back and forth, you both waltzed alongside them. One hand was raised in the air, intertwined with yours as the other pressed against your lower back, holding you close to him. Round and round, your footsteps fell in sync with his as you both danced along the robots. A few people had noticed, stopping by to stare in awe at the sight before carrying on with their days. It felt like hours had passed, but in truth, it had only been a mere ten minutes. When you were with one another, basking in each other’s presence, time just didn’t seem to exist.

And as the rain began falling particularly heavily, you felt your heart ache once more. Your head raised from the spot where it was just resting on his shoulder. Slowing your steps to a stop, you tenderly brush the ivory and blue strands of hair that covered his face off to the side, only to reveal a pool of tears gathering in your lover’s eyes.

Wordlessly, you swiped the ones that had escaped off of his face while a frown paints itself across your face. Placing your hands on either side of his face, you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. He reciprocated the action, pulling you closer to him with the hand that laid on your back, allowing the tears to flow in the presence of your comfort.

“I had no idea you were so skilled at dancing,” he whispered as his lips departed from yours, simultaneously swiping the tears with his hands. You softly laughed to yourself, hooking your arm in his as you began to leave the area.

“Well,” you started as you walked up the steps, pulling him along, “it isn’t like we often dance together. Not seriously anyway.”

“Maybe we should do this more often? Only if you would like to, of course.”

You nodded in agreement, turning back to face him, “To be honest, I always thought you weren’t really into this kind of stuff.”

A few strands of hair that had fallen over his face again were wiped by his hands as he answered, “I do…if it’s with you.”

When you glanced at him again, he was smiling. It was the first one you had seen in a long time — or rather, the first genuine one in a long time. His hands peeled off the soaking wet gloves that once adorned his hands before moving to grab your hand once more. And as you set off for home, hand in hand, you noticed the rain had stopped. The once gloomy skies were filled with the setting sun and an array of blues, reds, and oranges. As Neuvillette found his happiness again, so had the sky.

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact fanfiction #neuvillette #neuvillette angst #neuvillette fluff #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #neuvillette x y/n

[pippin-katz]

“We knew that if Taylor and Nick didn’t feel safe, we would never have gotten that scene out of them.”

I've reread this interview a couple times, and the last sentence hit me differently. My entire chest expanded. I’ve been blabbering on and on about Taylor and Nicholas having to do intimate choreography, and it still blows me away that they did, but that comment is so sweet.

They felt safe. They felt safe with each other. They felt safe with Matthew and Robbie. They were able to perform the most beautiful and romantic sex scene I’ve ever witnessed because they felt safe.

I can't stress the use of the word "safe" enough.

It's impossible to know what they were thinking while filming, but I can imagine that they occasionally got those instinctive nerves, but they were able to keep filming because they trusted each other that much. They could think to themselves: "he's got me".

That is the sweetest, most wholesome thing ever.

Nicholas and Taylor are such close friends and care so much about each other that they're able to do this kind of scene. They know the other would never do anything to make them uncomfortable. They have to be completely vulnerable, but they're okay with that because they trust each other that much. That is such an incredible friendship, and a truly special bond.

It also occurred to me that that trust and safety they felt is probably part of why it feels as intimate as it does. The point of the scene is to show how far Alex and Henry have come in their relationship that they trust each other to do that.

Henry’s unable to “belong to someone else” except for a moment, and he has fallen so in love and trusts Alex so much to give himself to him in literally the most intimate way possible, even if it’s temporary. Alex has never done any of this before, considering he hadn’t truly considered his bisexuality before Henry, and obviously hasn’t had this kind of sex, but he feels comfortable enough with Henry to tell him that he’s nervous and trusts Henry will make sure everything goes right. I mean Henry literally says “trust me, you’re in good hands”, and Alex does.

Trust and safety is literally part of the characters' journeys in that scene. Nick and Taylor's real life trust in each other can provide a genuine base to build off of for Alex and Henry's.

God I wish they could do interviews, I want to hear them talk about it more (if they’re willing). They talked about it somewhat in the pre-conducted interviews, but not to the extent Matthew is in this. Obviously they don’t have to if they’re not comfortable sharing though.

I think this makes me feel so much because I'm personally demisexual and demiromantic, so emotional bonds are very important to me, in general. It's my heart's desire to find someone to love and trust that much, platonically and/or romantically.

PS: Just to be absolutely clear, this is not about shipping Nick and Taylor!! I'm just gushing about their bond with each other! I'm not trying to imply they are romantically involved in any way!

#no one try to take my head off please #i'm autistic and socially inept #this is all in good intentions #i just think they're neat #red white and royal blue #rwrb #rwrb movie #rwrb thoughts #taylor zakhar perez #nicholas galitzine #matthew lopez #robbie taylor hunt #rwrb interview

[oddinary4bts]

Love is a Laserquest | choi san

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

☆pairing: gangster!Choi San x female!reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)

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

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

☆word count: 16.5k

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

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

☆☆☆☆☆

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

Love is a Laserquest – Arctic Monkeys

☆☆☆☆☆

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You remember breaking his heart like it was yesterday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His choices had been proof enough of it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” he lets out, barely audible.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like all those years ago, you reckon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” he replies, features fully serious.

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

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

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

“Where can we stop?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,” he curses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe you could have opened his eyes.

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go away.”

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His gun.

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

“Sorry.”

“San, I’m so sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit,” he curses. “Sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,” is all he’s able to say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Angel…”

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

“I’m no angel,” you breathe.

“You saved me.”

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

“You deserved saving.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gosh,” is all you manage to say.

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

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

“Don’t.”

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

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

Were you really riding his face just a moment ago?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As far away from here as I can.”

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

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

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

*****

Seven years later

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☆☆☆☆☆

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

Taglist:

@btsborahaee

#outlaw: the project #love is a laserquest #choi san #choi san smut #choi san angst #choi san fanfiction #choi san fanfic #choi san fic #choi san x reader #choi san x you #san #san smut #san angst #san fanfiction #san fanfic #san fic #san x you #san x reader #not bts #ateez

[traumasurvivors]

I wrote a blog post about how harmful it can be to have your emotions invalidated growing up. It's here if you want to check it out! I'll paste the text below the read more for people who don't like links, but if you're comfortable, I really appreciate getting hits on my site! It feels really validating after all the work I've put into it. I've opted to not have any ads or anything to monetize my site, so it isn't like those annoying clickbait articles.

The effects of having our emotions invalidated while we’re growing up isn’t talked about enough and it can have lasting effects. This can happen when people say things like “you don’t know real struggles” when a younger person is upset about something they’re struggling with. This might include being told “I’ll give you something to cry about” which implied that the reason you were crying then “wasn’t a big enough reason”. Other people may have had to deal with “worse” problems and so we were told to be thankful for what we had because of what other children experienced. Your feelings of sadness, frustration, disappointment or anger were still real and valid. And you were allowed those feelings.

You may have been told to “stop being so sensitive,” which taught that you weren’t tough enough. You may have also been told “it builds character” which may have made you feel that you had to find a positive lesson in every bad thing you experienced. This can also be part of how people invalidate the seriousness of abuse, and other things that happened to you that were someone else’s fault. If someone doesn’t want to take responsibility, they may minimize what happened to you. They may say it’s okay because “they didn’t mean to do it” or “they don’t know any better,” perhaps because of abuse they went through. Your feelings may be invalidated because someone wants you to “let it go.” How serious they feel it was, or the reasons it happened, are not reasons that your feelings should be ignored or disregarded. Your feelings are valid. You should never have to “let it go.” 

These things that we were told, and many more, taught us that our emotions were bad and wrong. It likely felt invalidating. It may have been damaging And it probably affects how we see the emotions of others. I’ve had people say similar things to me now that I’m an adult, and I think it’s likely they do it because they were told things like these when they were younger, too. Over time, this has led to me invalidating my own feelings. I’ve told myself I should be strong and to avoid such feelings, or that the reasons for them weren’t “big enough”. I told myself that others had it worse than me, therefore I wasn’t allowed to be upset. None of these things helped me. Instead, they actually made me worse off. I bottled stuff up and then began using unhealthy coping methods to deal with the emotions. Having our emotions invalidated as we grow up can be traumatizing in its own way. It also doesn’t teach us how to effectively deal with and process our negative emotions. This can lead to people having fits of uncontrollable rage, spirals of depression and guilt, substance abuse to avoid feelings, and any number of other unhealthy reactions that can cause us more harm and prolong everything or make it worse.

Being unable to cope with my feelings was a big part of me not being able to cope with conflict in my relationships. Downplaying any “bad” thing that happened and ignoring it meant, for instance, I wouldn’t point out and deal with a small (sometimes completely unintentional) mistake. Instead, I let my feelings build without communicating about them and let my resentment build. By the time I acknowledged and spoke about my feelings, the problem was a thousand times worse than it would have been if I had dealt with it quickly. And sometimes it was too late to fix the damage done.

It’s not too late to learn and do better. You don’t have to be thankful it wasn’t “worse”. You don’t have to find a silver lining. While it’s important not to get stuck in our feelings long-term, sitting with them and feeling them and acknowledging you aren’t okay is okay! It’s okay to think something sucks or that it wasn’t fair. It’s okay to feel frustrated or sad over “small” things. Sometimes we don’t even understand why a situation or something has left us having such big feelings, and that’s okay, too! Your feelings are real and valid, even if they don’t make sense to you. And you deserve patience and compassion. Especially from yourself.

When you have negative feelings, if you find yourself minimizing them, or telling yourself why you don’t have a right to feel them, stop and try to be aware of what you’re doing. And allow yourself to feel it if you can. I've often had to remind myself that while it is uncomfortable, I can be uncomfortable and sit with my feelings. Think about if there’s a healthy response you can have to those feelings. For instance, if someone said something hurtful to you, talking to them about it might be a lot more productive than acting like you don’t care. Your feelings are valid. And invalidating them yourself is unlikely to be good for you.

Try to remember that, and try to be kind to yourself.

#my blog posts #emotions #validation #trauma

[cassandraclare]

hiii cassie 💛 i hope you’ve been enjoying your time away writing, your locations are always beautiful per usual and you deserve it so much, question regarding a certain tween blondie that loves potato chips (yes, tis’ kit)

i’ve found myself struggling resonate fully with kits character due to the fact that in tda it seemed he was set up as “the new jace” yet..during my current tmi re read, i’m just NOW realizing how completely (emphasis on completely) different they are from eachother. and i also find myself struggling because he’s made to seem like he has an “uncanny resemblance” to jace yet so many of us readers know they aren’t from the same line of herondales at all. i’d figure jace gets his incredibly good looks from stephen, james, cordelia, will etc. HIS ancestors. while kit has completely different ancestors, along with johnny rooks genes.

i fear that if he’s referred to anymore as a “mini jace” that i won’t ever be able to fully resonate w him due to that lack of logic taking me out of the book 🥹 sorry to point this all out i tried to ignore it but im just like “will i have to read about him being jaces twin despite the lack of genetic sense it makes all of..twp?”

Hmm. I mean, I don't think there's anything indicating he's Jace's twin — otherwise people would be constantly mixing them up and Clary, upon seeing him, would be staggered rather than curious. :)

I think you have to decide, a bit, what really bothers you re: longstanding tropes and science in fantasy — after all, the way the Herondale mark is passed down makes no sense genetically. Neither does their ability to see ghosts. None of it has anything to do with genetics, because it is about magic, and so is Jace and Kit's resemblance. The idea that people who have ancestors in common long ago have a sort of ineffable resemblance goes way back to the origins of fantasy. It's about pointing out a preternatural connection, not about common genes. It exists as a mythic trope that isn't connected to science in the same way the mythic trope exists that you can inherit not just, say, eye color, but also personality quirks like loyalty or evilness. (See: TV Tropes page "In the Blood.")

For what it's worth, I don't think of Jace and Kit as characters who are particularly similar, personality-wise or in any other way, really. They both had traumatic childhoods, and were later adopted into new families, and that makes for some points in common, but I have never thought of Kit as a new Jace (we still have the OG Jace, so he doesn't need replacing!) or a mini Jace or anything like that, so anything that seems otherwise is unintentional or open to interpretation.

#kit herondale

[lolita-lollipop]

i’ve never requested anything before so idk how this works but, if you’re still taking request for avatar characters, i’m thinking of a neteyam x reader, like the reader is a really talented warrior and they’re the apprentice of Jake and Both the Reader and Neteyam are constantly in competition to see who’s the strongest and at some point one of them just has an outburst due to all the pressure they have on them. (btw i literally found your account today and i just have to say i love your writing) :))

NETEYAM X READER

Golden child

———————————————————————

Growing up in the omaticaya clan, the people recognized the spark you had, a passionate flame that burned in your heart. Strong, leading. Everybody knew that you would be someone great, and that’s exactly what you were. You always aimed for the top, always made 1st place, always tried your hardest at everything you did.

And alongside you, the oldest son of Jake sully, neteyam.

The two of you were fairly close in age, you being only a few months younger, and when your parents died, and were given back to eywa, jake felt the responsibility of taking you in, they were in his war party, and you reminded him so much of himself. And Neytiri always wanted a daughter, so you became a sully.

And so it begun. With the two of you, everything had to be a competition. You got your ikran? Neteyam gets his a day later. You catch a fish while hunting? Neteyam catches 7. You can eat 2 fish? Neteyam can at 3. Every waking hour the two of you lived was spent staring at eachother, waiting to beat the other. THe only thing you had above him, was that you were in the war party, and he always on lookout.

“Did you get hurt while on your mission? I guess the sky people are getting too strong for you.” he spoke, noticing the cut on your cheek, the both of you knew he was joking. He pressed a piece of cloth against your cheek, sending a smirk. You just narrowed your eyes, chuckling.

“Being that i was able to come within 10 feet of one, im not worried. How was your little tree a mile away from our spot? Was it nice and warm?” you taunted right back at him, laughing at how his smirk fell. This was such a common interactionbetween the two of you, in which neither of you took it seriously.

Even so, you and neteyam were kind of forced to grow a bond, being that 90% of your time was spent trying to outdo the other. The two of you didnt really know why it was the way it was between you two, maybe the validation you got from jake in being the oldest sibling, or the golden child, who could protect the family. Both of you kindled the same flame, and it made both of you stronger.

So naturally, when the two of you both moved to the metkayina tribes together, along with the rest o the sully family, and learned that you would have to learn the ways of water… It became a rivalry. Who could pick it up faster. Who’s ilu was bigger, who could stay underwater for longer, who could stay out of trouble longer.

ANd to your great surprise, neteyam found himself winning at everything. He was just so fast in adjusting to the world around, he could ride on an ilu within the first days of trying, automatically he was able to understand the breathing techniques of the metkayina clan, he made it look. So . easy.

But you? You couldnt, you didnt even know why it was so hard, tuk even got it within a month. You could barely swim, holding your breath was harder than fighting a sky person in one of those suits, and you just couldnt bond with the nature around, even if it was beautiful. You tried your hardest, practicing for hours longer than you had to, almost feinting from exhaustion every night. But still, things didnt get better like they usually did.

And it tore you apart, youd never not been good at something, even if it was hard at first, you ALWAYS got better at it. That was why this was just so strange for you, so overwhelming to the point that it made you want to rip your hair out. You just couldnt comprehend how he was just so good at everything, that was your job, it's not fun to compete when you arent good at it.

So as a few months past, your agitation grew, and your patience shrunk. Things werent getting better, even Lo-ak was picking things up faster than you, and he never did that. And trust me, everybody noticed, you became snappy, talking back to your dad, refusing to hang out with tuk most of the time, and you even yelled at anuong twice for teasing you. Eventually, jake stopped complimenting you like he did in the forests, and that hurt more than anything else could. Even if it was unintentional.

Eventually, when it all became too much for you to handle anymore, you asked for help. And who else to ask but the one guy you knew had to help you. Neteyam, he had to miss your daily little competitions, so he needed you to get better at… everything.

“Neteyam?” you approached him when the two of you were alone, he was cleaning the saddles of his ilu, which generally was an easy task, actually it was quite calming, so you assumed he would be easier to talk to now.

“Yeah?”

“I- im having trouble-i need you to- could you- um-” you spluttered, you were not known to be shy. Ever. This place is changing too much about you, and you hate it. The only person youd ever really felt comfortable asking for help from was jake, and even then that was only in dire situations. You just didnt know how to do it without feeling weak, feeling inferior.

“Oh? Is somebody trying to ask me for help?” A smirk splayed on his face as he side eyed you, placing the ilu saddle down, he crossed his arms, and stared at you in the same way neytiri would when she would watch you do something stupid. It was condescending. You wanted to punch him in the face.

“Y-yes, I am” his stare sent you into an internal rabbit hole, it was unrelenting, and you could tell exactly what he was thinking. That you were becoming weak. That he finally beat you at something.

“Say it.”

“Really?” You crossed your arms and stared at the boy. He had to be out of his mind to think you would go that low for him to- oh. You were going that low.

“Say. It.”

“Neteyam, please help me”

“Oh wow. What happened to the girl who restled a thanator? Is everybodys favorite Sully losing her spark?” he joked, setting a hand on your shoulder and tilting his head with a smirk. He wasnt serious, the two of you always teased eachother, which was most of the time mean comments, but it never was serious. But at this point, the nights you spent trying to swim instead of sleeping caught up, and your comprehension had ceased to work. Imagine neteyams surprise when his lighthearted joke made your lip start to wobble, and your eyes start to gloss over.

“Yeah- i think i am.” and with those words, your shoulders started shaking, and in a few seconds you dropped to your knees, and were crying like tuk does when she gets hurt. Large sobs racked your chest, and you brought your hands up to your eyes, shielding yourself from the embarrassment that you knew would come with crying in front of the boy that you constantly competed against.

You’d never felt so fucking incompetent before, like you couldn’t contribute anything to the table anymore. It made you want to kill everybody within a ten mile radius.

Immediately when neteyam realized that you were serious, and that this wasnt something you and loak were pranking him with, he also fell onto his knees, and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to him. His hand found it's way to your face, and he pushed the curtain of hair away from your eyes, pulling your hands away your hands.

“No- no don't cry y/n. I Didnt mean it, youre perfect- It was a joke i promise” He spluttered out in any attempts to console you, his eyes met your own, and he just stared. The both of you had experience in consoling younger crying siblings, but it never was you. He didnt think hed ever seen you cry before. It’s like all of his instincts froze up, and he had absolutely no idea what to do.

“Thats the thing Nete. I think youre right- I cant do anything anymore- breathing is hard for me- And dad doesnt look at me like he used to anymore- I just- i don't know what im doing wrong” you squinted your eyes and sniffled, you were just so tired, and overwhelmed. And so fucking done. You wanted to go home, back to what was normal, back where you could function like a person.

“Ma we y/n. Ma we. Y/n, you are the youngest to ever be in the omaticaya war party. Your name is known across pandora, you’ve surpassed the limits of eywa. You are nothing but elite-” he shifted in front of you and placed of his hands on the sides of your face. It forced you to look him in the eyes, and listen to what he was saying.

“Shes gone though- I cant hunt like they do. I am not a warrior of the sea. I can do nothing now. And youre just- you can do everything I can’t” the more you talked, the harder you made it for yourself to stop crying. All of the emotion, all of the anger, the grief, the aggravation, just crumbled. Along with that stupid golden child complex of yours.

“Y/n. Shut up. You are so amazing to me it hurts. The only reason you feel like this is because for the first time, you can’t do something. But that’s okay. I’m here. I see you.” He pressed his forehead to your own, wiping the tears that left your eyes with his thumb. You closed your eyes, and let him embrace you. This was strange, weakened wasn’t something either of you were very keen on showing, especially with him, especially not when it made you feel like this. Like neteyam was more than a rival.

“You promise?”

“Of course. ”

The two of you sat there for a moment, foreheads pressed closely, his hand on your shoulder and your face, comforting you with touch, rubbing circles into your back and wiping tears away. You could feel his breath, his heartbeat. And that alone was able to calm you down. Just him.

Just neteyam.

“I’m sorry- I know this is stupid I just didn’t know who else to ask and I thought you-“ it only took you a few seconds to realize the intimacy of the situation, him holding you, pressed up against your face, if anybody were to see you your parents would throw a fit. Your cheeks flushed a deeper shade of purple-y blue, and you stood up, breaking the locked eyes you had with the boy. He just chuckled.

“Does this mean I win?“ he let out the same giggle tuk might have when you went to throw the ilu saddle at him. Which eventually turned into him tackling you into the water. The two of you laughed, pretending to forget whatever just happened, whatever step the two of you just took in your relationship, trying to avoid whatever feelings both of you were most certainly having all of a sudden.

“Oh shut up”

———

*Bonus*

Anuong And loak watch your two figures from a farther away peer, they had been training when they caught eyes of the two golden silly’s getting a little too close for comfort. Immediately lo-ak was cackling at how stressed neteyam looked being so close to you.

“Let’s make a bet, loser has to do the others chores for a month” anuong spoke, staring at the two of you with intent. Lo-ak raised an eyebrow and smiled, it was so funny, he’d always been able to see it. The two of you were head over heels, you just couldn’t see it.

“I’d give it a week before they’re on top of eachother like mates” he answered, leaning over the edge of the peer and watching the two of press together. He couldn’t blame his brother for being so in love with you , you were amazing. Doesn’t mean he wouldn’t use your relationship to his advantage.

“You’re on, fish lips.”

———————————————————————

Lol I had fun writing this; not really angst but a lil bit sad here and there

Anyway, thanks for requesting, and thanks for reading, I lived writing this even though I’m pretty sure it’s not very good. Bye! Have a great day!

#avatar loak #avatar imagine #avatar x you #avatar x reader #avatar the way of water #avatar #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x you #neteyam x reader #neteyam #fem reader #navi #pandora #sully family x reader #sully family #platonic jake sully #favorite child

[darling-i-read-it]

Reunion Part 2

Part 1  

Trevor Philips x fem!reader, Michael Townley x fem!reader 

Word Count: 3,4k

Warnings: general gta things, murder, the mission where tracey is auditioning for fame or shame, violence, heavy allusions to smut 

Author’s Note: Trevor Philips <3 Trevor <3 T <3 (also I don’t plan on continuing this idea but would love requests for this game if anyone has any :)) 

Tagging: (hope you guys don’t mind me tagging you! You showed interest in a second part and I finally was able to finish what I had <3): @pngxxx, @ugh-why-ugh, @raspberriesbbylol 

Summary: The reader and Trevor go to confront Michael.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

When he pulled up to Michael’s house it was with a slight amount of tension. You were more nervous than him. You had decided the two of you would crash at his friends place while you were away from Sandy Shores, though he made you swear you would go back to the trailer. You weren’t sure why he had fallen in love with the place but you were willing to oblige. You just wanted him to shower first. 

“So this is where Michael Townely is living out his days,” Trevor grumbled. He shut the car door aggressively. You crossed your arms. There was a car in the driveway. You wondered if it was his or Amanda’s. Maybe the kids. They would be so old by now. The last time you had seen them they were just little ones, running around, finding personalities. 

“Michael Townely leaves the door unlocked,” you noted as you pushed the front door open. 

“Fuckin rookie.” 

Trevor pushed past you. You could hear the buzz of a conversation happening in the other room. You followed him as he followed the noise. 

“Stop it you two! You’re ruining my fucking yoga!” You recognized the voice of Amanda. The shrill was hard to forget. 

“Somebody say yoga?” Trevor stepped forward. You remained back a bit, watching to see how they would react to him. Plus, you knew Trevor wanted his moment. There was a long stunned silence. 

“Trevor?” Michael asked. Even hearing his voice made you angry. You didn’t know how Trevor was holding it together. 

“Michael…” “Hey..it’s good to see you man.” 

“Hmm yeah I bet it is. ‘Course, I’m not the one that’s been resurrected.” You stepped into the room, causing another gentle stunned silence. 

“Nice house you got here Mikey.”

Michael had gone to your house. He had waited there and you never came. He figured you had skipped town at the very noise of something happening with the job but he should’ve known better. He should’ve known you would go to Trevor first. You would always go to Trevor first. 

Michael put his son behind him subtly. You tilted your head at the silent insult. You had held that kid the day he was born. 

“I got in a bit of an awkward situation.” 

“Hmm you’re telling me bro. One of those…fake your own deaths to your best buddy and then run off with the dough..live in a big mansion. Awkward. Situation.” Trevor approached him. Michael eyed you. If he had the capacity he would be stunned by the look of you. He had missed you so much. A part of him had even missed Trevor. Maybe he just missed the then. 

“That’s one way of looking at it.” 

“Yeah? Do you have any other ways of looking at it?” you asked. You crossed your arms, leaning against the wall beside a man who had an unnaturally large bun in his hair. You recognized the others in the room but not him. Maybe he was Amanda’s boytoy. You almost snorted. 

“It’s been a long time. I’ve been in witness protection, I still am.”

“Save the excuses Michael,” you argued. You pushed yourself off the wall. 

“Where are our manners!?” Trevor exclaimed. “We come waltzing in and don’t even say hi to old friends. Amanda, it is good to see you. I missed you. You used to be fatter. Nice new tits by the way,” he said, approaching her. She backed away as he walked forward. You eyed her evenly. He pointed at Jimmy. “Jimmy, you used to be thinner. But ah, can’t blame you.” He gestured to Jimmy’s parents. 

You stared, reminded of a life you could have had and never got. 

Trevor stopped at the man with the man bun. 

“Who are you?” 

“Namaste. I’m Fabien.” You snorted. Trevor turned to you.

 “You all remember Y/N! Except you Fabien.” You waved. “You know, she thought I was dead. I thought she was dead. I wonder who would’ve pushed that idea!” Trevor was standing in front of Michael again. You walked forward. 

“You look good Michael,” you mused. “Amanda, are you fucking Fabien? I’ve gotta know, I’m sorry.” Amanda gasped and tried to stammer out half thought up answer. Trevor interrupted her. 

“Where’s Tracey?” 

“Jim, where’s your sister?” Michael questioned. 

“Uh..um…uh she’s..she’s trying out for TV.” Everyone turned to look at him. The tension dissipated. 

“She’s what?” Michael asked. 

“Yeah, she’s auditioning for Fame or Shame.” 

“The fuck you talking about?”

“You know, it’s that talent slash skill show. She loves it, you guys know that.” “What’s her talent?” “Dancing.” 

“Oh Christ, she’s a horrible dancer.” 

“She might disagree with you on that.” 

“Jesus Christ, now. Now? Where?” 

“Um..the Maze Bank Arena.” 

Trevor jumped into the father son conversation. 

“Our little Tracey being humiliated, let’s go. We go get her.” 

“We?” Michael asked. 

“We,” you agreed. “You gonna stand there and argue while your daughter becomes a national laughing stock? You’re worse than I thought.” Michael held your eye contact. 

“Fine.” 

-

You grabbed Tracey, who was ecstatic to see you and Trevor until she wasn’t. Then you followed some dick head through Los Santos. Trevor punched him, stripped him, then recorded him doing some shitty dance. All regular Trevor things. 

“You comin’ babe?” Trevor asked, hoping into the front end of a semi. 

“I’ll meet you back at the apartment,” you promised. “I’ll have this asshole drive me.” You gestured to Michael.

“Don’t put any bullets in his head without me.”

“Yes sir.” 

“Don’t be long!” 

Trevor took a hard turn but before he left completely he leaned out the window. 

“Hey Michael!” 

“Yeah Trevor?” 

He leaned forward, a small smug smile on his face.

“She fucked me. She fucked me.” Nine years of that lingering question and there it was. There was the truth that Michael had been hanging off of. The way Trevor said it, he knew it was true. The eye roll on your face was too obvious. “See ya soon.” 

He drove away. You were left in his dust, in the Trevorless hole. You looked at Michael.

“That true?” he asked, like he didn’t know the answer. 

“Nine years. All our money. Death certificate.” He nodded slowly. 

“So you found the easiest psycho on the block?” Your jaw hardened. 

“I found my best friend.” Michael knew he was being hard on you. He shouldn’t be. You weren’t insane like Trevor. You were insane with Trevor. He might’ve been able to build a relationship with you if he had told you he was alive sooner. 

You were offended. Michael was acting like he hadn’t just waltzed back into your life after being resurrected. He had no right to judge you and Trevor. 

“I thought you were dead,” you told him. He nodded once, gesturing to the car. You got in the passenger seat. There was something to be said about you trusting him enough to drive you around. He could cap you and leave you, you knew that. He was capable of it. But he wasn’t going to, not now that he finally got you back. 

“I couldn’t exactly tell you I was, after it all went down.” He started the car. 

“Where are we going?” 

“I ain’t taking you back to Trevor if that’s what you’re asking.” You rolled your eyes. He avoided your question. “I knew you were out there, I figured Trevor was. I knew Lester was. It was better for everyone if I stayed dead.” 

“Brad went to jail.” Michael gave you a side eye. You squinted at him, confused. Finally your eyes opened wide in realization. “They killed Brad.” 

“Brad died,” he said, like it was any better. 

“Who is in that jail cell?”

“No one.” Your mouth dropped a bit in amazement. All this time, the grave you had been mourning at was not Michael’s but Brad’s. You felt a pang of guilt. He deserved your grief all this time. You looked straight ahead. He was driving through the heart of Los Santos. 

“Damn,” you muttered. “Still can’t believe you’re alive Mikey.” 

“Me too girl. Me too.” He took a sharp turn. “Thank you for helping me with Tracey. Not that I needed it.” 

“You had it handled, I know.” You rolled your eyes. You glanced over at him. Your Michael Townley, alive again. You shook your head. “Amanda seems happy.”

He scoffed. 

“You met Fabian. She’s clearly happy.” You snorted. 

“I never liked her and then Jimmy came along and…”

“Yeah well I wanted a family,” he admitted. “Fat lot of good it’s done me now. Both my kids hate me and my wife cheats on me. I’m back in the world of crime with my formally dead best friends.” “We were not the dead ones.” 

Michael thought of Lester’s words. 

She deserved better than both of you. But you have to know she would’ve always chosen him. 

He shook off the haunting thoughts. He didn’t let himself feel how much he had loved you. 

“I went to your apartment,” he said.

“Stalker.” 

“Yesterday,” he corrected. “I waited for you. I had Lester tell me where you lived and I waited,” he explained. “You never came.” 

“Yeah I think Trevor cleared that one up for you,” you muttered. “I was in a shitty trailer bed in Sandy Shores.”

“You were always welcome in my bed  in Rockford Hills.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Townley, you’re a married man!” He glanced over at you. You met his gaze. The joke hung in the air and slowly became more serious. You pursed your lips and a sense of melancholy went over his eyes. “What a life it would’ve been though huh?”

“It doesn’t have to be-”

“Yeah Mikey. It does.” Your voice was serious. The one you used during business. He pulled into the parking lot of the boardwalk. He wasn’t sure what made him come here. He just didn’t wanna go home yet. Kids passed in front of the car, going towards the rides. The car stayed running. “You died on me.”

“I’m not dead now.”

The look you gave him was not a forgiving one. You reached across the center console, grabbing his hand. You smiled sadly at him. 

“I gotta go.” 

“No you don’t.” 

“Yeah, I do.” 

For a moment he thought you were gonna kiss him. Your lips were so alluring and so close. The same lips he had fantasized about when he was still a kid technically, early twenties, filled with hormones. Your look was too fucking sad. He had gotten you back, your lips were right there. What had he always sworn he was going to do if he saw you again? Damn Amanda, damn Trevor? 

He kissed you. It was feverish. Fast, passionate, filled with years of tension. You kissed him back for a moment. There was a moment in that kiss, maybe longer than a moment, where it was all okay. It was the kiss he had always wanted and it felt as good as he had always thought it would. 

You pulled away and got out of the car. You didn’t speak, you didn’t break that moment for him. He was still leaning across the console when you left the car and he lingered there for a moment too long. You took out your phone, walked towards the amusement rides, and called a cab. 

-

You tossed money at the cab driver, enough for a tip as well. The driver left you quickly, back at his job just as quickly as he had come. You were grateful the drive wasn’t long. 

Michael’s lips still stained yours. You wanted to kiss Trevor. Bad. 

It wasn’t that the kiss with Michael wasn’t good. In fact, it was great. It was a good kiss with a guy you had once loved, with a guy you could’ve built a good life with. But now it tasted like betrayal and lost worlds.  

You didn’t bother knocking. The door opened slowly into the hallway. You could hear voices coming from inside the apartment. 

“Debra isn’t gonna like this,” Floyd said nervously. 

“Debra isn’t gonna like any of this. Don’t fuckin worry, I’ll make sure you’re man of the year in way of making girlfriends angry,” Trevor’s voice responded. When you turned the corner you could see Trevor was writing on the walls. The main entrance that had once said live, laugh, love, was now crudely covered with eat, shit, die. You recognized the handwriting. 

“I really would prefer it if you didn’t,” Floyd said. Trevor turned around to answer him, some sarcastic answer hanging on his lips. He didn’t say it when he saw you. His face immediately softened and whatever snarky comment he was going to say died in his mouth. 

“That was quick.” 

“Michael’s fast,” you muttered. He narrowed his eyes on you. 

“You didn’t-”

“No. No.” He nodded once. He felt relieved to hear that. You were his. He wasn’t gonna share you any more, he was sick of sharing you. 

“Do you think you could get him to stop?” Floyd questioned. You looked at the walls, covered in black markers. You shook your head. 

“He doesn’t have a leash.” 

“My girl.” He waltzed back over to you, cupping your cheek with his hand and kissing you. It was the kind of kiss you were wanting. You melted into it, not caring that Floyd was watching. 

Floyd wanted to make a comment about how you deserved better. But the way you leaned into the kiss was something Debra had never done for him. Maybe he could take some notes from Trevor. 

“I grabbed the guest bedroom. King bed.” 

“That’s Debra’s bed,” Floyd muttered, but neither of you listened. 

“That sounds fancy,” you admitted. You smiled up at him, happy to be back. It was like a dream. All of those fantasies you had about what life could’ve been had started to mold into this weird perfect situation with Trevor. “You test it out yet?”

“I wanted to wait for you m’lady,” he said, lowly. You rolled your eyes but it didn’t seem genuine with the smile on your lips. He put his hand on the small of your back. 

“Did you take a shower?” He was the one to roll his eyes this time. 

“You’re askin a lot of me doll.” 

“We need to go shopping too. I can get you all snazzy,” you promised. “I’ll steal some of Townley’s money to do it too.” 

“You had me at steal.”

He was like a love struck puppy. It read in his eyes. Trevor fell in love with every girl who gave him a passing look. This one was looking right at him, always had been. He was so exhilarated with winning the game he and Michael had played for so long that he couldn’t feel anything else except lust and love. 

“Shower.” He groaned, long, dramatic. 

“You wanna come?” Your smile was playful. You pushed him towards the bathroom. He took it as a no. His hands lingered on you for as long as you let him. “I’ll be five minutes.” 

“Scrub between your toes too T.” 

“Yeah yeah.” He walked into the bathroom, waving. He hadn’t brought clothes in with him. He would either walk back out in the same outfit, defeating the purpose of the shower, or he’d walk out naked. You walked to the guest bedroom and grabbed some clothes for him, feeling Floyd’s eyes on you. 

“How long do you think you guys will be staying?” he asked nervously. He could read Trevor but you were harder to understand. You seemed normal for the most part. He was worried you might blow up on him. 

“Hopefully not long,” you promised. You could hear the water running so you opened the door. 

“Ocupado!” Trevor called. You put his clothes on the sink. 

“Wear these.” 

“Is it lingerie?” You rolled your eyes and shut the door behind you. 

“I’m sorry we crashed like this. Been a long time since we’ve seen each other.”

“He doesn’t exactly care for boundaries does he?”

“Don’t say that too loud Floyd,” you joked. You looked around. Everytime you entered this apartment it was slightly dirtier. You wondered what would happen when Debra returned, storming through the door. “We’ll be out of your hair as soon as possible,” you lied. 

“Okay,” he muttered. He looked down at the table, smeared with pizza sauce and other substances he didn’t want to identify. 

“Sorry about him. He’s just kinda..like that.”

“So you two haven’t seen each other in a long time?” he repeated. You nodded once. 

“I thought he was dead. He thought I was dead. Life of crime is not for the faint of heart,” you said offhandedly. You wondered if you should run to your apartment and grab some clothes. You wondered how long Trevor planned on staying. 

“Yeah I don’t think I wanna be involved,” he explained. You shrugged. 

“Happens to the best of us.” 

You walked into the guest bedroom to look around for some clothes of your own to change into. You tossed your phone on the sheets, noting the new contact in it. Michael De Santa. There was a text from him. 

You looked at it from afar, like reading it through a squint would make it less real. 

It doesn’t have to be like this. 

That was it. He knew it had to be like this. You had told him. You had a text from Lester as well. His faceless contact made your phone screen bright. 

It’s safer to stay out of this, was all he said. You rolled your eyes. When had you ever cared about how safe something was? Your bullet wound in the shoulder ached with the memories. You didn’t like being warned or being persuaded. You turned your phone around. 

The bathroom door opened. You were standing beside the closet, moving aside some of Debra’s things. Thankfully she seemed to have brought most of it with her, wherever she went. 

Trevor walked into the room, closing the door lightly behind him. You met his eyes. He was clean, wet from the humid water. Finally wearing clean clothes, sweatpants and a shirt. He dipped his head to kiss you like you were giving him his last breath. 

“I wanna get married,” he muttered against your lips. He was leaning against the bed, his back legs flush with the sheets. You laughed. “I’m serious. It’s been too long. We would’ve done it ages ago.”

“Slow down cowboy.” 

You gently pushed him onto the bed. He looked up at you with the most devoted eyes. You straddled him, pushing your hair so it was out of your face. 

“Aren’t you wanted by the FIB?” you questioned. “You think they’re gonna sign our marriage certificate?”

“We can get an Elvis. Get drunk. Have a month long honeymoon.” His eyes wandered your body. His body reacted quickly to you being on top of him. The thought was alluring, you couldn’t lie.

“Okay,” you breathed, kissing him. “Later. We have all the time in the world now,” you promised. “I just wanna stay right…here.” He moaned as your lips nipped his ear. 

“Whatever you want.” 

#trevor philips x reader #trevor philips x fem!reader #michael de santa x reader #michael de santa x fem!reader #michael townley x fem!reader #gta imagines

[saphira-approves]

Something something professional artist jargon something something insert art knowledge here—whatever I want to talk about the book covers

So you’ve got Eragon, with a 3/4 portrait of Saphira; she’s giving a benevolent side eye with almost a Mona Lisa smile, she’s got that gleam in her eye, she’s looking at you but not head on—listen, this was the whole reason I picked up the book in the first place when I was eleven, she was so clearly full of life and personality and I just really wanted to meet her. It’s a really good glimpse of her character before even opening the book. She’s engaging you, but also maybe judging you a little bit, and she has a lot of thoughts but she’s going to keep them to herself for right now, thank you.

We’re skipping Eldest for right now because I have a point to make. Shush.

For Brisingr, we get a perfect side portrait of Glaedr, the grumpy old man. He’s not even side-eyeing the viewer like Saphira does; he is eyes forward, goal-oriented, noble and regal and, unless you’re worth his time, not really going to bother with you because he has Important Business to attend to. He is The Last of the pre-Fall dragons, his Rider is The Last of the pre-Fall Riders, he represents a bygone era that will never fully be resurrected, but can still inspire the present to fight for the future; he is no longer fully his own dragon, but a Relic, a Memory, a Symbol. He’s not anxious about it the way Eragon or Saphira might be; he has grieved for a century, he couldn’t be anxious about it if he tried. But he knows that keeping his integrity intact is important, and so this is how he presents himself: Noble. Regal. The Survivor. The Last.

Fírnen graces the cover of Inheritance, bookending the original series by almost perfectly mirroring Saphira—and seriously, it is so satisfying to line the books up with these two at the ends. Though he’s got a 3/4 profile like Saphira, Fírnen is much more reserved. No Mona Lisa smile, no mischievous gleam in his eye; he simply looks at you, and you look back, and you wonder what he’s thinking. He is, in fact, a lot like Arya—anyone who’s read the previous three books up to that point and hasn’t been spoiled for the ending might be able to guess, just from this portrait, who the final egg would hatch for. It’s also a perfect expression for the Final Book, with the fate of Alagaësia and the dragons hanging in the balance: what world does this mysterious dragon emerge into? A war-torn apocalypse? A hard-won victory? What does his future entail, and thus, what do the futures of our favorite characters entail? You ask him so many questions, but all he will ever do is stare deep into your soul with his somber, too-knowing gaze.

And now for the main event:

My beautiful precious son, the red-scaled Thorn, staring you down from the covers of both Eldest and Murtagh. I have loved the cover of the second book ever since I first picked it up, and my appreciation has only grown with time; needless to say I was very excited when the Murtagh cover dropped, and I got to see both of my favorite characters in one place. For both of these, Thorn takes the same stance: a full-frontal combative position, looking You, The Viewer directly in the eye, daring you to judge him, daring you to get in his way. I’ve always had my own opinions about what lay behind this show of force, and the context we get in Murtagh does not disappoint. He may be terrifying, he may be the scourge of the war, but underneath all that, Thorn is terrified. He’s traumatized, he’s claustrophobic, his body is too big for his age; he is painfully young still, and yet treated like a dragon ten times his age because that’s how he looks. He’s also sweet, and playful, and cares so much about his Rider, and wants desperately to keep Murtagh safe and happy. Just like Murtagh, he hides all of that—the fear and the softness both—behind a visage of ferocity, playing into the fears and preconceived notions people have of him, warning enemies away so they can’t get too close to what will actually hurt him. He dares you to try. He’s terrified you will try. He will fight tooth and nail if you do try.

#why does tumblr keep tagging this post as mature when i hadn’t even posted it yet??? #IM not labeling it mature what is going on #is saphira too sultry or something #murtagh spoilers #anyway yeah i just wanted an excuse to talk about thorn’s character in the book covers #i love him okay #i may disagree with john jude palencar about what a dragon looks like #but i CANNOT deny he is extremely good at giving dragons personality #at some point i may to shruikan and vermund also i just mostly wanted to yell about thorn #there's definitely parallels to be drawn between shruikan and thorn but also vermund and glaedr #...sigh. yeah i guess i'll be doing them at some point in the future #inheritance cycle #christopher paolini #murtagh (inheritance cycle) #thorn (inheritance cycle) #saphira bjartskular #glaedr (inheritance cycle) #fírnen (inheritance cycle)

[inkpot909]

Jealousy Headcanons: Duwang Gang

↳ Characters included are Josuke Higashikata, Okuyasu Nijimura, Koichi Hirose, and Rohan Kishibe. Gender neutral Reader with they/them pronouns. Hinted to take place after the death of Yoshikage Kira.

A/n: What a beautiful duwang! Real talk, I’ve been wanting to write a headcanon list for this group for a long time, now. Bless these boys, none of them (except for Koichi) know what they’re doing. I really hope y’all enjoy. <3

Warning(s): Canon-typical violence and swearing.

Josuke Higashikata

-> The Silent

The immediate feeling that washes over Josuke after realizing he’s become jealous is guilt.

If he has the luxury of being alone, he’ll pace around his bedroom while entertaining a lengthy argument with himself. It takes everything in him not to raise a hand up to his mouth and press a nail or two between clenched teeth. There’s a game of tug of war occurring inside his head and he’s nothing if not a slave to fully investing himself in the conflict.

If he isn’t alone, and especially if he’s with you, there is seemingly no dent made in his chill persona. Not a single person around him would be able to tell the internal conflict running through his mind. Not even you.

His usually relaxed thoughts are disrupted with an ocean of insecurity. “What if” questions plaguing him and internally souring his mood.

It’s a foreign feeling for him to experience. Especially considering you tend to bring out a very proud side of his personality. Ever since he started going out with you, everyday life has only gotten brighter.

And although he’d never be caught mentioning it out loud, there’s a part of him that’s mindful of the fact that usually he’s the one others grow jealous of.

He’s running in mental circles, a back and forth. Agonizing over just the idea of being jealous between taking the brunt of his emotions all at once.

All while he says absolutely nothing on the matter.

He may end up distancing himself for a day or two depending on just how lost in his own head he gets. He doesn’t seek out your company, and that’ll be the only telltale sign of how he’s truly feeling.

Even then, whenever you do see him, nothing appears to be wrong. He’ll smile at you all the same. His tone is cheerful as ever, and there’s no falter present in his laugh.

Because he can’t help but be ashamed for feeling this way, he’ll do anything in his power to make sure you don’t notice. He’ll continue to play the part of your never bothered, always cheery boyfriend.

He will only bring up his dilemma to Koichi.

Being involved in a relationship himself, Josuke figures he would best understand his point of view. He does his best to hear him out (he did go to him, after all), but Koichi telling him that it’s unhealthy to internalize how he’s feeling isn’t going to get Josuke to budge.

Josuke knows you’re loyal. He does trust you... so how could he possibly compromise that trust by mentioning something as silly as jealousy? Being open and honest is usually his go to. He tells you everything. But this...? There’s a little voice in his head telling him not to. And not even sound advice from a close friend can get him to stop listening.

If you’re observant enough to catch onto him avoiding you while simultaneously greeting you as if nothing’s wrong, bringing it up bluntly will finally force him to open his damn mouth.

He’s nervous; more nervous than he’s ever been around you in the past. It doesn’t take long before the word vomit starts pooling from his mouth, littered between a plethora of apologies. His eyes never meet yours until he’s done talking, hands continuously picking and pulling at one another.

Believe it or not, talking it through with you actually helps! Who knew? Certainly not Josuke.

After that first incident, dealing with his jealousy becomes a lot more manageable. Although it doesn’t happen often, it still does happen.

And he’s still not inclined to make a scene if he can help it.

Josuke’s opinion of guys who freak out on their partner or anyone who they feel threated by- even by the loosest stretch of the imagination -is very low. He will certainly talk to you about it, but in private and merely to express his emotions rather than to criticize you in any way.

The only real exception to this, is if someone’s actively hitting on you and repeatedly not taking the hint. How he approaches the situation largely depends on you.

If you’re not afraid of confrontation, he’s going to be at your side with a smug expression on his face the entire time. Your ability to stand up for yourself can make him melt on the spot. He lets you go at it, watching you with a smile brimming with puppy love. He just cannot help but fawn over how cool you are.

Once you’ve made your point, he’ll happily back you up lightheartedly. Even to the point of mocking the person who dared to ignore every “no” you threw their way. People like that deserve to get knocked down a peg, and Josuke’s eager to help.

If you’re more meek in approaching these situations, and tend to shoot Josuke glances pleading for his aid, he’s happy to help. It feeds into his ego a bit, honestly.

He’ll make a point to wrap an arm around you, throwing his best intimidating side-eye to the person daring to make you feel uncomfortable. Hell, he’ll even puff out his chest a little too.

Once again, he’s not above insulting them. His words are vicious and more than a little rude. He is a delinquent, after all.

Josuke isn’t a really fan of getting violent in these situations, though. The only reason he would get to that point is if the other person grows violent first and he needs to defend himself.

If they take it that far, they’re asking for it in his book. He doesn’t feel any need to use Crazy Diamond against something so trivial, more than a little confident in his own strength.

That said, if the flirtatious bastard is enough to make you really upset, he will use his stand to rearrange their appearance in an attempt to make you laugh. Yeah, it’s a bit twisted, but his youthful mischievousness is likely to earn him a smile from you.

That said, if someone flirts with you and tries to brush him off by dissing his hair- all cards are off the table. Openly flirting with you in front of him and dissing his hair? That person must have a death wish.

You may want to look away.

Okuyasu Nijimura

-> The Emotional

Unlike his best friend, Okuyasu wears his heart on his sleeve at all times.

Expressing emotions, even negative or embarassing ones, is not something he shies away from. No, not even in public.

When he first confessed his feelings to you, he was certainly more than a little shy. But when you gladly reciprocated, you’re positive the entirety of Morioh shook with his joyous response.

It’s because of this that Okuyasu experiencing jealousy is quite the roller-coaster of emotion. If he’s jealous, everyone and their mother will likely know.

His immediate response is confusion.

Not over how he’s feeling per se, but instead over what to do about it. Painfully aware of his own intellegence, he’ll agonize over how he should respond. Jealousy is rather complicated in his opinion, and his biggest concern is accidentally pushing you away via his reaction.

He is decisive, though, so it’s not something he’s going to mull it over for very long.

And if you’re right beside him, the likelihood of you diffusing his jealousy right in that very moment is quite high. So, although it’s not uncommon for him to be jealous, he’s quick to let it go.

In most cases, that’s where the story ends.

Sometimes, though, if the feeling is strong enough or if you’re not able to talk with him, it’ll go a bit further.

In those instances, the emotion that follows his confusion is anger. More accurately, it’s defensiveness masked with a display of frustration.

It’s written all over his face, eyebrows furrowing and eyes turning sharp. The delivery of his words are rather harsh and unfiltered (well, more than usual).

This anger won’t ever be directed at you, though. Okuyasu cares about you far too much.

If he can’t direct it at a specific individual that’s (according to him) the source of his jealousy, he’ll instead grow angry with himself. Mainly because his jealousy stems from an insecure belief that he’s not good enough for you.

If he gets this upset, it’s best to leave him to let out his frustrations before going to speak with him on the matter. Hell, Josuke is a better support for Okuyasu when he’s dealing with the bulk of his emotions.

Not much time is needed; no more than a day. And because he respects you greatly, if you give him that tiny- yet definitely needed -space, he’ll gladly hear you out with a fresher mindset.

Okuyasu is almost always going to be soothed by your affirmations.

Sweet words about how you’re with him because you want to be, and that nothing so small could form a wedge between the two of you, is very reassuring for him.

Jealousy is going to be more of a prevalent hurtle for the both of you to work on at the beginning of the relationship. He was still getting used to the idea that you really do like him as more than just a friend. It’s sweet, sure, but the insecurity is something the two of you work on together.

As time passes, and he digests the fact that you’re not going to leave him for the first person that flirtatiously glances your way, he cools off a lot. In fact, he starts having a hard time taking the people who hit on you seriously.

Namely, he’s going to laugh at any poor bastard trying to make a move on you. Because “Ha! Get a move on, loser! Can’t you see their taken?”

His mocking may not be as well-thought out as Josuke’s, but they can cut just as deep. And his delivery is almost always sure to bring a smile to your face. Okuyasu is always proud when he’s the cause of your glee.

That said, getting defensive is still a knee-jerk reaction at times. It only applies if someone doesn’t want to take “no” as an answer.

Doesn’t matter how capable you are in defending yourself, if someone pushes it, he’s quickly going to follow it up with threats. Partially out of affectionate protectiveness, and also in part because he likes to think of himself as your knight in shining armor.

He tries to be as suave as he can while threatening a stranger with a fist to the face. One second he’s throwing insults, the next he’s giving you a smile along with a cheeky wink.

As far as he’s concerned, someone messing with his boyfriend/girlfriend better be prepared for a pair of knuckles meeting harshly with their jaw.

Okuyasu’s like an angry dog barking loudly at anyone getting too close. Least you know no one will ever dare to mess with you for very long.

Koichi Hirose

-> The Logical

Out of everyone in the Duwang gang, Koichi is the least susceptible to jealousy. Actually, scratch that. He’s the least susceptible to jealousy in all of Morioh.

Especially after developing Echoes act 3, his thought process just doesn’t leave a lot of room for doubts in both you and himself.

If someone’s attempting to flirt with you, he’s more likely to grow annoyed rather than jealous.

He’ll throw them an unamused glance, eyebrow raised as if daring them to continue further. He’ll turn back to you, mentioning loudly enough for them to hear how obnoxious he finds their behavior to be. Returning the favor with a smile almost always does the trick, often prompting them to give up.

If they don’t, and press further, Koichi is prone to suggesting that the two of you go somewhere else. He never returns any animosity thrown towards him, not letting it get to him much. Yeah, they may be hurling low-hanging insults towards him, but he’s the one with you on his arm.

His casualness in those situations is so consistent to the point where Josuke and Okuyasu each comment on how they don’t understand it.

When a situation arises where they know they’d be jealous, the two just cannot wrap their head around how calm he is. Koichi merely laughs them off, almost finding their confusion to be amusing.

Koichi’s grown a lot, and he just can’t find it within himself to give into insecurities he considers unnecessary. All that, in his mind, should really be left in the past.

Adding to his confidence, is you yourself.

Koichi adores you, and would honestly trust you with his life. So why would he ever grow jealous of an old friend? What on earth could some random person at a party provide you in a short, two minute conversation that would warrant any defensiveness? Why would he feel threatened by a coworker? It’s not like he can tell you to avoid them.

In fact, he’s very aware of the fact that he can't tell you what to do in general. Or rather, he simply won’t. It’s not in his nature to be controlling or hover over you like that.

Not because you’ve brought it up or it's ever been an issue in the past. It’s simply because... that’s not a real relationship in his eyes. He’s not bossy or pushy- you started dating him because that was your decision at the end of the day. And that alone is enough proof to him that being jealous really isn’t worth it.

Now, if by some miracle he does grow jealous, it’s not going to last very long. Again, Koichi is just too levelheaded.

He is going to grow downcast, saddened by his own perspective of the situation. This is because he’ll only get to the point of jealousy if he believes you’ve returned someone’s advances- whether it was by word of mouth or something he saw with his own two eyes.

And because you care for him as earnestly as he does for you, his jealousy likely occurs due to an honest misunderstanding.

Koichi will approach you on the matter himself, and will do so calmly. Even if he saw something, he doesn’t want to become more upset before he hears what you have to say. After all, you’ve never disappointed him before.

Because of his strong trust in you, after he details his perspective on the matter, he asks that you explain your side of the situation to him.

Koichi’s demeanor is very controlled and polite, hiding a certain degree of genuine worry. He listens with baited breath, internally praying that he simply misread what happened.

And to his relief, that’s all it ever ends up being.

Just like that, the both of you are quickly back to normal. Worries evaporate from within his mind, and he’s back to his usual sweet self.

Genuinely the best boyfriend here, no contest.

Rohan Kishibe

-> The Denier

Oh, boy.

First thing’s first, it should be noted that The Great Rohan Kishibe does not grow jealous. It’s not even a question, and honestly, expecting him to explain such a thing is an insult. Men and women alike fawn over him; anyone would be lucky to have him. You’re lucky to have him.

And to his credit, Rohan really doesn’t grow jealous very often.

His confidence in himself may cross the line into narcissism, but it doesn’t lead him to give into jealousy very often.

Like Koichi, he knows that if you’re with him, it’s because you truly care. Even more so, considering Rohan knows (if only slightly) that he’s not the easiest person to be around.

Nope! He certainly doesn’t become jealous very often… not never, like he’s worked so hard to have you believe.

For Rohan to become jealous requires specific circumstances. Some random person approaching you at a party or bar isn’t going to pose much of a threat to his ego.

On the contrary, it feeds into his ego.

You’re a beautiful individual; it’s no question as to why others would try and approach you. But, of course, you always turn them away seeing as you’re already his.

In those instances, he’s as dismissive as Koichi, coupled with a tongue as sharp as Josuke’s. Rolling his eyes, wrapping an arm around you, straight up ignoring the person trying to talk to you, kissing you out of the blue- he’s got every weapon in his arsenal equipped to ensure you’re left alone.

If it gets to the point where you’re growing visibly nervous or uncomfortable, Rohan’s words are the nastiest you’ve ever seen. But the display isn’t necessarily out of jealousy, as it is out of shock and frustration that they’d persist. He’s not going to let anyone speak to you in such a way.

But when it pertains to an old friend, the one you were talking about meeting up with for a week straight... now that’s what makes his chest tighten.

Rohan’s going to be in a bad mood because of it, but it’s not too distinct from his usual behavior. No, he’s just a little more quiet than normal. And by the time you cheerfully tell him about seeing this friend of yours, he thinks he may go nuts.

Rohan’s immediate response is to completely shut himself out from everyone, while simultaneously denying any thought he has over being jealous in the first place.

The time he spends locked inside his office is insanely alarming.

At first, you question whether or not you should even say anything about it. Yes, you’re obviously concerned for his health, but Rohan falls into his exaggerated version of workaholic-mode from time to time. And you know him well enough to understand he requires a very careful approach to be pulled out of it.

No, what really warns you that something’s wrong, is that even Koichi asks you if Rohan is doing okay.

His concern takes you aback, and only makes your heart sink further when Josuke (of all people) speaks up about it as well. He’s a lot more reserved about showing any worry, but it’s enough to let you know that something is fundamentally off.

Prodding Rohan for an explanation is going to take a good while.

He’s so unused to feeling jealousy in any capacity that he outright refuses to even admit it to himself.

No, he just needs to work and not interact with anyone. Why? Because he has to; don’t question him. There’s so much he needs to do. You’re far too busy with your old friend in town to pay him any mind anyway.

And that’s exactly the sentiment you finally manage to pull from him.

He spits it out it with crossed arms, not once meeting your gaze. But it’s a mistake (in his mind), because it gets the cogs turning in your mind.

You end up realizing Rohan’s jealous before he does.

Affirmations that you love him is a must, and don’t even bring up the fact that he grew jealous- it would only continue to stir the pot. You know Rohan well, confident in how you choose your words when talking to him about it.

He refuses to give you any indication that he's listening, of course, but one brief glance your way cracks his hardened outer shell.

The look on your face... it initiates this weird sinking feeling deep inside his gut. Just thinking of could halt his movements.

Yes, realistically, he could just use his stand to check whether or not his concern is warranted.

But, for one thing, he’s already promised you he wouldn't do that to you. Setting boundaries is extremely important to Rohan, so he respects the ones you set in return. So much so that the thought of using Heaven’s Door on you doesn’t cross his mind once.

And that look on your face, soft and melancholy upon the realization that he’s been doubting you... he honestly doesn’t need to use his stand to know he's severely misread your relationship with your old friend.

His own ability to recognize how poorly he misunderstood the situation is something he figures he’ll have to unpack at a later time. In that moment, he was just relieved. He told you, rather stubbornly, that he supposes he was wrong. In own his weird, twisted way, that was how he apologized.

In short, being with you is a humbling experience for a person like Rohan and this instance of becoming jealous is certainly a part of that.

Weirdly enough, to his internal surprise, it’s ultimately a pleasurable development. Not like he’d ever tell you, though.

With the passage of time, he even lets you tease him over it. The two of you playfully go back and forth, bringing up times where you both got so jealous. It’s all in good fun, his confidence in your feelings for him stronger than ever.

In reality, him having a bit of humor about it is a clear sign that he’s growing into the relationship more and more. And him being able to be more transparent around you makes it easier for him to talk to you in the future if he gets that jealous again.

There’s still room for growth, but such things are almost always a gradual process for someone like Rohan.

That said, only you’re allowed to make any sort of teasing remarks about the whole ordeal. Anyone else isn’t worthy of doing so.

#johnny’s work #jjba #jojo’s bizarre adventure #josuke higashikata x reader #okuyasu nijimura x reader #koichi hirose x reader #rohan kishibe x reader #diamond is unbreakable #diu #manga #anime #headcanons #jealousy #gender neutral reader #fluff #sfw #part 4 jojo #writing #fanfiction

[underfart-snas]

i’m going to preface this by saying this will be hard to read. for those who have had to deal with a lot of familial trauma, csa, and various other things really. you’re being warned now.

it is not anything fun, light, or happy.  i will not answer questions from anyone. i will not stop people from their comments or tags but i will not look at opinions or attempt to change them. good or bad, i’m too tired to change anyone’s minds or matters on the subject. while i am regretful and sorry for many things, i know this won’t change much.

i’m not looking for forgiveness. i'm looking for closure.

i will not argue on how i’m a good person, or how any behavior in the past was justifiable or right. it was wrong. i still fuck up to this day trying to be human. at this point, all i want is to speak up about what i had to go through and why things ended the way they did with hopefully a more clear sense of perspective as to why i made what i did. and then i would like to move on.

flowerfell ended in disaster from all sides. a story i, the friends i made along with it and worked deeply with during it all, held very dear for our own reasons. be it to express the hardship of survival, to cope with the progression of loss, or having hope in finding small things to live for and learning to find love in friendships, family or otherwise that we couldn’t have in life. it was a big story for everyone, and i understand not everyone got the message. people have not been kind. i’ve seen equal sides of good and bad come from it.

i won’t argue about the shipping aspects. people are right in believing i liked what i liked, and whether or not they hated that was up to them. i had my personal reasons and i never intended for it to be a malicious thing, but i understand people’s headstrong thoughts on the canons or otherwise. I didn't like to go out of my way to shove it in people's faces, which is why i scrapped later stories that were pressured to be frans related and instead made them into personal characters.

it’s fucked up seeing people get chased and hurt over fictional things. things that aren’t physically harming anyone, at least when they’re contained properly. things you shouldn’t be actively looking for if you don’t like it. things that people may actually be doing to cope with their own trauma. i watch so many people looking for hate, or reasons to be angry. i think that adds to much sadness overall. i can’t say much for those who don’t go about tagging things properly for those who don’t want to see things other than "please work on that."

when i played undertale, i lived vicariously through frisk as i played. they were quite frankly, a blank slate. i was able to self-insert in a way. due to story aspects, i felt the monsters were like... old old. like ancient beings that lived lives unfathomably long beyond the human lifespan. beyond the passage of time.

i fell in love with characters and aspects and ideas it gave. i fell in love with it’s world, the possibility of other worlds like it, and exciting wacky hijinks. i took interest in others making au's and thought about how i could make my own. what my own life lacked or couldn’t give me. the family and friends i found through it. 

toby really kicked everyone’s ass with this one, and i hope he does it again and again. and i pray he continues to succeed. because he made something beautiful.

now for what i had to deal with, during the failed attempt of making my story…

i have had to process a lot of neglect from family and home in recent years. though i’m older now, it still hurts. things still linger and sting harder than they should. they say it gets better but it really sticks and comes back in many ways that make life so much harder than it should be. it’s only made harder when people want you to be better, but it takes time to get there. sometimes people can't be with each other because of it, which is something i've had to learn over and over again. it takes so much time and it takes it away from everything you hope can be good and great in your life.

growing up was a nightmare. i’ve had to grow up with abandonment from my mom. neglect from my dad. i've had to deal with them trying to reach back out and my feelings on whether or not it's deserved. or if i'm even ready to handle it yet. many times i'm not.

i’ve had to deal with surgery to fix my body from disgusting and life ending deformation as a toddler which still leaves scars on my body today. my family has told me i’m lucky to even be alive. sometimes i almost wish it took me, because the world is cruel. but at the same time, i want to live so, so badly.

i’ve had to deal with manipulation and rape from someone almost ten years older than me in household when i was just a child. from five to nine. threats of being compliant and not to speak up or else my life was in danger. being physically trapped for hours while my body was a tool. later this fell onto another child of a caretaker for my sister, which is the only reason i got away from it. so i never got the chance to speak up myself and that effects me to this day. i was told years later this same thing happened to my older, severely autistic sister prior. someone who literally cannot verbally communicate or function without help from another. my grandmother telling me she left before because my father didn’t believe her. this all meaning, this is something that could have never happened.

i've had to handle my grandmother’s physical and verbal abuse for the rest of the those years after she came back to take care of my sister. my sister didn't escape abuse either. i would be stuck listening to her convince me as i got older and barely making it out of school that wouldn’t ever survive on my own. that i would never make it. that i would never find love. that i’d be eating fucking “saltines and ketchup” on the streets. i’ve had to deal with eating disorder because of her and various other disgusting shit i don’t want to add that the fear had made me succumb to. i didn’t leave my room for days at a time unless i was forced to. i didn’t sleep properly, to the point of passing out for minutes at a time. anyone who used to come to streams would know, i used to fall asleep while drawing with my brother. in many ways, my grandmother has made me so functionally stagnant, which is so hard to combat now.

cutting out all the general silliness and nonsense i would make just to smile once in a while, my art and flowerfell was an escape for me. it was a way to express my pain and hope that there was some sort of out. that there were friends to be made and love to be had. family to be found. that if you’re strong enough maybe you can be redeemable and make it to the end. frisk was hope. sans was strength. and all of the friends they were supposed to make along the way were support.

but at the same time, i clearly wasn’t able to handle the scale of what it became. i wasn’t ready for the crowd, i wasn’t ready to make a coherent and straight story, and was too giving and lenient. i wasn't ready for the "godlihood" people were pressing on me when i was just a normal person. it made making real friends a hassle. i didn't know who was honest or using me. many people have used me.

i was scared after it fell apart and got toxic. that people can take and twist and hate no matter how hard you try. i didn’t understand a lot of things back then or how to defend myself. i didn't understand how to combat theft, i didn't understand fiction kin, i didn't understand self care or boundaries for others and myself. i didn't understand a lot of things. i try really hard to understand now.

for all intents and purposes, it was getting septic. i was getting septic at that time and for some time after. and because of that i lost not only my story, but my friends and my sanity. i wasn’t able to keep it together for them or myself. i was hurt and hurting others by proxy. and i am so sorry for it. all of it.

i was only saved by finally being taken away from home by someone who actually took a chance on me. someone who made time for me even when i was getting reclusive. someone who loves me through all of that even if i hurt them terribly in the process, and may even still in all the faults i'm working on. despite everything, they're still with me today.

to this day i find flowerfell hard to look at without feeling various stages of grief. i have many degrees of anger and sadness, at times hopeless acceptance. not necessarily towards anyone anymore, but that i was unable to finish it. or felt i was unable to. that i'm unable to surpass it. that i was so fearful of loss and parts of myself being taken away when i already felt i had so little. how it blinded me to what good i had at so many times. how it’s destroyed my ability to create and fall in love with characters i like or make, and their worlds. no matter how hard i try now. that it’s taken my ability to trust, communicate, and form steady relationships with people. how it effects even those who have stayed and try so hard. that it’s taken my ability to share and feel safe doing so. even with people i'm close with today.

even situations on how helpful it’s been for people over the years, and deeper connections to self or others they’ve found in the progression of time because of it. i’m not unhappy for those who have, i’m grateful that people have found their hearts in it. it was made with unfathomable love and there’s incredible pain on having given up continuing what could have been more. what else people could have connected with or felt. there was so much i didn’t get to share, and got too angry and scared to give.

i grew to believe people didn’t deserve it anymore because of what i and my friends at the time were going through. i no longer wanted to feel hurt. i no longer wanted my friends to be hurt. and i violently took it away into myself, which has hurt me even more over the years.

i want to believe people would have liked the ending, and anything that would come after that. it was going to have a good ending.

later i would find the fear of parts being taken would be connected to discovering plurality in myself, and recently finding out in therapy i’m probably not too separated from my sister in being on the spectrum, adding to all of that and more. i’d have to process that feelings became separated and another struggle to deal with. that i was dissociating from everything so hard these feelings are expressed as their own apart from me, but still with me. that this was my way of not being alone with what i had. it is not a kind thing. while they're like family to me, it is also a cage.

it would take me years to actually discover what this was properly, having to go through a whole ordeal of manipulation and problems from that alone. i would have to deal with them also being stolen and taken advantage of due to complacency and misunderstanding. which has made every bit of fear with what came before twice as difficult. however, i've also had good people along the way, and i hope they stay with me for a very long time.

because of this i’ve learned a lot about systems and kinships and reasons why these exist. how these things can make people feel at home. i have changed a lot of views on it and how these things help people, even if they’re strange at times… i’m not mad about it anymore. if it helps people it helps people. other people are trying to survive too. i just ask people be respectful about it.

i don’t hate fanart or others trying to make stories anymore. as someone who struggles now with even a fraction of creating any amount of work i used to, i’m more glad than not that it’s encouraging people to improve and move forward. but i won’t ever accept discredit because at the root it is mine still. i made this for myself before i made it for others. it will always be a part of me, even if painful now.

i’m just tired. i’m tired and i hope over time i’ll be able to rest.

sigh.

to kaze, your document is faithful and i won’t argue that any of it is wrong or malicious. there was a lot missing from that video that could and should have been added. it wasn't just about shipping, but a lot more. i hope people will leave you and others alone about flowerfell and ship nonsense at the end of the day. especially when your stories were wonderful and aren’t hurting anyone. while we’re not on good terms, i do wish them a very "fuck off and move on."

however, i will not accept the statement that you were helpful to my mental health, or to others involved to begin with. trying to be, maybe, but it faltered.

apart from encouraging anger towards the fanbase either on my or by your own hands, flipping the switch between telling me to keep going and giving up. you fully took advantage of the complacency i had to go through at home to survive and had to unlearn for many years prior. you weaponized your problems at home onto us. this compiled everything, probably for both of us. this would only continue on to my system in many ways.

you actively encouraged suicidal behavior within the group, provoking my brother into a pact at his lowest. you took advantage of me and my brother mentally and sexually. knowing full well of our issues and my own csa, you still crossed lines. doing or sharing things without warning or prior consent and conversation, at times even within public groups. fighting back or saying something about these things were difficult because everyone was sensitive at the time. even if things were jokes at times, it didn't always come across that way.

i watched blind fight so hard for you in many ways even when they were struggling so badly with their own physical health, even staying in the end. i don't know if they're doing well or are still there now which is another string of worries.

what hurt the most is that for years you blamed me for an attempt because i “didn’t love you enough to talk to you or be honest” and held it over my head instead of explaining until the very last second before i left that it was because of home. you continued to comment in ways up until that point, then deleting things as if i couldn’t see logs. every single day i thought you were going to just be gone in an instant without warning. that i and others would lose one of our best friends. i grew so afraid of talking to you because of this. i was scared to hurt people more in anger of that. it is still something that terrifies me to this day.

flowerfell wasn’t the break of our friendship, it was the inability to handle the weight of taking care of someone who was unwilling to work on themself on top of all of that, while being unable to take care of myself at the same time. not being enough. that nothing of what little i could give would ever fix what was happening, and that i was being used as an escape method. much like my brother was. we weren’t good for each other anymore. and while i wanted to keep holding on, many people told me i had to let go and they were right. i'm sorry that it wasn't completely by my own voice that i let go.

i don’t even hate you anymore, if i even ever really did to begin with. the most i get is mad and i may say the word "hate" in anger, and that is entirely my own fault for checking in once in a while to see if you’re still breathing or getting better. because i cared a long fucking time and i think parts of me still do. i can’t say there weren’t fond memories or good times and i still have gifts i won’t throw away. and i won’t discredit that i do see you trying really hard for yourself now, which is a hopeful feeling and all i and others ever wanted. even if we may never speak directly again, because i don’t think that would be good for either of us, i hope it keeps going well.

but i don’t think you have the right to say i’m a bad person as if you weren’t just as bad yourself. you effected me and others just as badly.

we don't have to forgive each other. but i do hope, after a long time, we can forgive ourselves.

-

just a last little edit:

before you start congratulating someone who added to the entire severity of literally everything, understand this:

we were not driven by her or her alone. this is not her fucking win. this is the result of friends and good people saying we should speak up and needed to be heard for years. this is because we have support we actually feel safe with and finally decided we're fucking tired. we didn’t speak simply because she put out some silly little document. she only added to the fucking misery that everyone else has brought on about this! 

this is for ourselves!! thanks! and goodbye! - =D

#flowerfell #flowerfell au #frans #tw csa

[pellaaearien]

Hey so here’s a really mean Sandman thought I had...

I just finished reading The Kindly Ones for the first time. (Yeah.) And I must say, it was a very interesting experience from the perspective of someone who both watched the show first and has also been hanging around deeply into fandom enough that I’ve absorbed spoilers/meta/whatever else surrounding the end of the comics before reading them to draw my own conclusions.

Now I have. And I think I’ve come to some interesting ones.

First off, naturally, Neil Gaiman has written the ultimate tragedy. Everything comes full circle, every decision made with the best possible intentions has the worst possible outcome, and it was always going to be this way. It’s a masterstroke, and as I read I was less sad than admiring at the completeness of it, the way everything slots into place so neatly.

Ever since I spoiled myself for the ending (which I’m glad I did,) I’ve read quite a bit of Kindly Ones meta. Many words have been spilled around the subject of “if someone had just SEEN what was wrong...” but MANY people did! Fiddler’s Green. Matthew. Nuala. And, of course, Hob, who Dream walks out on - again - because he’s being too perceptive. Again.

I was also reading the book with the foreknowledge that this is all an elaborate suicide plot on the part of Dream. After all, as Death says at the end, “the only reason you got yourself into this mess is because this is where you wanted to be.” And, later, when Dream says he has made all the preparations necessary, “You’ve been making them for ages. You just didn’t let yourself know that was what you were doing.” To which Dream replies, “if you say so.”

So we have lots of people saying lots of things about Dream, but what do Dream’s actions say for themselves? Because I must admit, reading the book knowing how it was going to end threw a lot of those assumptions into a new light.

Let’s go back to the conversation with Death. Dream says: “I did not plan this, my sister. I had imagined that I would be able to keep events here in check. I intended to play a waiting game, in which, ultimately, no harm was done.”

This I believe. One of the things that never sat right with me was Dream sitting back and letting his creations suffer, if his intention all along was to destroy himself. I don’t believe that’s in character for Dream in any incarnation.

What was Dream’s motivation? Dream is tired. He says so himself. He’s been tired for a long time, probably even before his imprisonment and having to basically remake the Dreaming and since then he hasn’t had a moment’s peace, what with Season of Mists and Orpheus and everything else. I think meeting Daniel planted the seed in his mind, that there was an out. As Death says, “...the stuff you do. Where you do it, and you won’t even admit to yourself it’s what you’re doing.” 

Meeting Daniel was that moment for Dream. Someone who could take over his responsibilities in the Dreaming. He can’t just walk away, like Destruction and Lucifer. That’s not who he is. I think Dream’s plan was to wait for Daniel to grow up some, and then... something. ??? profit. Maybe he would’ve gone to the Fates himself and taken their punishment for Orpheus. (Because he does, as Nuala astutely points out, want to be punished for Orpheus).

BUT, Daniel gets stolen while he’s still a baby. So Dream sends Matthew and the newly-remade Corinthian after him. Lyta, meanwhile, instigates the Furies, so now they’re on a ticking clock.

(I don’t, personally, think that Dream freed Loki with the intention of setting all this in motion, but that’s up to reader interpretation.)

Dream makes preparations. It certainly seems like he’s making peace with the fact of his death. He visits Nada (a small boy in Hong Kong), does a census of the Dreaming, acknowledges his servants, feeds pigeons, examines his properties in the waking world, and reviews various treaties and agreements to which the Dreaming is subject. He is responsible. He’s getting his affairs in order in case things don’t fall the way he expects them to.

When his Griffin is killed, Dream tells Furies: “I can create another, who would not even know that it had ever died.” Cold, perhaps, but very in keeping with the type of backwards kindness we’ve seen from Dream throughout the series. He also says: “This is my world, ladies. I control it, I am responsible for it. You with neither destroy it nor will you destroy me.”

The last part, as we know, is simply true. The Dreaming can be restored endlessly, and even if the facet known as Morpheus is destroyed, Dream will continue. But it’s the first part that’s significant. I control it, I am responsible for it. That part says to me that he would not allow his creations to suffer. He is responsible for them. And yes, he could restore them with a thought, but why bother? If he’s trying to get himself killed, why doesn’t the story just end here and now? With the Furies and Dream alone in his throne room?

Clearly, he’s waiting for Daniel. He can’t allow himself to be removed without a successor in place. Once the Furies leave, he immediately calls Matthew for an update. Matthew comments on how cold Dream sounds - he’s feeling the pressure.

Fiddler’s Green is killed. Does Dream say “I can create another?” No. He immediately goes in search of Lyta, to hopefully negate the wrath of the Furies. A stopgap, as the Furies would find another avatar in time, but Dream is taking action. He is not passively letting his doom collapse around his ears.

He’s foiled by Thessaly (all my homies hate Thessaly). While they are estranged exes, Thessaly admits that protecting Lyta from Dream was “not entirely” to hurt him: she struck a deal with the Three for a bit more life. Hurting Dream was an added bonus. She knows Dream well enough that he won’t break the rules in order to kill Lyta.

Dream is visibly upset by this. He won’t break the rules, but Thessaly’s actions (and his own, by extension) mean that more destruction will be wrought in the Dreaming. Lucien takes him to task for it:

Lucien asks why he isn’t restoring the things the Furies destroyed, but it makes sense to halt the source of the destruction first, rather than needing to fix things over and over again. Dream is at a loss. His plan was foiled and now he has no way to hold off the Furies. And Daniel is still missing. He could summon his sister right now (as he says, “by his own hand or another’s”) but that would leave the Dreaming in disarray, and he won’t do that.

Now to add Nuala’s summons into the mix. While Death will later point out that yes, Dream could have rejected the summons, I think it’s important to remember that he does actually try, at first:

“I must most earnestly beseech you...” That is begging. That is literal begging from Dream of the Endless, and it doesn’t stop there.  “You do me a disservice, Nuala,” Dream says, after Nuala quotes his promise back to him. He tries to get out of it! But Nuala won’t let him, throws his words in his face, and thereby seals his fate. Because Dream of the Endless, if nothing else, keeps his word, follows the rules. As he says later: “If we did otherwise, we would not be ourselves.” 

He can’t just leave his realm like Destruction. He can’t ignore the rules and kill Lyta anyway. He can’t go back on his word and reject Nuala’s summons. If he did that, he would no longer be Dream.

So, he sets Daniel up in his new role as best as he can with the time he has left, and then he takes his sister’s hand to prevent any further damage to the Dreaming. Death accuses him of planning the whole thing, and perhaps that’s true. Perhaps he saw where the pieces were laid on the board and manipulated them to his advantage. I certainly don’t deny that ever since Orpheus he had intended to take himself out of the picture, one way or another. But I truly don’t think he meant for it to happen like this. I don’t see him as a cold-hearted chessmaster, forcing himself into a corner until he has no way out, with his creations’ existences hanging in the balance. I think he had a plan, and tried to stick to the plan as best he could, as the true tragedy spun into place around him: it was always going to happen like this.

Are y’all ready for the mean thought?

Because thinking about it this way, if truly all he wanted was a way out, he could have expedited the process at any point. As I hope I have shown here, to the contrary, his behaviour reads to me as someone who held out until the absolute bitter end, until he literally had no other choice. What are we to make of this? On the one hand, we have Death’s accusation about  “...the stuff you do. Where you do it, and you won’t even admit to yourself it’s what you’re doing.” Maybe that’s true. Death knows Dream, and knows what she’s talking about.

On the other hand, we have a scene, way back at the beginning, with Hob. (Hob who, incidentally, doesn’t seem all that surprised to see Dream outside the confines of their century meetings, given that he thought their toast during Season of Mists was a dream, but I digress.) (Dream also goes to see Hob the instant there’s any inkling of trouble, again, as he does in Season of Mists, but I digress a second time.) And Hob is, as in 1889, too perceptive by half. As Dream is walking away, Hob says:

“You take care of yourself.”

What if Dream went to Hob, knowing his friend, being perceptive, would guess that something was up?

What if he just wanted to be reminded that someone cared whether or not something happened to him?

He gave Hob a promise that he would take care of himself. And so he did, in the face of overwhelming odds. (Odds that he may or may not have set in motion himself, true, but that just makes it more extraordinary.) Until he couldn’t any more. Until taking care of the Dreaming took precedence over taking care of the aspect, Morpheus.

Because Dream of the Endless always keeps his word.

#the sandman meta #the kindly ones #dreamling

[wayfayrr]

So this is very much a self indulgent mini-fic, venting about some stuff that I've been dealing with recently <3 I'm working on requests and some other fics but I got told to post this to get it off of my chest anyway @cloudninetonine @angry-trashcan thanks for the confidence boost to be able to post this

“Hey, you’ve been sitting over here for a while, you feeling alright?”

“Just been thinking… I was part of some drama before I was uh brought here. It’s just, it’s just messed with me a bit I guess. I’ll be fine when we need to start moving again, don’t worry wars.”

After a brief second of fabric shuffling, he sits down and leans on me. It’s an oddly comforting feeling, different too like he’s bothered by something? What could’ve set him off so badly?

“Would you mind if I asked you about it? It’s clearly bothering you so, you should get it off of your chest and well, I’d just like to help you through this.”

“If you really want to know, it’s a little complicated though and while I can make a lot of it make sense to you I’ll have to leave a couple of things out.”

“Sounds like you’re willing to get it off of your chest though, so would you care to explain it to me honeybee?”

He’s being more persistent than usual too, have I really been looking so badly bothered by my thoughts? The worry does feel nice however, it feels more like talking to an old friend than anything which is wonderful seeing as I’ve not been able to reach them recently. I’ve just been stuck rereading old messages in a new context while my phone endlessly buffers to reach impossibly far servers.

“It’s… I’d been having issues with this person for a while… they used me more than anything, kept asking me for advice and making everything about them and brushed anything I or my other friends were trying to say off and sent things they really shouldn’t to people unwarrented… and then everything else.”

“Everything else? You don’t have to cut yourself off, with how you’ve been acting the rest feels like it’ll be worse anyway.”

“They just - someone connected some dots and pointed them out to me and I just… I’ve been going back over what they said and - and - and it made me think. They told me they associated my voice with a character they always got weird over, they kept fawning over my accent and how they’ve only ever heard it in fiction before, they gave me weird compliments when I was talking about things I did as a kid and that’s not even getting me started on how they treated my friends. I just… I feel so disgusted, seeing it in this light. Every bit of my skin just itches with disgust towards myself. Sorry I didn’t mean to share so much at once - I’m just tired. They didn’t even like me, it was like they only wanted me for where I’m from.”

The way he stilled sent a shiver down me, did I say to much? He might have not meant it when he said I could share… I mean theres no way he could’ve known… or does he think I’m simply overreacting? I’m probably just overreacting anyway.

My heart started beating again when he softened and pulled me to rest on him.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that all. They’re the one who is disgusting, not you, never you. I’ll speak to time, you should just rest for the rest of the day. I can lend you my scarf and you can just have a nap or I could ask wild to make your favourite food and you can just rest.”

I didn’t get a say before he’s already draped it over my shoulders; he’s leading me back over to the others and setting me down next to sky as he goes to speak with time. 

“Hmm? Did something happen, are you feeling alright dove?”

“Ah well, wars is going to ask time if we can stop for the day because I’m just dealing with some memories. I hope it won’t bother the others.”

“I doubt it, everyone’s been tense and tired recently. I know I have, I’ve been about dying for a rest. Would you care to join me too?”

Leaning back against him is all the response he needs as my eyes flutter closed, he’s so warm and comfortable. There are few people I’d prefer to rest next to. 

><><><><><><

“So then old man, I think that’s a good enough reason to settle for the day, don’t you?”

I know he’ll agree, asking him like this is simply a formality. After all, how could we continue when a member of the group is in such a state? On the verge of tears just from thinking about someone for a little bit too long. 

“You’ve never asked this for anyone else, but fine.” “Thank you Time, I’ll pay you back for this.”

“And Wars?”

“Hmm?”

“Go take your anger out on something, it’s not a good energy in the camp. Not if they’re so fragile right now. There’s apparently a standard bokoblin camp just a little south.”

He’s seen right through me then, but now I don’t need an alibi for when I come back.

#venting #vent fic #linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe #link x reader #moss✦writes

[inukag]

Hello! Idk if u do translations analysis anymore. But there’s this one line on chapter 473, “the one you most loved” I wonder if that’s what the demon really said or if it’s just like when kikyo died? Not the most, but the first? Thank you!

I still do when people ask!

I’ve never seen this scene translated as anything other than “most”, but let’s look at the original Japanese text:

The second bubble says:

この世で一番愛していた女がー

kono yo de ichiban aishiteita hito ga

"The person you loved most in the world..."

The breakdown:

この世 (kono yo) - this world

で (de) - [particle] in

一番 (ichiban) - first place, #1; the best; the most

愛していた (aishiteita) - to love (notice 愛 (ai) in there), the -いた (ita) indicates past tense, so “loved”

女 (onna) - woman / ひと (hito) - person

が (ga) - [particle]

The part you were asking about is the 一番 (ichiban) which does somewhat mean “first”, but as in “first place”. Which is probably best describe as “best”.

We’ve discussed this scene a lot in the fandom, but to reiterate, Kao is a demon that feeds on sadness. This scene is happening right after Kikyo’s final and permanent death, and the nth time that Inuyasha failed to protect her from Naraku. Kao cannot feel Inuyasha’s love for Kagome at that moment because Kagome has only ever been a source of happiness for Inuyasha, not a source of pain like his love for Kikyo.

That is the whole point of this arc, Inuyasha did love Kikyo, but his love for Kagome always makes him choose to stay with her and live instead of succumbing to guilt and dying. Inuyasha already made the same choice before when Kikyo had him under a spell and was trying to drag him to hell, and again in the illusionary death arc. We know Kao is wrong in his assumption that Kikyo is the woman he loved most, because if she was, Inuyasha wouldn’t have hesitated to follow her in that peaceful vision Kao showed him. If he wanted to follow Kikyo, he could have ignored Kagome’s voice and make the choice to be in the afterlife with Kikyo anyway. But he didn’t, and the fact that he was able to wake up shocked Kao, who thought he had figured out what Inuyasha wanted.

In general, a lot of characters make assumptions about other characters in the series, based on their limited knowledge of that person. Sometimes, villains make statements intentionally trying to hurt the person they are targeting, like here. The only person who truly knows what Inuyasha is feeling is Inuyasha himself, and he explicitly said himself that he was born to be with Kagome.

#ask #Anon #manga translation

[starbylers]

Can we talk about how Mike ‘not being able to say he loves El because he’s scared she won’t need him one day’ makes no sense when you consider that for Mike this conflict spans two whole seasons, and there needs to be a consistent character motivation throughout.

Mike struggling to tell El he loves her has been, on the surface, his main conflict since s3.

In season 3, after blurting out he loves El, Mike brings it up again at the store. He tries desperately to get his point across, to make El understand ('I've never felt like this before', 'blank makes you crazy, like the word'). But no-one can deny that in this scene Mike is doing everything he can to avoid actually saying love. Now, what is the Mlvn excuse for this again? 'He's not good at expressing his emotions’. That's their running narrative post s3. (Let's ignore how that's not even canonically true of Mike's character and continue).

We come to season 4, and Mike is still chronically unable to use the word love, even when speaking about El and not to her. (Like this is clearly a deeply ingrained thing but I digress). Pre vol. 2, the Mlvn excuses are still related to Mike basically being emotionally unintelligent (his parents, his age, blah blah). But when Mike himself finally reveals the big reason, it's...'I didn't want to tell you I loved you because I was scared you won't need me one day'? Okay. Theoretically, out of context, that could make sense. So this becomes the new Mlvn narrative.

Here's the problem: both of these things cannot be the root cause of the same issue. It's one or the other: either he can’t say he loves her because he’s bad at expressing feelings, or he’s scared El one day not needing him would hurt more. This two-season dilemma is part of one series-long character arc for Mike. Mike in s4 is the same person with the same struggles as Mike in s3. Whatever his motivation for avoiding it in s3 (which was never addressed, it’s not like we got closure for that and then they just came up with a new reason he can’t say it) must logically be consistent continuing into s4.

Can anyone seriously tell me that Mike, here in this scene, was struggling to say the word 'love' because he was 'scared one day El wouldn't need him':

No. Of course not. He was specifically avoiding the word, and the most plausible explanation for his aversion (if we're ignoring Byler) is that Mike's just a kid and love is a big scary word. Bad at emotions etc. Which is why Mlvns and GA subscribed to that narrative, it seems obvious. But it cannot be right because Mike reveals the 'true reason' in 4x09. This is the canon explanation, finally—he's been scared she eventually won't need him. Except, that cannot be right either, because that reasoning does not align with his obvious (again, ignoring Byler) s3 motivation (love being daunting for a young teen) for the exact same behaviour. Like he literally uses the exact same pattern of avoidant wording from s3 in s4 (‘I care for you so much') and like I’ve said this is all meant to be one singular, overarching conflict.

If the initial 'bad at feelings' reading of Mike was correct, you'd expect the monologue to be more along the lines of 'I find it really difficult to express myself but I do truly love you, so this is me being vulnerable and brave'. Personally, I would've somewhat bought that. As a Byler I would've been like okay, it's kind of boring cliché storytelling but I'll admit defeat. But that’s not what happens. Basically what I’m getting at is:

Neither of these explanations can account for Mike’s inability to tell El he loves her in both seasons, so then by the logic of Mike having consistent motivations, neither can be true.

Which leads to the conclusion that there must be a different, all-encompassing, underlying cause for his heavy avoidance. Something that connects all the dots. I wonder what that could possibly be.

#byler #anti mileven #also I do believe that Mike is scared of El not needing him #but his reason for this fear is rooted in unhealthy codependency and his insecurities not because he’s just so in love

[anpanman95]

God DO I have things to say about this one here…

CONTROVERSIAL REVIEW AHEAD

Last Twilight: why Day’s character is a major RED FLAG 🚩🚩🚩

DISCLAIMER: I do not have anything against him as an actor. He’s a beautiful sweet talented cutie pie that is doing such an amazing job it causes me to hate the motherfluffing guts of this character.

To make this easier I’ve broken down this to five points.

Day’s personality sucks: first of all, he is a rich, spoiled child (I hope all of us agree on this one) who’s clearly full of himself, and only cares about himself. This is demonstrated in several ways, but the most blatant one is in how he believes that his tragedy is the worst possible scenario anyone could be in, and fails to have a single ounce of empathy for anyone around him unless, of course, it has to do something with him. Yes. What happened to him was horrific, and traumatizing, but he is not the only human being in the world who has problems. Which brings me to my next point.

Having a disability does not give you the right to be an asshole. “Oh but every person deals with their own stuff differently” Honey, no. The whole point is that having a disability does not make you any less than any other human being. Question: Doesn’t Day want for people to stop feeling pity for him? to not treat him differently?. Well guess what darling: that implies you also still have to be and function like a decent person. Yes, again, I’m very sorry about what he has to go through, which is a horrible and unexpected experience, and I could never imagine what that’s like, but literally no one in his life wished this upon him. He acts as if everyone around him is to be blamed for what happened.

Spoiled part 2: He has a roof over his head. A fancy one might I add. He lives comfortably. He has healthy, unlimited food, done by a professional chef, might I add AGAIN, and he does not appreciate his family and what they do for him, not even once. Does he not understand that his life could be much, much worse? I’m not saying he can’t be angry or depressed or deal with his trauma however he needs to be able to heal, but there’s a difference that he doesn’t seem to understand: being angry at a situation that is out of anyone’s control, and being angry or directing that anger to people who just want to help. Which brings me to my last two points:

Day’s crappy behavior towards his family: Lets start with the mother. She is, of course somewhat at fault for what Day has to go through. But only because she is being unreasonably overprotective, something that could have been solved anyway without Day being an absolute prick about it. (Also pick one of your children to give all your love and attention to and abandon the other? what is wrong with you). Now to his brother Night. Oh God. I don’t think you understand how angry I was when Day said “I forgive you for everything”. Bitch what the f? Forgive Night? for treating him like absolute garbage, as if he had never been your own brother? Like he planned the whole fiasco? He gets mad after the accident because his brother TRIES TO CHANGE for the BETTER. And accuses him from TRYING TO STEAL THE GOOD SON TITLE FROM HIM??! Be for real bitch. This circles back to point one: He only cares about himself. Night has been traumatized almost as much as Day because of the accident. It is obvious he blames himself and probably will never forgive himself fully for what happened. On top of that he gets an awful mother and brother? Nah. Count me out. I would have resigned from that family and go live with beautiful sweet Porjai to a small village and never be contacted by those people again.

Mhok: Oh dear. Oh dear. He is literally the greenest of green flags out there. Sure. He’s a little volatile. Sure, he has done violent things. But he would have NEVER hurt Day or any of their friends/family. My boy was just trying to do his job, cause, mind you, HE HAS NO MONEY OR FAMILY TO SUPPORT HIM LIKE YOU DO, DAY. The money and family you disrespect every single day. And what the f with telling him what to do with his life? Who the f do you think you are? Mr. Righteous? Mr. Perfect? More like Mr. Red Flag 101. Day basically broke Mhok’s heart because Mhok didn’t want to be away from him. So, first of all, I don’t believe for a second Mhok’s intentions were out of pity. Maybe they came from a place of WORRY and a little bit out of infatuation because he liked him so much and didn’t want to be away from him. But never pity. EVEN SO. IF Mhok felt “pity” for Day, the correct thing to do, as two fluffing functioning adults, is to TALK. Why did you have to go and tell him all this horrible things just so he’d leave? Why not tell him you’re proud of him, and ENCOURAGE HIM to take the job, ENSURE that it’ll work out between you? But nooooo, Mr. Red Flag had to go and break his heart cause he lacks basic decency and human empathy, only for Mhok, bless his heart, to come back after three years AND FOR SOME REASON, still manage to be in love with this awful person. And he tells him no? Break his heart all over again only for Mhok to have enough emotional intelligence for the both of them to actually come back after YOU GAVE UP ON SEARCHING FOR HIM AT THE AIRPORT LIKE A WEAK MEDIOCRE BI— ugh. If I were Mhok I’d gone and kicked his sorry ass and married a handsome Hawaiian.

Okay.

Also Day only coming to his senses after his mother tells him THE MOST OBVIOUS THING THERE IS.

“Oh Mother what was that? Loving means taking risks? It’s all about trust? and communication? Oh my, that would have never crossed my mind because I am such an idiot. Thank you mom I’ll go look for the love of my life now because you told me so”

like seriously what is up with these boys and their mommy issues? I swear the exact same thing happened in Hidden Agenda. Bro.

I love P’Aof, and his work. Loved Bad Buddy, loved Moonlight Chicken. I had super high expectations of this and, overall, the show is good. But I simply did not enjoy it as much as I thought I would, and it’s all because I couldn’t sympathize with one of the main characters.

In conclusion:

Fluff you Day, you do not deserve Mhok. sorry p’Aof I love you and will continue to support you until the very end.

oof. I needed to rant this out. don’t yell at me please I cry easily.

peace out!

#last twlight the series #bl series #thai bl series #thaibl #thailand #thai bl #thai bl drama #thai drama #thai series #mhokday #mhok x day #mhok last twilight #im very sorry about this but It needed to be said #metapost #meta post #my meta #my writing #last twilight