#Like I have nostalgia for THIS more than anything lmao

[wifiwuxians]

was revisiting the exiledrebels translation for some nostalgia and

RATIO

[batshaped]

the continued adventures of an internet user who was frozen in 2004 and defrosted in 2021: some things are just the way you left them

previous 2004 internet user comics are here: one, two, three, four, five; or just in my 2004 tag

[aetherose]

To Dearest Nim

—The recollections of the ethereal sorceress

Spoilers for all of Baldur's Gate 3 and the Dark Urge storyline

She knew from the start the ending that her road would lead her to.

To resist her nature, these wretched urges that tried so hard to control her...somehow, a part of her always knew something like her was doomed from the beginning.

At first, perhaps it was a mere hope. A hope to be released from these shackles her urges were, even if the release was death. She was a danger to all around her, and she believed salvation wasn't something she deserved, let alone possible. What she deserved, and what was more realistic to occur, was oblivion.

But it became clearer that her hopes weren't merely that, but perhaps shreds of her past memories tugging at her fractured mind and reminding her, even if only vaguely, of what she was, of the truth of her life.

A Bhaalspawn.

A pure-blooded Bhaalspawn with urges far more horrific and intense than any other whom preceded her.

An imitation of an elf predestined to either follow her father's wishes and paint the world red with the blood of its inhabitants...

Or to reject her father, and pay the ultimate price; her life.

A price her past self wasn't strong enough to pay, after killing every person dear to her, after suffering these urges since childhood.

She was tired of rejecting her true nature back then, and found a home amongst the Temple of Bhaal. Sceleritas was like another father to her and was fiercely loyal even when she may have done horrific things to him.

It certainly did help he never stayed dead when she killed him.

Meeting Gortash led her to have a companion who accepted her for all that she was, her urges and all. As long as she could control herself when necessary, of course, and at that time, she was able to, because she indulged in it otherwise regularly.

To be accepted and have a true home in such a way...

That was all she ever really wanted.

But she'd never admit back then she wasn't truly happy.

Or perhaps she simply couldn't realize it through the haze of pride, insanity, ambition, and supposed joy she felt.

But her Orin-induced amnesia gave her another chance. Her personality shifted, and she became able to have a new start, even if it came with the caveat of having an illithid tadpole in her head.

At first, she didn't truly feel too bad about her urges or when she did something that was thought of as 'bad'.

She didn't fully understand the notion, and her urges were something she wished to disobey out of fear and spite. Fear of being abandoned and controlled, and spite for these rancid thoughts in her mind that compelled her to do things she didn't really want to do.

But her companions...changed her. From the first moment, she became attached because she had nothing else, and their views let her learn and grow.

And then, Alfira's death put it all into perspective.

Remorse weighed on her heart, alongside the true reality of Nimue's godsforsaken urges.

As time went on, she continued to change, as everything kept spiraling on her and her companions' journey to be cured of their parasites. She grew more...approachable. She found she was able to smile more and more. She began to loosen up, joking around and teasing more.

She still remained fairly mild-mannered and distant, but her companions still changed her.

But what didn't change was her fear of being abandoned by them, and therefore, her fear of her urges being discovered.

So she hid them until she couldn't anymore.

She refused to kill Isobel.

And then she was forced to try to murder the companion closest to her.

She thought she'd be killed immediately. It's what she deserved. What she secretly hoped for.

But that wasn't what happened.

Instead, she was...accepted as word spread across camp of what happened. She was shocked, overjoyed, confused, terrified, so much all at once. But in the end, she was accepted.

That was the first time anyone saw her cry.

And they wouldn't see her do so again until after reaching Wyrm's Rock, and discovering she was behind the entire mess with the Cult of the Absolute, formerly working with Ketheric and Gortash to take over this world.

And to top it all off, it coincided with her vision of Orin and her remembrance of her nature as a Bhaalspawn.

It all made sense now, and all she wanted was to throw herself off a cliff.

She didn't deserve to lead her companions. She didn't deserve to even be alive. She was just a monster who hid underneath the skin of a beautiful High Elf woman.

All of this was her fault. She hurt her companions in such an unfathomably large way, by being responsible for this oncoming catastrophe.

She normally hated being in the spotlight, the center of attention. But now, she couldn't stand that several of her companions couldn't even look at her. Somehow, being looked at with disdain was more bearable than that. She broke down crying, and ran off to hide from them all.

How ironic. Did the gods think this was funny? Did they think it was amusing, to let her be born and continue living a life drenched in so many sins, then proceed to make her lose her memory and come to realize the atrocities she'd committed in the past?

She didn't think it was funny. Not at all.

But...in time, they came to accept her again. She was so close to finally begging Jaheira to end her misery that day, but...in the end, they recognized she had no idea of this just the same as them.

She wasn't the same person that created this crisis anymore. She'd forgotten it all and changed. Even if fragments of memories were returning, they didn't feel quite hers anymore.

She almost broke down crying again, but simply hugged them all in gratefulness.

As she helped her companions tie up loose ends and progress was made towards obtaining all of the Netherstones as fast as possible, it was soon the day before her ragtag group of misfits was to head to Orin and return their stolen companion home.

She knew she would die tomorrow.

Yet, she strangely felt...

Serene.

At peace.

She stayed awake as her companions slept around her, and she simply walked around and gazed upon their sleeping faces with a look of fondness.

Shadowheart, Lae'zel, Astarion, Gale, Wyll, and Karlach. They'd been with her since the beginning, and they were especially precious to her for that.

Halsin, Jaheira, and Minsc. They were newer additions, but ones she still cherished.

Scratch and the Owlbear Cub. She never accepted them being called pets; they were her friends, her companions, just as much as everyone else.

Alfira. She never got to adventure with them properly, but Nimue still kept Lihala's lute with her, and considered her an honorary member of their group, even after her death.

It wouldn't be long before Nimue would join Alfira in the afterlife, and she'd apologize to her properly then.

She felt Scratch's eyes on her as she turned back to return to her bed. She gave him a pet, alongside the Owlbear Cub who slept beside him, and whispered softly, with a mixture of fondness and sadness, "I'll always be here for you two in spirit. Live on the best you can."

Her only regret...

Was that she wouldn't be able to witness her companions continue to endeavor to the very end.

For the first night in a very long time, she slept peacefully...

Knowing it would all be over soon.

At last, the end of her long, arduous journey arrived, as she was finally face-to-face with her father, the God of Murder himself, Bhaal, after killing her very own 'bloodkin', Orin.

Some part of her felt bad for Orin, she had to admit. Orin...never had another chance like Nimue did. Never had companions who could lead her down a different path. Or amnesia. Ironically, Nimue owed her for giving her this chance.

And some part of her had to wonder...

If their roles were reversed, would things have turned out the same way?

But...there was no time to contemplate it.

For at the finale, there was a choice to be made.

To be a god's puppet and destroy this world in Bhaal's name...

Or to die, finally being able to rest, and saving the world from herself?

It wasn't even a question. It was a choice she'd long anticipated. And she had already decided her answer every time she pondered it.

'I will die for their sake. I will die to be free. It's what I deserve.'

And so, she refused her father's gift. Refused to return to her role as his Chosen. She chose to defy a god, knowing what the consequences will be.

"Your life is mine. Accept your inheritance, or I will reclaim it."

Her last chance to reconsider; but even knowing that, she didn't falter. She merely took a deep breath, and she turned back to her companions with a sad smile.

"...I'm sorry. And I...love you all."

And she turned back to her father, accepting her fate with a smile, ignoring her companions' voices filled with concern at her words.

'Let me be free. Let me rest.'

"...Then reclaim it."

Even through the pain of every drop of her blood being drained from her body, she continued to smile, and one final thought crossed her mind...

'Farewell, my dearest friends. Thank you...for everything. May we meet again...in another life.'

And all became black.

[desertdragon]

This shit is so ass I just want it to be over

[gilbertscurls]

Taste ➵ Matt Sturniolo

warnings: SMUT, virgin!matt, softdom!reader, unprotected p in v, heavy on praise and consent, oral!f!receiving, can't tell if it's cringe or not lmao

synopsis: on their first anniversary, y/n and matt finally decide to go all the way.

“I can't believe it's been a year already.” You let out a quiet sigh.

Matt nodded, the thought of their year together bringing a smile to his lips.

“Yeah. It feels like just yesterday we had our first date,” he said, his voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia.

He remembered every detail of that day, the way you looked, the way he'd been so nervous he felt like he might throw up. But he'd found the courage to ask you out, and you'd said yes. It felt like a dream come true.

Matt's gaze drifted from your face to the room around them. The soft, warm light of the lamp by the bed was casting shadows on the walls, the room cozy and intimate. The silence between them was comfortable, broken only by their soft breathing. Matt couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment, a feeling of being right where he belonged.

“I can't believe how lucky I am,” he murmured, his voice low. “To have you, I mean.”

“I'm the lucky one,” you whispered.

Matt chuckled softly at your words, his fingers still tangled in your hair.

“Oh, please,” he said, a hint of a smile in his voice. “I'm the one who gets to hold you like this, to call you mine. I think I won the lottery.”

You giggled, a sound that always made Matt's heart skip a beat.

“I can't argue with that,” you conceded. You snuggled closer to him, resting your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. “But I get to hold you back, so we're even.”

Matt's hand moved to your back, gently tracing circles on your skin. The feel of you against him, the sound of your voice, was comforting and soothing, but it also stirred a different kind of feeling in him. A feeling of desire and longing.

“Yeah, I guess we are,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion.

He tightened his arm around you, pulling you even closer, his fingers tracing your spine. Matt's heart thrummed with anticipation. The fact that you've never done more than kiss had been on his mind a lot lately. He wanted you, more than he could say. And tonight felt different, special. It was their anniversary, a milestone in their relationship. A part of him ached to take things further, to show you how much he loved you. But his insecurities and anxieties held him back. What if he wasn't good enough? What if he disappointed you? The thought was terrifying.

“Baby,” he finally said, breaking the silence between them. He swallowed hard, his heart beating a little faster. “Can I ask you something?” His voice was nervous, and he was suddenly regretting asking you anything at all.

At his anxious tone, you knitted your brows and turned to face him. “Of course. What is it?”

Matt looked down at you, his thoughts a swirling mess of anxiety and desire. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “It's… It's our anniversary,” he started, his voice a little shaky. “And I was wondering…”

He trailed off, the words failing him. He felt like a complete idiot. He'd never been good with expressing his desires, especially when it came to physical intimacy.

You gazed at him with a mixture of concern and curiosity. You could tell he was nervous, and it made you worry. You reached up, gently caressing his cheek. “Yes?” you prompted, your voice gentle and encouraging.

Matt's heart fluttered at your touch, and he took another deep breath, summoning his courage. “I was just… I was thinking…” he mumbled, his words barely more than a whisper. “Tonight, I was hoping we could… Take things further.”

He felt a blush rising up his cheeks, and he quickly looked away, suddenly unable to meet your gaze.

“Oh,” you said quietly. “Are you sure? Like, 100% sure?”

Matt nodded quickly, his heart hammering in his chest. “Yeah,” he replied, his voice trembling slightly. “I'm sure. I've been thinking about it for a while now. I… I want you, baby.”

Saying the words out loud sent a shockwave of adrenaline through him. It was exhilarating, terrifying, and wonderful all at once. But he knew he needed to be honest, to lay it all out on the table.

“I'm just... nervous,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I've never done anything more than kissing, and I don't… I don't know if I'll be any good.”

“It's okay,” you whispered, reaching up to caress his cheek. “But are you sure? I don't want you to do anything you'll regret.”

Matt leaned into your touch, the warmth and tenderness of your hand calming him down a little. But your words also made him pause. Was he sure? He desperately wanted this, wanted you. But his insecurities were still looming, a dark cloud in the back of his mind.

“I'm sure,” he replied, his eyes searching yours. “I want this. With you.”

“All right.” You nodded. “How… How far are we talking?”

Matt felt his cheeks flush even more, but he forced himself to keep eye contact with you. He appreciated your directness, and your willingness to talk about this openly.

“I, uh…” he began, his voice still a little shaky. “Everything, I guess. If you want that.”

He swallowed hard, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He hoped he wasn't pressuring you or coming on too strong.

You felt your heart skipping a beat and heat already pooling in your lower abdomen. “I do,” you said softly. “But I want to make sure you're completely comfortable.”

Hearing your confirmation sent a pang of excitement through Matt. He felt a mix of emotions, desire, affection, and a hint of fear. But overruling it all was a deep sense of trust. Your words, your reassurance, it was all he needed.

“I am,” he said, his voice a little steadier now. “I trust you, baby. Completely.”

A small, tender smile crept onto your face. “Okay.” Your voice was so soft, so sweet, so kind. “Do you… Want me to take the lead?”

Matt's heart leaped at your question, a mix of relief and desire coursing through him. The idea of you taking control was both frightening and exciting. He hesitated for a moment, but then he nodded, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Yes,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. “I… I want you to take the lead.”

You put one of your hands on his cheek before slowly and gently pressing your lips against his.

Matt's heart skipped a beat at the feel of your lips on his. He'd kissed you countless times before, but this kiss felt different, more intimate. He let out a soft sigh against your mouth, all his anxieties and worries melting away as your touch filled his senses. He brought his own hands up to cup your face, his fingers gently tracing your jaw, his touch soft and reverent.

The kiss deepened, their mouths moving against each other in a slow, languorous dance. Matt could feel the heat pooling in his stomach, the desire for you growing with every passing second. The fear was still there, but it was muffled by the overwhelming sensation of pleasure. He pulled you closer, his hands moving to your hips, his fingers pressing into your skin.

Not stopping the kiss, You moved to straddle his lap, your knees on both sides of his thighs.

Matt felt a shiver run down his spine as you straddled him, your body suddenly so close and so warm. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you even closer, their bodies now pressed together in a way you’ve never been before. The feeling of your weight on his lap ignited a new wave of desire in him, his kisses growing even more intense. He wanted you, desperately.

“You okay?” you mumbled into his lips.

Matt's breath caught in his throat as you spoke, the feeling of your words more like breath than a sound. He couldn't even form a response, his mind completely consumed by your touch and the taste of your lips. He managed a nod, a weak yes whispered against your mouth. He was more than okay. He was on fire.

Matt groaned involuntarily at the feel of your tongue against his lip, the sound more a mixture of pleasure and need than anything else. He immediately parted his lips, granting you access without a second thought. His hands moved to your thighs, his fingers gripping your flesh as he opened his mouth to her.

The kiss grew hungrier, more urgent. Their tongues tangled together, exploring each other without restraint. Matt was lost in the sensation, in the feeling of you in his lap, your body pressed against him. He could hardly think straight, his mind clouded by desire and need. His hips involuntarily bucked slightly, seeking more contact.

“Impatient, huh?” You teased softly, pulling away a little.

Matt let out a low growl of frustration as you pulled away, a mix of desire and irritation in his expression. He was getting so lost in the moment, he was aching for more. Your words, your tease only heightened his need.

“Baby…” he breathed, his voice a mixture of pleading and impatience. “Don't tease me.”

You smiled tenderly before grabbing his both hands and sliding them under your crop top, urging him to take it off.

Matt let out a sharp breath at the feel of your skin under his hands, your top soft and warm. Without hesitation, he moved his hands slowly up your stomach, his fingers exploring the planes of your skin as he helped you pull off your crop top. It fell to the floor, forgotten. His eyes went wide at the sight of your half-naked upper body, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Oh God,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire.

Matt couldn't have looked away even if he'd wanted to. His eyes were drawn to your chest, his breath hitching at the sight. It was as if his brain was shorting out, his desire for you overwhelming everything else. He felt a mix of awe, arousal, and a hint of nervousness. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly very dry.

“You're… You're so beautiful,” he managed to whisper, his voice thick with want.

You smiled softly, your fingertips tracing his shoulders over the t-shirt. “Can I take it off, baby?”

Matt's muscles twitched under your touch, your words sending a shudder down his spine.

“Yes,” he breathed, his voice a little shaky. “Please.”

He wanted to feel your skin on his, the touch of your fingers on his bare chest. He raised his arms to help you as you tugged his t-shirt over his head, discarding it to the side.

Matt's muscles twitched under your touch, your words sending a shudder down his spine. “Yes,” he breathed, his voice a little shaky. “Please.”

He wanted to feel your skin on his, the touch of your fingers on his bare chest. He raised his arms to help you as you tugged his t-shirt over his head, discarding it to the side.

Once the shirt was off, his chest was now bare, exposed to your touch and gaze. Matt felt a mixture of vulnerability and excitement, his heart beating fast in his chest. He could feel your eyes on him, your fingers tracing soft patterns on his skin. He wanted you, all of you.

“Baby,” he murmured, his voice ragged with need. “Touch me.”

Obediently, You ran your fingertips through his shoulders, to his arms, to his chest. “God, you're so beautiful,” you whispered breathlessly.

Matt's breath caught in his throat as your fingers glided over his skin, your touch leaving trails of fire in its wake. He shivered under your touch, a small moan escaping his lips. Your words, your voice, your touch — it was all almost too much to bear.

“No, you are,” he breathed, his own hands moving to your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh. "So beautiful. So perfect."

You were doing everything so slowly and gently, knowing that he'd never done anything like that before. You wanted to make it so good for him. Matt was both grateful and frustrated by your slow and gentle pace. Grateful that you were so patient, and so understanding, but frustrated because he just wanted more. He wanted to be consumed by you, to lose himself in your touch. But he knew you were doing it for his sake, to make it easier for him, and that only made him love you more.

“Baby,” he gasped, his voice pleading. “Please. More. I need more.”

You smirked before leaning a little closer to his face. “You want more?”

Matt looked at you, his eyes dark with desire, his expression a mixture of need and pleading.

“Yes,” he whispered, his voice a little breathless. “I want more. I want all of you.”

He reached up to you, his hands skimming up your sides, his touch firm and possessive. He wanted to touch you, to feel you, to lose himself in you.

“Please,” he added, his voice a low, desperate plea.

You held his face as you kissed him once again, the kiss sweet and full of emotion.

Matt returned the kiss hungrily, his lips moving against yours with a mix of desperation and affection. He couldn't get close enough to you, his hands roaming over your bare skin, wanting to feel you, to touch you everywhere. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth with a new, more urgent fervor. He could feel his desire for you growing, overpowering everything else.

“Baby…” he breathed into your mouth. “Please, I… I need you.”

Matt swore, his head falling back on the pillow as you ground your hips with his. The feel of you grinding against him, the friction, the heat, and the pressure — it was almost too much. He gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh, trying to pull you closer, to increase the contact. A low moan escaped his lips, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Oh God,” he panted, his eyes squeezed shut. “Baby… That feels… That feels so good.”

“You sound so pretty,” you praised breathlessly.

Matt blushed at your words, his heart fluttering at your praise. He let out another soft moan as you rode against him, his body responding instinctively. He was completely lost in the sensation, the feel of your body against his driving him mindless. He tried to form words, to respond, but all that came out was another low groan.

“God… Baby,” he breathed, his hands still holding onto your hips. “Don't… Don't stop.”

His body was on fire, his every nerve alive with desire. He could feel his own hardness growing beneath you, a testament to how much he needed you. His hips canted upward, seeking more contact, wanting to be closer, closer, closer. He opened his eyes, looking up at you, his gaze filled with a mix of want and awe.

“Sweetheart… I… I don't know how much… How much longer I can last,” he whispered, his voice thick with need.

“It's okay, baby,” you cooed, halting your movements.

Matt let out a small, involuntarily whine as you stopped moving, his body protesting the lack of sensation. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire and frustration, but also with a hint of relief. He was so close to the edge, he didn't know how much longer he could hold on.

“I… I thought you would keep going,” he breathed, his voice a combination of disappointment and need.

“Patience, sweetheart,” you teased, your hand running down his chest, from his shoulder to his happy trail, before finally resting on the buckle of his belt.

Matt's breath hitched at your touch, your hand igniting a trail of fire on his skin. He watched as your hand moved down his chest, down his stomach, to the buckle of his belt. A wave of heat washed over him, making his entire body shiver with anticipation.

“Patience,” he echoed, his voice a rough whisper. “You're… You're killing me.”

You gently hooked your finger under the belt. “Can I?”

Matt nodded, his eyes locked on yours, his breathing shallow and ragged. He trusted you completely and wanted you to take whatever you needed from him. “Yes,” he whispered, his voice thick with need. “Do whatever you want. I'm all yours.”

“So good for me,” you praised before expertly unbuckling his belt and tugging his jeans down.

Matt's heart leaped at your praise, a sense of pride and satisfaction filling him. He lifted his hips slightly, helping you pull his jeans down. He was now only in his boxer briefs, the material doing little to conceal his arousal. He was completely exposed, both physically and emotionally, and he could do nothing but lay there and look up at you, his desire for you burning in his gaze.

“Only for you,” he whispered, his voice a quiet admission.

“Already so worked up for me, huh?” you asked breathlessly, a small smile on your face.

Matt blushed at your comment, the heat spreading across his cheeks. He could feel the evidence of his arousal straining against the fabric of his boxer briefs. He was so worked up, so needy, so desperate for your touch. He swallowed hard, his voice husky and raw.

“Yeah,” he breathed, his eyes fixed on yours. “Only for you. I want you so badly, sweetheart.”

You sat back on his lap, caressing his cheek. “You want to try to take off my bra, baby?”

Matt's eyes widened at your suggestion, a mix of excitement and anxiety washing over him. He'd never taken off a bra before, and he was suddenly unsure of himself. He swallowed hard, his throat dry.

“Yes,” he rasped, his voice betraying his nervousness. “I… I want to try.”

His hands moved to your back, his fingers trembling slightly as he reached for the clasp of your bra. He tried to steady his breathing, but his heart was racing, his mind a jumble of thoughts and feelings.

“I… I'll probably be bad at this,” he admitted, his voice a hesitant whisper.

“It's okay,” you assured him softly. “I don't mind.”

Matt nodded, taking a deep breath to calm himself. He fumbled with the clasp for a few seconds, his fingers feeling both clumsy and inadequate. But finally, with a soft click, the bra came undone. The cups fell loose, revealing your bare chest to him. He stared at you for a moment, his eyes wide, his breath caught in his throat.

“Oh… Wow,” he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and desire.

You smiled a little sheepishly.

Matt's eyes drank you in, every inch of your beautiful skin, every curve and contour. His hands were itching to touch you, to feel your flesh under his fingertips.

“You are… You are so exquisite,” he breathed, his voice filled with a mixture of wonder and admiration. “You take my breath away.”

Noticing his hands twitching, your smile softened. “You can touch me.”

Matt couldn't believe you were actually giving him permission to touch you, to touch this beautiful woman who was willingly sitting on his lap, your body bare for him. He lifted his hands, his fingers hovering slightly above your skin.

“I… I want to,” he breathed, his voice a shaky whisper. He wanted to feel you so badly, but he was also afraid of doing something wrong, of upsetting you in some way. “Are you… Are you sure it's okay?”

“I am. Don't think so much. Just… Feel.”

Matt took a deep breath, allowing the words to sink in. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting go of the nagging thoughts and doubts in his mind. When he opened them again, his gaze was clear, his expression relaxed.

And then he touched you.

His fingers skimmed lightly over your skin, slowly, delicately, exploring the soft planes of your chest. A shiver ran through him as he felt the heat of your flesh, the suppleness of your skin.

“God, you're so soft,” he whispered.

Sensing that he was still holding back, You smiled softly and grabbed his hand, putting it directly on your breast, and gently squeezing his fingers.

Matt gasped, his breath hitching in his throat as your hand guided his. The feeling of your flesh, your breast, under his palm was almost too much. It was so soft, so warm. He could feel your heart beating rapidly under his fingers. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Oh God,” he breathed, his voice hoarse. “This… This feels… Incredible.”

His fingers traced a slow, tentative path over your breast, his touch firm but gentle. He could feel your own heart hammering against his palm, a perfect rhythm. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and full of desire.

“Is… Is this okay?” he breathed, his voice a low, raspy whisper. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“It's okay,” you assured him softly. “I'll tell you if anything. Just… Touch me.”

Matt nodded tightly, the lump in his throat suddenly replaced by a wave of desire and need. He took your words to heart, letting go of any lingering doubt or fear. He allowed himself to really touch you, to move his fingers over your skin, to feel the contours of your body.

His other hand moved up to your other breast, gently kneading it in his palm. “Is… Is this good?” he whispered, his voice almost inaudible over the sound of his own heartbeat. “You feel… So perfect, so soft.”

You let out a shaky breath. “So good.”

Matt felt a sense of power and satisfaction wash over him, emboldening him. He could feel your breath catching in your chest, hear the hitch in your voice. He knew he was doing something right, something that made you feel good. He continued to caress you, his touch becoming more confident, more sure of itself.

His breath felt hot and heavy, his heart hammering against his ribcage. “Can I… Can I kiss these, too?” he asked, his voice thick with desire.

You felt a sudden rush of so much love for this boy. “Of course. Anything you want.”

Matt's heart soared at your permission, at the way you were giving yourself to him so completely. You were so wonderful, so understanding. He leaned forward, his lips coming to rest on your breast, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. He was gentle at first, his touch light and tentative. But then he began to kiss you more firmly, more hungrily.

And then, a moan of his name escaped your lips.

Matt's heart leaped at the sound of your moan, the way you said his name. It was like music to his ears. He pulled back slightly, looking up at you with a mixture of awe and desire.

“Did… Did I do something right?” he asked, his voice breathless and shaky. “The way you said my name… It sounded… It sounded like it felt good, like you liked it.”

“You're doing… Incredible,” you whispered breathlessly.

Matt felt a surge of pride and satisfaction coursing through him. He couldn't believe this was actually happening, that he was pleasuring this incredible woman, making you feel this way. But the knowledge that he was pleasing you, making you moan and breathless, only fueled his own desire, his own need for you.

He continued to kiss you, his mouth moving across your chest, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. “More,” he murmured, his voice low and ragged. “Can I… Can I do more?”

“Anything.”

Matt felt a wave of heat and adrenaline wash over him at your word, your permission. Anything? The possibilities, the desires, raced through his mind. He wanted to explore you, to touch you, to make you feel things you'd never felt before.

His mouth moved down your body, his tongue tracing a path down your sternum, his lips leaving a trail of kisses along your stomach. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and full of need. “Can I… Can I taste you?”

You pulled yourself up on your elbows to look at him. He looked so pretty, looking up at you from between your thighs. But it was his first time, and you wanted to make it special do him. “Are you sure? I want it to be about you. You don't have to…”

Matt paused, looking up at you. Your concern for him, your consideration, made his heart swell. He could feel your gaze on him, warm and gentle. He knew you would never force him to do something he wasn't ready for. But he could also feel his own desire burning beneath the surface.

He nodded, his voice steady and sure. “I'm sure,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours. “I… I want to. I want to taste you. I want to please you… If you're okay with that.”

You nodded shakily, before bunching up the fabric of your skirt in your hands, pulling it down and revealing your little lacy panties.

Matt's eyes widened at the sight before him. Your panties were a beautiful lace, delicate and feminine. He could feel his mouth go dry, his heart quickening in his chest. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with an almost reverent awe.

His hands tentatively moved up from your thighs, tracing gentle patterns on your bare skin as they crept closer to your panties. “You're so beautiful,” he breathed, his voice laced with need and desire.

He leaned forward, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. His hands were still tracing feather-light patterns on your thighs, but he was now just millimeters away from your underwear. His heart was hammering, his mind a cacophony of emotions and sensations. “May I… May I touch you there?” he asked, his voice thick with desire.

“Please,” you whispered breathlessly, your chest already heaving.

Matt didn't need to be told twice. With a mixture of nerves and confidence, he let his fingers graze across the fabric of your panties, just touching the soft material. He could feel the heat radiating from you, the moisture already seeping through. He swallowed hard, his own body responding to the feel of you.

His gaze flicked up to your eyes momentarily, seeking reassurance, before returning to his task. “Is… Is this right?” he whispered, his voice a little shaky.

“Yes,” you whispered breathlessly. “Perfect.”

Matt felt a rush of relief and satisfaction at your words. He was doing well, making you feel good. He continued to touch you, to move his fingers across the fabric of your panties, feeling the heat and the dampness beneath.

As his touch grew more confident, more assured, he found himself getting more and more excited. His own breathing grew shaky, his heart racing. “Can… Can I do more?” he breathed, his voice slightly hoarse.

“Whatever you want,” you mewled. “I'll tell you if anything.”

Matt's heart fluttered at your response. The trust, the permission, it was almost too good to be true. He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation. But all he found was love, desire, and a willingness to explore.

He took a breath, trying to steady himself. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice a little shaky. He moved his fingers down to the edge of your panties, toying with the thin strip of fabric. “I… I want to touch you without these in the way…”

He paused, waiting for your permission. He was already so close, already feeling the heat and dampness of your through the thin fabric, but he wouldn't do anything you weren’t comfortable with. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with desire but laced with the need for your approval.

You nodded. “Do whatever you want.”

Matt felt a shudder run through him at your words. Your permission, your trust in him, it was like fuel for the fire that was burning within him. He gently pulled at your panties, guiding them down your legs, discarding them on the floor.

The sight of you, bare and fully exposed to him, was almost too much. His breath caught in his throat, and he had to force himself to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed. His fingers itched to touch you, to feel the smoothness and heat of your skin, but he waited, looking up for your nod of approval.

When you gave it, he moved quickly. His fingers traced a path up your thighs, moving closer and closer to your core. His own breathing was ragged, his heart pounding in his chest, and he struggled to keep his hands from shaking as they got closer and closer to the most intimate part.

His fingers grazed over your skin, feeling the heat radiating off of you. He could feel the wetness there, the evidence of your arousal, and he couldn't help but shudder. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and hungry, his tongue flicking out to moisten his suddenly dry lips.

“You're… You're so wet,” he whispered, the words barely escaping his lips.

Your breath hitched. “Only for you.”

His heart leaped at hearing your words, at the idea that he was the only cause of your arousal. He could feel the power and the responsibility that came with it, and it only stoked the fire within him.

His fingers were now tracing gentle circles around your entrance, his touch light and tentative. He couldn't believe he was doing this, touching you this way. “Can… Can I… Can I put a finger inside?” he asked, his voice shaky.

“Yeah,” you whispered shakily. “Please.”

Matt could feel his breath catch in his chest at your words, at the desire in your voice. His whole body was trembling, almost overwhelmed by the enormity of the moment. He nodded, swallowing hard, his eyes fixed on you.

He gently, carefully, eased a single finger inside, a choked gasp escaping his lips as he felt your warmth and wetness around him. As he moved his finger, You suddenly let out a gasp.

Matt was instantly worried, his finger freezing in place. “Did… Did I hurt you?” he asked, his voice full of concern. He looked up at you, his eyes searching your face for any sign of discomfort.

“N-No, it's just…” Your face flushed. “Your fingers are longer than what I'm used to.”

Matt felt a sudden rush of pride at your words, his chest swelling. He had to admit, he'd always been a bit self-conscious about his long thin fingers. But the idea that they were causing her pleasure, that they were giving her a feeling you weren’t used to, that felt incredible.

He curled his finger slightly, exploring your depth. “Is… Is this okay…?”

Your breath hitched as he reached that one spot, and you almost screamed out loud. “Oh my…”

Matt was surprised by your reaction, the sound you made nearly sending him over the edge. But he was determined to make you feel good, to make you feel better than you'd ever felt before.

He kept his finger where it was, gently applying pressure to that one spot, a smirk on his face. “Is this the right spot, hm?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Matt,” you mumbled in pleasure.

Matt couldn't help but smile at your reaction, at the way you responded to his touch. He couldn't believe he was doing this to you, causing you to feel these things. And he couldn't resist the urge to tease you a little bit.

“Is that a yes?” he asked, his voice low and dripping with barely restrained desire.

“Add a second finger,” you instructed him softly. “And try to move them, curling them to hit that spot.”

At your instructions, Matt felt another wave of arousal wash over him. You were telling him what to do. You were guiding him, showing him how to please you. It was a new experience, but one he was more than happy to explore.

He obeyed, slowly adding a second finger to the first. The feeling was tighter, but also warmer. He began to move his fingers, just as you'd told him to.

The angle was a little clumsy at first, but then he felt that one spot, and he applied gentle pressure, curling his fingers at just the right angle. “Like…” he started, his voice a little breathless. “… like this?”

“Oh fuck…” you moaned, your back arching a little in pleasure.

Matt found himself breathing harder at the sight of you arching your back, at the way you were responding to his touch. He knew he was doing something right, and it only fueled his desire to please you more, to make you feel even better.

“Is… Is this good?” he asked, his voice a little shaky. “Does this feel good?”

“So good, fuck, so good…”

Matt's heart was racing, his breath coming in heavy pants. He loved hearing your praise, and the way you reacted to his touch. It was something he'd never felt before, and he wanted more, wanted to make you feel even better.

He kept his fingers moving and applying pressure, his gaze darting up to your face, watching your expressions. “I want you… I want you to feel… To feel so good,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of breathless and earnest.

Your noises of pleasure, your arches, and your moans, it was all driving him wild. He wanted to make you fall apart, to make you forget everything but him and whatever he was doing to you.

“You… You want to try to use your mouth?” you asked breathlessly in between the moans.

Matt's heart quickened at your request. He'd wanted to do that, too, but he hadn't been sure if you'd be okay with it. But now that you'd asked, he was more than happy to comply.

“Yes,” he responded, his voice hoarse with desire. “I… I want to. I want to taste you, too.”

He gently withdrew his fingers and slowly moved further down your body, his heart thudding in his chest. He settled between your legs, looking up at you as his breath came in hot, uneven pants against you.

As he tasted you, as he felt you against his lips, his tongue, his mind was overwhelmed. He hadn't expected this, but it was better than he'd ever imagined. You tasted sweet and tangy, and it only spurred him on.

He forgot about feeling out of his depth, he forgot about potential mistakes or awkward moments. All he wanted to do was pleasure you, to make you feel good. His tongue moved and explored, and his eyes fluttered up at you. He'd never seen you so undone, so lost in pleasure, and the knowledge that he was causing it only deepened his desire to please you more.

“God, you're so good at that,” you breathed out shakily.

Matt felt a wave of pride and pleasure wash over him at your words. He continued, his tongue moving over you, his lips applying gentle suction. Hearing your approval, feeling you respond beneath him, was intoxicating. But he was relentless, determined to bring you to the brink, to make you lose control completely.

His hands moved up, gently caressing your thighs and stomach, seeking to give you even more pleasure. He wanted you to feel good, to feel loved, to feel worshipped.

And eventually, your moans got even louder as you released on his mouth, his name on your lips like a prayer. Matt could feel your body shaking, could hear your voice as you cried out his name. It was a moment he knew he'd never forget, a moment that would be ingrained in his memory forever.

He slowly withdrew, crawling back up beside you. He couldn't seem to find his voice, his heart still hammering in his chest.

He was a little amazed at himself, too, he had to admit. He hadn't been entirely sure what he was doing, but he'd just seemed to know. He'd found a way to bring you pleasure, to send you over the edge, to make you sing his name like a song.

He found his voice again, his voice low, rough. “Was that… Was that good for you? Was I okay?” His heart was still beating fast, his body thrumming with a mix of adrenaline and pleasure.

“God, you're… You're unreal,” you panted out.

Matt couldn't help but smile at your words, the praise fueling his ego. “I… I am?” he asked, unable to hide the slight tone of smugness in his voice. He knew he should feel more humbled, but he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride.

He reached out, gently tracing random patterns on your bare stomach as you caught your breath. “I just… I wanted to make you feel good,” he said softly.

When you came down from your high, you sat up to rest their foreheads against each other. “Are you sure you're ready?”

Matt's heart raced as you asked the question, his mind suddenly flooded with thoughts and worries. Was he ready? He had wanted this, more than anything, but now that the moment was here, he felt a twinge of fear.

He looked into your eyes, searching for reassurance. But all he saw was love, desire, and a willingness to wait if he wasn't ready yet.

He nodded, taking a shaky breath. “Yes,” he murmured. “I'm ready.”

In response, you locked their lips in a passionate kiss, one full of love.

Matt responded eagerly, his body pressing against yours as their mouths met in a passionate kiss. Every thought, every fear, was pushed aside in that moment. All that mattered was you, your breath, your lips, your bodies.

His hands found their way into your hair, tangling in the soft strands, holding you close. He poured all of his feelings, all of his desires into the kiss, his heart hammering in his chest.

Matt's breath caught in his throat as he felt your fingers slide under the waistband of his boxers, the sensation causing a shudder to run through his body. He'd been on edge ever since you'd started, his desire already at a fever pitch. But your touch, your gentle caress, only served to drive him wild.

He pulled back from the kiss to murmur against your mouth. “Please…” he whispered, his voice ragged and pleading. “Please, don't tease me anymore. I can't take it.”

You let out a shaky groan before pulling his boxers down, seeing him fully exposed for the first time. You took a moment to really take him in, your eyes full of awe and love.

Matt's cheeks burned under your gaze, feeling suddenly very exposed and vulnerable. He'd never been looked at this way before, never felt this vulnerable. But he also felt a wave of affection at the awe and love he saw in your eyes.

He met your gaze, his own eyes full of a mixture of desire and trepidation. “Is… Is it okay?” he asked softly, his voice betraying a hint of insecurity.

“You're so beautiful,” you praised breathlessly. “So perfect.”

Matt felt his heart soar at your words, the insecurities fading away and being replaced with a wave of intense love. No one had ever called him beautiful before, and certainly not perfect. He'd always felt a bit too thin, too gangly, too nerdy. But to you, he was beautiful, perfect.

He drew in a shaky breath, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “So are you,” he murmured. “Perfect, I mean.”

You reached to gently caress his cheek. “Sit up against the headboard for me.”

At your request, Matt obeyed, sitting up and leaning back against the headboard. He felt bare and exposed, but he trusted you and knew that you wouldn't do anything to make him feel uncomfortable.

His gaze met yours, his heart beating fast in his chest. “Like this?” he asked, his voice a little breathless.

“Perfect,” you praised before straddling his lap once again.

Matt's breath caught in his throat as you straddled him, your body pressing against his in all the right places. His hands found your hips, his fingers gently gripping them, as if he needed something to anchor himself.

His eyes roamed over your body, appreciating every curve and contour, before coming back up to meet your gaze. “You… You look amazing,” he breathed, his voice a little huskier than usual.

The corner of your lips went up as you rested your forehead against his, just looking into his eyes for a few moments. You were so close now, the heat and electricity between them palpable. Matt found himself getting lost in your eyes, feeling a sense of calm and understanding wash over him. He could feel your breath against his lips, your body pressed against his, and it was almost too much to bear.

He reached up a hand, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers feather-light against your skin. “I… I love you,” he whispered, the words coming out almost involuntarily.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, and your eyes reflected just how much.

Matt felt your words wash over him, the depth and sincerity of your love sending a shiver down his spine. He'd always known you loved him, but hearing you say it, seeing it in your eyes… It was as if all his fears and doubts vanished completely.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the words sink in, letting himself bask in your love. Then, his eyes opened again, his gaze intense, and he wrapped his arms more securely around your waist. “Show me,” he whispered. “Show me how much you love me.”

“You ready?” you made sure quietly.

Matt felt a flutter of nerves mix with the desire he was feeling, but he nodded, his hands gripping your hips a little tighter. “Yes,” he breathed in response, his voice a little shaky. “I… I'm ready.”

“If anything… Just tell me, and we can stop,” you promised.

Matt nodded again, appreciating your thoughtfulness. “I will,” he assured you. “But please… Please don't stop unless I say so.”

He drew you closer, his hands sliding up to your back, gently tracing the line of your spine. “I… I want this. I want you,” he murmured, his voice a low, earnest plea.

Matt shivered slightly as your hand moved over his chest, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His heart was beating hard, his breath coming in shaky gasps. He'd never felt this alive before, this on edge, this desperate for your touch.

His eyes tracked your hand as it moved, a small, helpless noise escaping his lips. He knew what was coming, and he was aching for it.

Finally, your hand wrapped around him, giving him a few slow pumps. Your touch was like a spark to a flame, igniting a fire within him that he hadn't known was possible. He groaned, his head falling back against the headboard, his eyes squeezing shut as the sensations washed over him.

His hips involuntarily arched into your touch, his hands gripping your hips a little tighter.

“Oh… Oh God, that feels…” he gasped, his voice choked. “That feels so good,” he managed to stutter out, his words a raw expression of pleasure.

The feeling of your hand on him was overwhelming, unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He could feel his body tensing and relaxing instinctively.

You positioned yourself above him, and you looked him in the eyes as if to ask for one last permission.

Matt's heart thudded in his chest as he looked into your eyes. He knew what was about to happen, and he wanted it, more than anything. He didn't want you to stop, he wanted you, all of you.

He nodded, his voice unsteady as he spoke. “Please,” he whispered, his breath ragged. “Please, don't stop.”

And then, you slowly started to sink down. The sensation was almost too much for Matt. It was like a wave of pleasure and heat overwhelming his entire body. He let out a low, guttural moan as you slowly sank down, inch by agonizing inch.

He clung to you, his hands gripping your hips with an almost bruising force. His eyes were squeezed shut, his lips parted as he panted for breath. “Oh… Oh God,” he managed to say, the words a messy, incoherent jumble.

His mind was reeling, every thought driven out by the sheer intensity of the feeling. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced before, like nothing he could have imagined. You were warm, tight, and completely surrounding him, and it was everything.

He knew he was probably being too rough, too loud, but he couldn't help it. He was utterly lost in the sensations, losing himself in you. He was yours, totally and completely, and he loved every moment.

As you bottomed out, you rested your hands on his shoulders for support. “You okay, baby?”

Matt was trying to form words, to give some sort of response, but all he could manage was a series of ragged breaths and a nod. He was trying to ground himself, to stay in control, but it was nearly impossible.

He managed to open his eyes, his gaze meeting yours. “I… I'm… I'm okay,” he gasped out, his voice thick with pleasure. “Just… Just give me a second, please.”

You felt incredible around him, almost too good. He needed a moment to adjust, to find some sort of equilibrium, or he knew he'd lose himself completely.

He forced himself to take a few deep breaths, his heart hammering in his chest as he tried to steady himself. “You… You feel so… So good," he managed to get out between ragged breaths. He was struggling to find his voice, to express how he was feeling. “Just… Just give me a moment, please…”

“Of course. Take all the time you need,” you whispered, your hand gently caressing his cheek.

Your touch was like a soothing balm on his over-stimulated body. He closed his eyes and leaned into your hand, drawing in a shaky breath. He focused on the feeling of your fingers on his skin, your body surrounding him, anchoring himself to you. Slowly, the overwhelming sensations began to recede, replaced by a calmer, more controlled sense of pleasure.

He opened his eyes again, his gaze meeting yours. “I'm… I'm okay now,” he murmured. “You can... you can move now.”

You leaned in to press your lips against his before slowly starting to move your hips.

The feeling of your lips on his was like a jolt through his system, reigniting the fire that had been momentarily banked. He responded eagerly, his mouth moving against yours, his tongue caressing yours with an urgent need.

And then there was the movement of your hips. It was a gentle, careful circling motion, bringing him closer and closer to oblivion. Matt let out a guttural moan, his hands gripping your hips even tighter.

It was all too much, but he couldn't get enough of it. He felt like he was drowning in you, lost in the sensations of your body, your touch, your scent. He knew he was being loud, almost embarrassingly so, but he couldn't help it. He was completely yours, completely lost in you.

“Does that feel good, baby?” You asked breathlessly.

Matt could barely respond, too lost in the pleasure to string coherent words together. All he could do was nod, his voice choked off by a moan that tore its way from his throat.

He tried to form words, to tell you how good it felt, how incredible you were, but all that came out was a ragged gasp. “Y-yeah,” he managed to stutter out eventually, his voice hoarse. “Feels… Feels so good…”

You pressed their foreheads together before starting to move a little faster, moans escaping your own lips.

The change in speed made Matt's head spin. He felt like he was on the edge of an abyss, his body tensing and coiling with each move of your hips. He was a tangle of sensations, pleasure, need, and love, all swirling together.

He kept his eyes open, locking them with yours. Your moans, your ragged breaths, only amplified the sensations. He knew he was close, too close, but he didn't want it to end.

His hands left your hips, moving up to cradle your face in his hands. He needed to touch you, to feel your skin under his fingers, to hold onto you as he rode the wave of pleasure higher and higher.

“I… I'm close… I'm gonna… Oh God, I'm…”

You understood exactly what he meant, the urgency in his tone clear. Your movements became faster and more purposeful, pushing them both closer to the edge.

“I know, baby,” you whispered, your breath hot against his ear. “I know. Just let go. I've got you.”

Your words sent a shiver down his spine, the mixture of love and reassurance hitting him right in the chest. He wanted to hold on, to make this last as long as possible, but he knew it was impossible. He was on the edge, teetering on the brink of ecstasy.

“Baby…” he gasped, his voice thin and needy. “I… I'm… Oh God, I'm… I'm…”

He couldn't say the words, couldn't form the warning. All he could do was shiver as his body went rigid, waves of pleasure washing over him. He held onto you, his fingers digging into your flesh, as he rode out the aftershocks.

At the sensation of him releasing deep inside of you, you reached your climax as well, your back arching, and you let out a loud cry of his name. He felt you clenching around him, your own release as you cried out his name, and it was too much. He felt like he was being lifted into ecstasy, drowning in the sensations that swamped his body.

His hands moved to wrap around you, holding you close, feeling the tremors run through your body. He buried his face in the curve of your neck, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. “Oh God… Oh God…” he managed to say.

“I… I've never… That was…”

He couldn't complete a sentence, his mind reeling from the intensity of it all. He held onto you, feeling the rapid throb of your heartbeat against his chest, the heat of your skin against his, and the sweat that had gathered on both their bodies.

After You finally caught your breath, you looked at him, still straddling him, as you ran your hand through his hair. “Are you okay, baby?”

Matt was still reeling, his body trembling slightly from the force of his orgasm. He leaned into your touch, his eyes meeting yours.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse and raw. “I'm… I'm okay. I just… I need a minute. That was… Wow.”

“You were perfect,” you said softly before lifting yourself from him and falling onto the bed next to him.

He chuckled weakly, still struggling to catch his breath. “Perfect, huh? I'm pretty sure I yelled louder than you did. I think the whole neighborhood heard me,” he teased, half-joking and half-not.

You chuckled breathlessly. Matt, however, could only stare in wonder at how his seed was leaking out of you.

Matt couldn't tear his gaze away, his eyes fixed on the sight in front of him. He had never seen anything so intimate, so erotic. Without thinking, he reached out, his fingers tracing the trail of his release dribbling down your skin.

“God, you're so beautiful,” he whispered. “And I… I made a mess of you.”

Your breath hitched as he touched you, still oversensitive, but you didn't protest. He touched you delicately, his touch light and hesitant, as if he was scared to break the fragile moment. His gaze was filled with a mixture of awe and desire, staring at the evidence of what you have just shared.

“You… You look even more beautiful like this,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. “Like I've marked you as mine.”

“I am yours,” you whispered.

The words sent a wave of possessiveness through him. “Mine,” he repeated, his voice almost a possessive growl. “All mine.”

He leaned in, pressing feather-light kisses along your jawline, his hands tracing aimless patterns on your skin. “I don't want anyone else seeing you like this," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “I don't want anyone else touching you like I do. You're mine.”

He continued to mark your skin with kisses, his mouth moving along the length of your neck and down to your collarbone. He wanted to keep you like this forever, covered in his marks, in his scent. He knew he was being selfish, but he didn't care. You were his, and he wanted the world to know it.

You let out a soft sigh, your fingers tangling into his hair.

The feel of your fingers in his hair only served to make him more possessive. He continued to kiss and nip at your skin, leaving a trail of love bites down your neck and chest.

“Mine,” he repeated, his voice almost a mantra. He wanted to keep saying it, as if by repeating it, he could make it more true. “All mine.”

“So… I take that I made your first time good?” you asked, a little jokingly.

Matt chuckled huskily, leaning back just enough to look into your eyes. “Good is an understatement,” he said, his voice still rough with desire. “That was… Mind-blowing. Life-changing.”

He paused, his gaze roaming over your body again, taking in the sight of you covered in his marks. “I think you ruined me for anyone else.”

“Well, I sure hope so,” you murmured before kissing him again.

He responded immediately, his mouth moving against yours with a desperate, needy hunger. He rolled you onto your back, pinning you beneath him, continuing the kiss with a fervor. He didn't want this moment to end, he wanted to revel in the feeling of your body under his, the taste of your mouth, the scent of your skin.

Between kisses, he managed to mutter, “You're the only one. The only one I'll ever need.”

tag list: @stuwniolo, @sturnobsessedwh0re

[beefycupcakes]

I watched the Cars trilogy recently and with that came a wave of nostalgia and a strange desire to make my own designs for the cars as humans. Aka taking all the charm out of Cars but scratching the brain itch.

So, no need to drag out the intro any longer, I have some notes written out about em for those who might be interested or just bored.

Lightning McQueen:

I tried to make his suit look as professional as possible, with references pulled straight from McQueen's paint job/stickers, while also keeping in mind that I do intend to draw him more so I didn't want to go too crazy with the design. In a perfect world I would've let my maximalist cravings win, but alas let's keep it digestible for my sanity.

I feel like everyone's kinda on this unspoken agreement that McQueen as a human would pretty much look just like Owen Wilson, and that's the big picture here. I used Wilson as inspiration while tweaking and exaggerating a few things to my preference. (Okay, well not everyone, lmao.)

The chevron markings on the front cut off at the side seams not wrapping around the entire suit as to not clash with the sponsor logo on the back.

Also, he's wearing special gloves to help him grip & have control over the steering wheel. I think sometimes that looks a little weird when his sleeves are down & cuffed, but I just feel like he needs to have the gloves there— especially when he comes out of the top half of the suit. (It's also lowkey supposed to mirror his 4 tires when you consider his shoes are also black.)

So yeah, that's basically all I have to to say regarding Lightning McQueen's page. I feel like a lot of my design choices are self explanatory and, honestly probably shared universally... I mean, he's really cut & dry. (But I love him ⚡︎)

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Mater:

I'm not gonna lie, Mater was a bit challenging for me. I definitely had to step out of my comfort zone but I wanted to stay true to the character and not butcher anything.

My first thought was to give him a fishing pole to substitute for the tow hook— but then the more I was thinking about it, the more that felt so... out of place? Radiator Springs is in Arizona, which is (not entirely, but mostly depicted in the movie as) a desert. And even though there are beautiful bodies of water in Arizona, in the movie I don't recall seeing any prominent ones, at least in relation to Mater. So, scratch that, instead I gave him a lasso, which isn't supposed to entirely substitute for the tow truck— no, he still drives a tow truck, but the lasso is so he can grab people/things similarly to Tow Truck Mater (very cartoony). My explanation for this is the cattle ranch. Yeah, Mater is a tow truck driver but perhaps he has a side hustle, or hobby, if you will.

Also, I didn't want to make him... dirty(??) Like, yeah, of course, Mater would obviously get a bit filthy from time to time, it's just in his nature, but that is NOT going to be the core of my design. In regards to the rust happening on him, I felt like instead I would substitute this with being very tan. Again, Arizona is a desert. Because of this, he would take off his shirt often, and this would substitute for the missing hood like on Tow Truck Mater. The removal of the shirt also reveals just how tan Mater actually is.

It's his uniformed overalls that have his original aqua color, but from years of wear & tear they've been patched up with brown patches, this would also reference the rusting. The one strap is supposed to mimic the one headlight being broken, and I know that's a stretch, believe me, I wanted to do something with his eyes but eyes are not the headlights in the Cars universe..... think about this. Think about it really hard... if you know what the headlights are in the Cars universe then this actually makes perfect sense.

He is taller and wider than McQueen, which is a reference to the literal frame of their vehicle counterparts. (A little hard to picture with these images, but eventually I'll draw them together!)

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That's all I have to say really, but do let me know what you guys think! Gas it up and it might encourage me to make a part 2 with some of the other characters! Who would you like to see next? ♡ Thank you so much for reading & have a great day, Kachow!!

[sanflawoah]

Black Myth: Wukong ramblings because I'M GOING INSANE.

FOUR YEARS. I. DID. MY. WAITING. WOULD VERY MUCH LIKE TO EXPRESS MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS GAME.

(Lengthy words and massive spoilers below!)

First minutes into the game I was all chill expecting the opening to be a long prologue cutscene about JTTW, explaining core things you need to understand, a helpful guide for those unfamiliar with the lore beforehand. But NOOOOO....we jump straight ahead fighting ERLANG SHEN AND THE FOUR HEAVENLY KINGS. We're WIDE AWAKE.

About gameplay, the devs stated repeatedly that it's not a souls-like game, and more like a God of War ish. Yet so many still questions whether it's a souls-like and then went into the game just to say "meh not souls-like". Amazing density of head.

I really don't demand much for whatever mechanic they serve, I'm really just here for the monkey smash experience and the childhood nostalgia and the fresh aesthetics.

The character design?? The environment?? The architecture?? The statues?? Soooo beautiful oh my god you really need to stop and admire these things (when you don't have a boss shredding you) up close. Look up their inspirations and concept arts, some statues and buildings exist in real life and it's really mind boggling how they incorporate it into the story. The part where you fight with Yellowbrow at Thunderclap temple, what a creative choice, the idea of "miniature fight" on the temple altar. I'm farming so many screenshots for art references. 10/10 visuals, graphics will definitely fry your PC.

Again with the character designs. I'm really loving the absurd looking bosses one, really fresh take. Then to the celestials and yaoguais, I just..... OH they're ALL hella gorgeous. I've seen some people going "WOULD" towards Wukong or The Destined One and I don't blame you. I've had my fair share of neuron activation moment.

Erlang yoo, I was stunned at first with the way they present his personality during the opening, but turns out we got the reason for it near the ending :"(((. He was helping us all along ughsjsjsjsksdsd. Also, they know EXACTLY what they're doing by casting Andrew Koji as the english VA.

White Clad Noble? Half snake man hissing at you to get off his lawn. I feel kinda bad for him lmao, dude was just minding his business and we go monkey smash all over his place.

Keeper of Flaming Mountain? Neat hat and cool makeup bro, awesome yin yang palette and battle area design. BANGER THEME I'll get to it.

The Third Prince in Pagoda realm prison, why does he looks so good, you encounter this guy in his cell just suffering, and somehow he's still serving looks.

The girlies damn, the spider sisters are gorgeous, and YES even madam violet spider, come look at spider granny serving fashion and arachnophobia.

At first I was scared that they're going to sexualise the hell out of the spider sisters or any of the female characters, since the book itself tells their trait as luring men with their beauty (to be eaten though). But actually?? They're a lot tamer than I expected? I mentally prepared myself for the worst, like racy sexualised outfit and personality, but turns out they're all very normal. Like how you would see Tang dynasty inspired ladies. I braced for GTA or cyberpunk-like explicitness but thank god it's not the case, not at all.

Rakshasi and Pingping having the relatively "sexy" look, but then both of them had a moment where they're not actually their real selves, but rather a transformation of Zhu Bajie and Red Boy LMAO. Funny boner killer.

Talk about this boi, our Destined One. To be honest I was kinda disappointed when I found out he doesn't speak at all. Banters, insults, cackles, anything you would expect a Wukong-like personality, he doesn't have it.

I tried to think of a reason, and I think the dev's choice of making The Destined One silent kinda has a root to it. Our MC is NOT the Wukong himself, we are literally just some monke, and we're tasked to gather the six relics Wukong had scattered by retracing his journey. Also, I think it's a funny thought that probably it's just their personality difference, Wukong the loud, Destined One the quiet. Wukong sometimes does chaos for shits and giggles, our Destined One does chaos because we have to.

My theory: our Destined One is just non-verbal! Zhu Bajie even acknowledged it. When we first met him after defeating Kang-Jin Loong, he bantered "A furry coat and a pinched face, luck's all you've got", and he looked confused when we don't say anything back because Wukong would've returned the favour, "Great, another mute. Let's not dally". So the game actually acknowledges it, it's not like they intentionally muted us and have the NPCs acting as if we talk back to them all the time.

Non-verbal and asexual coded? I'll take it.

THE ANIMATED CUTSCENES??? OH MY GODDD. Impossible to put ALL the epic frames here. I really don't expect this from a game at all, real time cutscenes are great, but a WHOLE 2D AND STOP MOTION ANIMATED SCENE?? No wonder the full development took SIX years. You could pause the scenes at any frame and it's worthy of analysis.

The stop motion one really surprised me, how are they that dedicated. The plot as well, it started out romantic and escalated into HORROR real quick. Batshit insane, love it.

For many players, the animated cutscenes may be confusing on the first watch. So many references to JTTW, metaphors, mix of Chinese Taoism and Buddhism. I personally encourage people to look around in forums for explanations, plenty of the Chinese words are untranslatable into English, but it's all so worth the knowledge.

Enjoying the JTTW shows and contents as a child is all about the fun and giggles, understanding the lesson of it all as an adult hits me like bricks, especially with the way they're adapted in this game.

I CRIED?? A LOT??? Of all characters I could cry for, ZHU BAJIE?? Man is literally a nasty pervert in the book, living to the pig form indeed, but in this game he's a bit better. Sure he's still his natural pervert self, but since the game took place after JTTW, he surely had some character development. His animated love story cutscene, loorddd they have no business making it so full of freshly diced onions.

Love how each character in animations have different styles. Erlang's design in particular are different in each scenes. Most of the time he has dark hair, in others he has white hair and different armor, same goes for Wukong's design. I'd imagine the devs struggled to choose for one consistent design and decided to just fuck it and put them all in lmao.

And then THE SOUNDTRACKS, THE SOUNDTRACKS YALL. Love love love it when they incorporate buddhist prayer chants flawlessly into the soundrack. The soundtrack during the chapter one ending animation caught my attention with it, I asked around what mantra is it and they say it's probably Cundi Dharani? Please correct me if I'm wrong. The track is called "I See" in the official playlist. The lyrics too, my god, the way they narate the animations.

During the fight with Keeper of Flaming Mountains, IS THE SOUNDTRACK A RENDITION OF "FISHERMAN'S SONG AT DUSK"? IS IT? Losing my mind because it's my favourite chinese traditional piece. Half expected him to pull out a guzheng and blast me with phantom blade from the strings, IYKYK.

And of course, a new rendition of the classic JTTW theme. This will be my neighbour's favourite music for a while.

Some tidbits I like, apparently if you're idle for a while and Zhu Bajie is with you, sometimes he'll start to talk about past stories or lectures you. If you push him around for a few times he'll get annoyed, if you keep pushing him then he'll struck you with his rake lmaoooo. Perhaps we weren't so different from Wukong after all.

Another insane stuff is the headless singing guy. GoW has a talking disembodied head, now BMW has a HEADLESS singing man, literally a reverse Mimir.

The rematch with The Four Heavenly Kings YOOOOO I love their design so much. They look like statues from temples jumping straight to life. The stances! Throwing hands with them is the true Monke of War experience. The East King with his Pipa literally playing the background music, excellent touch.

This has been an insane scroll of yappings, I'll stop here (for now) and take a moment to touch grass. If you've been reading ALL THE WAY to this line, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to harm your braincells.

[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

[maddragon15]

Hermitaday Day #11 - Pearl

Postmaster Pearl is done woo! Hard decision between just postmaster pearl without the headcanons or pearl with headcanons. In the end headcanon pearl won.

A few notes on the design down yonder-

You may notice the little moth like antennae on top of her head those are important to her everyday operations. If you've read my etho design post or if you've haven't, these are pre-redstone communication apparati. They basically act like those giant clunky car phones and constantly have to be manually positioned by the user in order to receive calls and messages but require absolutely no redstone to run, therefore you get much less headaches. When I get Mumbo's design done you'll see a similar design but not with the red and blue colorway. Pearl's is colored because they are solar powered and are color coordinated for easier repairs.

The little screen thing on her left arm is post-glowstone and part of the first set of screens made from redstone and quartz. Since Pearl is always on the move delivering mail, she felt like it was better to get something more lightweight and easier to operate especially when it's raining. It also has far better connectivity than previous coms devices which were styled like clunkier and boxier versions of the the t-mobile sidekick (if anyone knows what that is lmao) or a blackberry of a similar type. The only person who still even operates with those is surprisingly Xisuma but it's for more of the nostalgia kick than anything, even if he can simply and easily put the coms read out on his visor.

Anyways before I go on a super ramble about the rest of the headcanons I'll cut it off here! Enjoy! :3

[kitashousewife]

rooftops

an: i just got hit with this little idea idk what's going on lmao but i was inspired by rooftops by surfaces!

pairings: timeskip!tsukishima x fem!reader

warnings: anxiety, childhood friends to lovers, food/drink and eating mentions, he is a mommas boy i decided

-

tsukishima huffs as soon as he hangs up the call, resisting the urge to throw his phone onto the breakroom chair. another apartment rejection, making that the fourth one this week. his fingers rub his eyes beneath his glasses as he accepts defeat once and for all.

after his shift today, he will be driving himself and his many boxes of belongings in his car back to his childhood home. for how long? he's not sure.

that's the worst part, in his opinion.

the lease was up for the apartment that he shared with yamaguchi. sure, he could've renewed and stayed for another year. but he just needed a change. for the last few weeks, the two boys had spent every evening researching different apartments closer to their jobs without any luck. any place that did have availability was conveniently snatched up before they could press send on the application.

kei drives home that afternoon with a weird feeling in his stomach. a mix between nostalgia and disappointment that only gets stronger as he drives into town. the late spring brought blooming trees and swaying flowers, welcoming him back home again. when he pulls into the driveway, though, he feels tired.

besides his housing search, he recently lost out on a great promotion at work. he wasn't too torn up about it until he learned that it was because he was too committed to volleyball. yet another time when his interests and reality butted heads. he's been having some tougher practices lately, exhausting his body as well as his mind.

"hi mom," he mumbles, ducking his head as he opens his car door. "i'm sorry about all of this. i'll be out as soon as i can."

his mom only smiles, reaching in to grab a couple of his boxes.

"you can stay as long as you would like. besides, how lucky am i to have my son home again?" she kisses his cheek while he bends down to grab a few things, and he shakes his head despite the smile tugging at his lips.

"what happened with this last place?" she asks, setting the boxes down in his childhood room, dusting her hands off.

"who knows. they called me during my break but they didn't give a reason," kei sighs. the weird feeling bubbles in his stomach once more as he takes in his old room. "at this point i think they have it out for tadashi and i."

"maybe it just isn't meant to be!" his mom says over her shoulder as they go downstairs for the last few things. kei rolls his eyes at that. ever the optimist, his mom.

"how is she?"

he shuts the door to his car and rolls his eyes once more, but this time his mom just laughs.

"she's fine. still working, i suppose."

as soon as the two of you started dating, kei tried his best to keep his mom in the dark in hopes of avoiding her teasing. it didn't work, of course, she found out the day of from your own mom.

the one downside of being childhood friends.

it had only been a few weeks, navigating the now romantic side of your relationship, but everything felt right. it felt safe.

"you should have her over tonight! i would love to see her."

"i'm sure you would," kei says from behind his water glass. "she's probably tired, though. maybe this weekend."

his mom blinks at him from across the kitchen counter.

"what."

"you haven't told her."

he throws his head back. "no, mom, i haven't. what am i supposed to say? oh by the way i moved back in with my mom?" when he sits upright, he's met with a bowl of pork and rice.

"kei, you're being ridiculous. for one, you guys have known each other for what, fifteen years?"

"seventeen."

"fine, seventeen years. she's probably been here more times than you could count. plus, you and i both know she wouldn't say anything. she loves you no matter what."

as he chews, he thinks that his mom is probably right. but what if she isn't? besides, what woman wants to be with someone that still lives with their mom?

"i think i'm going to unpack. thanks for the food mom."

he trudges up the stairs, looking at the photos that line the walls. framed school portraits, other small photos like the one of him and akiteru in the backyard with superhero capes, and of course the framed photo of you and kei at the school dance your third year. when he gets into his room, he flops onto his bed the same way he did a few years before. he lifts his head to look out the window and smiles.

are you off work? i'm at my moms if you want to stop by.

he stares at the ceiling for a few minutes, contemplating unpacking when you text back.

i would love to :)

you got off work around 5, stopping at your place to change when kei texted you. your apartment is only a short walk from your old neighborhood, so you decided to enjoy the nice weather and walk over.

while you walked, you thought about how far the two of you had come. growing up in the same neighborhood with moms who became best friends meant you spent a lot of time with kei and akiteru. running through the sprinkler while your moms gossiped over lemonade, trick or treating with tadashi, and of course birthday parties. your friendship continued through school and college, late nights sprawled out on the couch while tadashi and kei held smash tournaments, sunday afternoons studying at your kitchen tables, and of course volleyball games.

you laugh to yourself, thinking about how your teenage self would react to hearing that the two of you are now dating, not just friends but something much more. magical and comfortable all at the same time.

"hey."

you look around the front of the tsukishima home, but your boyfriend is nowhere to be found.

"up here."

"kei? what the heck are you doing?"

sitting on the flat part of the roof beneath his bedroom window, your boyfriend leans back on his elbows. sitting in the same spot the two of you have sat hundreds of times before.

"what took you so long? that snail at the end of the driveway made it three laps around by the time you got here."

"i walked. what are you doing up there?"

he smirks. "come up and find out. mom knows you're coming."

you walk in through the front door, greeted by his mom before running up the stairs and to the right.

"what's the surprise?" you climb out of his window, grabbing his hand that he offers you before sitting down.

"nothing. just wanted to sit up here. the sun should be setting in a bit."

you hum. "what's brought you to your moms?"

kei doesn't say anything, but he grabs his hand in yours. his lack of response makes you raise an eyebrow.

"kei?"

he sighs. "i moved back in," his voice is quiet and mumbled, but he stares straight ahead. the sunset light making his freckles stand out on his cheeks. you're sure his eyes are bright and golden, but he wont look at you.

"well, you'll be closer to me," you nudge his side and he snorts, still looking forward. "but that's okay. wanna talk about it?"

"there's not much to say," he turns to you now. you can tell he's embarrassed. his cheeks are a little pink, matching the tips of his ears. he lets out a tired sigh. "our lease was up, but every single place we applied to has turned us down. we had to be out of there so i came home," like a child dies on his tongue. you're playing with his fingers in your lap.

"and tadashi?"

kei smiles. you can't help but wonder about your friend. you've always been this way, worrying about everyone else first.

"he's staying at his parents as well."

he feels extremely relaxed, every nervous feeling dissipating as the sun sets. his mom was right, but he'll never tell her that.

"how long are you staying?"

his fingers take his glasses in hand, twirling them for a second before turning to you. a sight you don't see as often as you'd like.

"until i find somewhere to stay is my guess. a week, maybe more. i just hate this," he covers his eyes, now laying back fully against the shingles of the roof. "seriously embarrassing."

"says who?"

he peeks at you through his fingers. "everyone."

you stare ahead towards the sunset again. your thoughts go back and forth for a minute or so, both of you sitting in silence. the scary thing about your relationship is the same as the best thing: your history. it's amazing because you know each other so well, you've been a part of each other's accomplishments and experiences. but at the same time, one wrong move and that could all go away, turning into only memories.

"i don't think it's embarrassing. you have a mother who loves you and welcomes you home. plus, at least your mom didn't turn your room into storage like mine," you deride, earning a smirk and a snort from your boyfriend. "but if it's that big of a deal to you, why don't you just move in with me?"

you stop, mouth shutting quickly to stop any other words from flying out. your face heats up and you stare ahead, refusing to see the reaction from the man laying beside you.

he's just as shocked as you. he looks up at the pink sky for a few seconds.

"o-okay."

"what?"

he sits up slowly, leaning back on his elbows once more, before slipping on his glasses. he turns to you with a small smile.

"i mean, why not. unless you didn't mean it,"

your eyes go wide. "no, i mean it! i mean, why not. i have the space, it's just me and i have an extra room you could use as an office. plus i already have a bed, and-"

"you're messy though."

you scoff. "i am not!"

he smirks, pulling you closer to lean into his chest. "i should move in so keep an eye on you. keep you from staying up too late. besides, i'm a great roommate. you would be lucky to have me."

you laugh. "i am lucky to have you, you're right."

kei stutters for a moment, before relaxing again. he's still not used to your compliments and flirting, but he can't get enough. he squeezes you a little tighter, kissing the top of your head.

"when can i move in?"

"monday? that way you can spend the weekend with your mom?"

he hums. "i like that plan."

the two of you sit on the roof for a while longer, watching the rest of the sunset in peace. kei feels happier, so excited to finally have somewhere to call home. he's actually thought about this for a while, coming home to you after a long day, going to bed with you and waking up to do it all again. being there for you when you’re sad, no longer relying on facetime or a quick call.

but for now he will enjoy the weekend, pretending to be young again.

he won’t admit it, but he’s also glad to live so close to home. but he can’t let his mom hear that.

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

medialog july 2k24

watched

the seven samurai - classic that holds up IMO!! like lawrence of arabia, one where you can see why basically every person to make a movie since cites it as a formative influence. lots of really beautiful shots but what really stood out to me was how human it felt - small scale but not in a way that means "minor," in a way that emphasizes that even the smallest of scales is everything to the people living it. every character feels so real and carries such a sense of a life lived, thanks to both the writing and the absolutely wonderful performances. it feels so empathetic and compassionate and warm even though it's ultimately a war movie - one of those movies where you get the sense a fundamental love for humanity is one of the animating creative impulses. also toshiro mifune, one of the hottest people ever to live, spends the back half of this movie, to quote nick, dressed like hercules with his ass hanging out and it's incredible.

tank girl - every single Look and Aesthetic in this movie is an absolute 100/10 and lori petty is a foul-mouthed delight, but wow was I not prepared for how much of this movie is about the discovery of a secret underground society of kangaroo people

read

megan whalen turner, the thief - a pair of friends of mine basically shoved this into my hands when i was at their apartment with the promise of great craft & an ending that goes crazy. the first in the series of six, this one is more or less a sturdy and fairly straightforward middle-grade adventure story, and while it was at times a little heavy on descriptions of the characters making their way across various types of terrain, overall my interest was sustained by a few things: a clean, deliberate writing style that washed me in nostalgia for the middle-grade classics of my own youth (which this could have been - it came out in 1996 - but somehow i never came across it); a setting deliberately out of any real historical time but clearly influenced in Vibes by (among other places) ancient greece, which contributed to the nostalgia; glimpses of a convincingly rendered mythology (and the fascinating choice, which continues throughout the series, to render the characters' occasional glimpses of the actual divine as more unsettling than anything else); and a wonderfully compelling set of characters, above all gen, the book's narrator and the series' central character (although not most of the books'), who as i said a while ago is a classic blend of clever, brave, and incredibly annoying to everyone he meets.

monique wittig, the straight mind - collection of essays by a french lesbian feminist/theorist i first heard of, to be very honest, because adele haenel was one of the panelists at an event at the local french bookstore and i wanted to see her in person, lmao. the first essay in the collection opens with a call to abolish the concept of sex, which is one of those claims i'm not sure i actually endorse or even fully understand but find really invigorating to read, all of which more or less applies to my experience of the collection as a whole (including the part where i was not sure i was always following it). i did particularly appreciate her interest as a writer (she was a novelist as well as a theorist) in language and the role it plays in upholding gender/the work of imagining a way to play a role in dismantling it. and i found her general rejection of "the myth of woman" quite bracing.

rick emerson, unmask alice: LSD, satanic panic, and the imposter behind the world's most notorious diaries - i heard about this book on an episode of you're wrong about before i stopped listening and it was in fact an incredibly entertaining and fascinating bit of light nonfiction about a truly bonkers episode in american publishing history. go ask alice is the obvious draw here, but a large chunk of the book is devoted to "editor" and professional liar beatrice sparks's follow-up, jay's journal, which emerson reveals to have, in fact, started as the actual diary of a suicidal teenager whose family entrusted it to her in the hopes that their dead son's pain might somehow be able to help other families prevent similarly tragic outcomes... only to have sparks expand his few dozen entries into a story of the absolute most insane satanic panic ground zero nonsense (this book predates michelle remembers!), but somehow leave in enough identifying details that everyone in the family's small mormon town knew exactly who it was about. truly truly monstrous and if emerson sometimes veers a little close painting sparks as a cartoon villain, it's honestly hard to blame him given how much time he spent contemplating this unbelievably heinous act.

courtney summers, i'm the girl - the simplest way to describe this book is to paraphrase the author in some interview i can't remember as a story about a girl who confuses beauty for power because that's what the world has told her is true; it's emotionally rough but highly readable, and as always i just so admire summers' lack of interest in morality tales or lessons learned, her keen understanding that having a sixteen-year-old being groomed come suddenly and fully into a perfect feminist analysis of what's happened to her would make the book more palatable to some but ultimately be a betrayal of the character she'd created. summers has alluded in her newsletter to this book, loosely based on research about the epstein/maxwell case & the testimony of their victims, closing the chapter on the first arc of her career as a writer - eight thorny, painful novels about interior lives of teenage girls struggling with themselves and the world they live in - and it feels like a fitting capstone, one that both calls on the skills she's developed over the years and feels like it digs even more deeply than the project into an area of interest that feels fitting for an author who started writing YA in her early 20s and is now in her late 30s, namely, how to write a book that makes space for real empathy with a young person naive enough - some might say, and indeed some have said, stupid enough - to be well and truly taken in? (and i think one of the smartest things the book does is foreground early on how badly its protagonist doesn't want to be thought of as stupid, which is part of what makes her vulnerable and part of what makes processing the reality of what's happening to her so difficult.) also, despite the fact that romance has never been a huge or simple part of summers's novels, she's always had a knack for crafting a YA dreamboat love interest, and as someone who it turns out was figuring out her sexuality in her 30s around the same time summers was - it was great to see her do it again but this time with a girl :)

ted chiang, exhalation - my friend recommended me this because i was looking to read more sci-fi short stories but running into my perennial problem with sci-fi which is that frequently the writing is bad. ted chiang is pretty good! i liked how much he clearly conceives of or intuits that form & story are one and the same - almost all the stories in this collection take the form of a document that has some in-world reason to exist, which keeps the style feeling fresh and which he often uses to merge character work & sci-fi concepts in a cool way (as in a story with the fascinating premise that creationism is real but earth is not god's favored planet). it was unfortunate that the longest story in the collection was by far my least favorite, being both the most subject to sci-fi bland prose disease and focused on a concept it is impossible for me to muster interest in (the ethics of digital sentience... they're pictures on a screen...). the last story, the only other one written in the third person, suffered a little stylistically as well, but made up for it with an INSANELY good premise, which is that it's a multiverse story focused on a variety of psychological challenges people might have in response to learning for sure parallel universes are real - there's a support group for people addicted to checking in on their parallel selves! that's the most awesome multiverse concept i have ever come across.

evelline adams, astrology for everyone - astrology got less fun when the ratio started shifting of people viewing it as A Fun Pretend Thing to people taking it very seriously, but i do retain the same aesthetic appreciation for the particular kitsch of vintage astrology writing that i did when i borrowed this from my friend several years ago.

patrick radden keefe, rogues: true stories of grifters, killers, rebels and crooks - a collection of 12 of keefe's new yorker #longreads that i read because (a) i liked empire of pain, his book on the sackler family, a lot (b) i'm trying to get back into my library ebook habit to keep me away from Scrolling and hopefully learn some things and substantive-but-still-easy-to-read journalistic nonfiction is my favorite genre for this purpose because i don't feel i lose anything by reading it in 5 minute snatches while waiting for the train, and (c) his other books had all the licenses checked out. anyway this gave me what i wanted! i think my favorite was the one about wine fraud just because i think wine fraud is funny because anyone shelling out crazy money on wine deserves to be scammed so it's basically a victimless crime. the book closes with his profile of anthony bourdain, which is a really lovely read although incredibly sad in retrospect because bourdain comes across as so full of life and would die the year after it was published.

megan whalen turner, the queen of attolia - book two in the series, and everything is growing up a bit, as we shift from an adventure story to a war story, from gen's narration to an expertly deployed omniscient/shifting third, and from an irrepressible protagonist to one Truly Going Through It. this book kicks off strong by opening with a set of circumstances that permanently and painfully changes gen's circumstances, and the question of how he's going to process this and move forward drives a lot of the emotional suspense of the book. it also upends our understanding of a character introduced in the first book en route to an absolutely insane romance that shouldn't work but in its quasi-mythical context absolutely does. i tend to prefer hard copies for fiction, but starting here and for every book after i got to the end and went straight to the library app so i could keep going.

megan whalen turner, the king of attolia - THIS BOOK SLAPS SO HARD IT'S UNBELIEVABLE!!!! at first you're like, WHY is the narration primarily focused on some random no-name member of the royal guard we have never met before? but then you realize it's so that the entire book can be propelled by the dramatic irony wherein we, readers of the series, know gen well at this point and also know exactly how and why things went down the way they did at the end of the last book, but almost no one else does and (partly because of the ways he is annoying) many assumptions are being made... so a lot of the "suspense" in this book comes from, like, when is this new guy's understanding of gen going to start aligning with ours? it's soooo cool and something i don't remember reading in a series before (although i don't read a ton of series), and this book is, like, relentlessly entertaining on its way to its insanely satisfying conclusion, and also contains two of the most romantic paragraphs i have read in my LIFE despite the fact that the couple they center on barely appears together in the book.

megan whalen turner, conspiracy of kings - we catch up with a character from the first book who's been having a rough go of it and now needs to toughen up a bit in response to his circumstances. i think as a novel this is maybe the weakest of the set but as a character i love my sweet baby sophos so much i would have read 500 more pages. also contains one of the DUDES ROCK scenes of all time.

megan whalen turner, thick as thieves - this one picks up with a minor character from book two that i was happy to see again, because he really punched above his weight in terms of interest. it kind of combines the adventure-story of the first book with the dramatic irony as suspense of the third, and both the narrator and the central dynamic between the two main characters are delightful. this book has the least gen of all the books and i did miss him but it was funny how intensely his whole Deal hung over the circumstances regardless, and also despite the fact that the ending of literally all of these books so far has involved the reveal of some five-dimensional chess magic trick, so to speak, and thus i knew logically it was coming, i once again found myself so swept up that i was fully :O when it all went down.

megan whalen turner, return of the thief - an incredibly satisfying ending to the series, even if it left me sad that it was over! as was often the case with these books, it was, like, so satisfying that part of me almost felt like it should feel like cheating... but it didn't and i was just so happy to be there rooting for all my close personal friends. also the narrator of this one is a new character who is both physically disabled and nonverbal, and a) i thought that was generally pretty cool and the way the text engaged with people underestimating him was interesting and b) the descriptions of him as a kid being fascinated by triangles & numerical patterns was THEE most endearing thing i have read in my life.

listened

willow, empathogen - i don't know why willow decided to put out the best tori amos record since scarlet's walk? but i'm glad she did, because this album rocks! (and, like, seriously, if you're a tori person, you owe it to yourself to check this out - the influence is strong and undeniable, IMO, and on its own merits the album sounds gorgeous and takes you on a rich and textured sonic journey, even if you do maybe get the sense that being the very rich daughter of two incredibly famous millionaires in the entertainment industry is an impediment towards having all that much to say as a lyricist.)

other

anna di resburgo - my friend had an extra ticket to a short-lived production of this, the only surviving bel canto opera by a woman (recently assembled for performance from its discovery in some archive). it was only her second aria and as per the program notes kind of flopped, possibly partly due to its thematic similarity with another opera first produced around the same time by donizetti, by then an acknowledged master of the form while di resburgo was a novice (she had previously composed one opera, which has since been lost, and none after, although iirc she did some other composition) (also disclaimer that i know very little about opera, like just barely enough for all that to kind of make sense to me lol). anyway the work is uneven and (as my friend pointed out) oftentimes the music, while pretty and sometimes interesting, is at odds tonally with the plot - the plot is in theory quite dramatic with life-or-death stakes but for much of the runtime the music feels more suited to a farce - and the libretto is... not a piece of well constructed drama overall or scene to scene or line by line (there are some, like, accidentally comical exposition dumps along the lines of "father, do you remember that mysterious orphan that showed up on our doorstep all those years ago?"). but it was not without its highlights, and we agreed that as a second outing it showed promise we wish the composer had received support for the way men with similarly Just Alright second operas did.

inwood shorts - we went with some friends (actually the same friend as above) to see some shorts by local filmmakers at a place in inwood with an incredible view of the river featuring on that day an unbelievably gorgeous sunset and while nothing really wowed me a nice time was had by all & there was a big laugh in the crowd when the guy in a short giving a little "tour of my neighborhood" schtick said "for a while i lived in this place upstate called yonkers." :)

[ganondoodle]

one of the few zelda youtuber guys that seems to actually love totk made a video about it (i guess bc so many talked about why they dont like it) and while i didnt watch it i took a peek into the comments and of course its full of people going "LMAO people only dislike it bc it didnt validate their crazy theories!!" "its always the same when a new zelda comes out lol at first they hate it and then later its a classic haha idiots" "people who dont like it are just caught up in their nostalgia and cant accept anything new being introduced!!"

also thanking him for "speaking up" about loving the game ... which i find kinda mind boggling bc the internet is full of praise and 10/10s for it

i obviously dont want to villainize people that love totk but like .. these kinds of comments are so unecessarily judgemental? how dare someone NOT like an entry in the franchise and voice legit criticism, how dare someone not worship the game just bc it has zelda on it! CLEARLY they are just made delusional by their own fantasy and will realize later just how wrong they were! hah! those fools!

on my rants there were quite a few people who actually said they like the game but agree with alot of my views on it regardless, it is very flawed but i can also see that the good things outweigh the bad stuff for others, even if i legitimately hate it; but i also had to block multiple people bc they got so butthurt about me criticising it

and i dont think its 100% just an opinion thing either, totk, even when i disregard my personal feelings on the matter, has alot of problems, moreso than the other zeldas (each judged for how it was in their time) and in pretty much every part of the game too (story, lore, continuity, gameplay and rewards, UI-) and i think alot of it stems from its conception, they have never done a true direct sequel before and it came from a DLC idea, and it shows (though i still believe even coming from that you could have done something way better..... bc they also made botw, which seemed to prepare fertile ground for more storytelling that was all discarded for NO reason)

BUT that doesnt mean you cant like it anyway! there are some very horribly shitty games out there that are beloved by people anyway! and thats fine! i love ww and botw, both of which HAVE flaws too! and thats okay!

you dont need to be dismissive of any hint of criticism like that, there is no holy honor to defend, it just makes you look like a jerk

[yuriririnnie]

Sober Thoughts

A/N: Reminiscent of my old conversations with my ex boyfriends over a pint (or pints tbh) of beer. I'll probably edit this again later on my laptop. For now, settle with no italicized words. Lmao

PAIRING | Lee Heeseung x female reader

WC | 2.6k

GENRE | Fluff, suggestive (if you squint) though I try to keep it PG

WARNINGS | Explicit language, mentions of alcohol and implied underaged drinking, suggestive, mentions of premarital sex

SYNOPSIS | It was a tough week for you and your boyfriend so you sit down in a quiet speakeasy bar where you guys had your first beer together. There wasn't anything special. No birthdays, anniversaries, etc. You weren't celebrating anything. Just you, him, and the comfortable nostalgia from your 7-year long relationship.

--

"Been a while, don't you think?" he wiggled onto his seat after pulling your chair out for you to get comfortable close to him.

You looked around. "It still looks the same as three months ago."

"I wonder if they still remember us."

"I'm sure the waitress still remembers you."

"You're gonna fight with me over that again like last time?"

"Nah, you're not as handsome as you were when we were in college." you giggled. He still is, but you can't give him that.

He scoffed at the remark. "But what about when the guy next to us thought you and I were just friends? The one who asked for your number while I was in the bathroom? Hmm?"

"He was obviously drunk!"

"Sad I wasn't drunk enough myself. I could have kicked his ass."

You rolled your eyes trying to fight a laugh from escaping. Before you could comment, one of the waitresses approached your table.

"Welcome back, Sir!" she squealed, not even hiding that annoying flirty tone. Heeseung locked eyes with you and you both giggled over your unspoken communication.

"Yeah, here with my girlfriend of seven years again. We'll have two draught beers please."

She lets out a small huff, clearly disappointed that you two haven't broken up yet. You look up at her with a huge grin plastered on your face that's practically saying "Nice try, sister." And with that, she left with your orders.

"Guess I still got it."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah Mr. Hotshot."

"So how was your week, my love?" he reached out to hold both your hands. "Anything new you haven't complained to me about this week?"

"Very funny. I still haven't gotten any calls from any of the positions I applied for this month."

"How about that firm you worked for last year?"

"I liked working there but I kind of want to explore other places too. The legal world is getting pretty small so opportunities are scarce and I'm finding it much harder now more than ever." you were doing fine, just not that great. And that's not somewhere you want to be when you're in your twenties. "How about you?"

Your beers arrived. "Work has been the same." he takes a sip. "My boss is trying to lure me into getting a promotion though."

"That's great isn't it?!"

"It would be if we're ready to relocate."

"What do you mean? Does the promotion come with relocation?" you gulped your first mouthful of alcohol for the night, trying not to mind the seriousness of the conversation.

"Yeah. It's not that far. Just by the other side of the city. The commute doesn't make much of a difference, but I would rather we decide together once you've found a job that's good for you."

"That sounds very husband of you, Hee."

He chuckled softly, "I always incorporate you into my decisions. We've been together for so long after all."

"Has it really been seven years?" you rest your chin on your hand as you pretended to think.

"Time flies." he sighed.

"When you're having fun?"

"When you're with a psycho more like it."

"Fuck you."

"I did last night." he lifted his eyebrow with a smirk.

"Meh, I've seen you do better."

You both laugh. Again, he swallowed another mouthful of beer before saying, "I remember our first time here about four years ago. The beer tasted terrible!"

You covered his mouth to shut him up. "You can't say those things here Hee they might kick us out!" He shook his head to remove your hand. "Besides, it was our first time drinking alcohol back then."

"Was it?"

"Well, doesn't include Jake's birthday party when we were barely 17."

He scoffed. "I was 18. You were 12."

You slapped his hand. "I was 17 and a half!"

"You were half my size!"

"In my defense, I still kind of am to this day."

You could see his eyes disappear as he gulped his drink. This was just like any of your normal lovers' banters and you'd think that he's already made every single possible joke to you by now and that you guys have probably already argued over every single thing, yet still the attraction, spark, and freshness of young love continue to linger around the two of you.

Both of you were drinking faster than usual tonight. Maybe it was just the familiarity of it all, but you really did enjoy hanging out with Heeseung. He wasn't just your boyfriend. He was also your best friend. You were lucky to find both in just one person.

"I still see that 15-year old little Ms. Perfect Girl who got a 93 in Chemistry when I got a 95."

"Why was I little Ms. Perfect? You were Mr. Hotshot with perfect grades, captain of the basketball team, vice president of the supreme student council—"

"Only because you were president." he interrupted with what looked like beer number 2 in his hands.

"You had absolutely no rizz in your 6-foot tall body though."

"No rizz?! I was able to get you!"

"Only because we got trapped in that audio-visual room with little to no sunlight," you recalled and the memory was so vivid it still felt like it happened yesterday, "and no phone signal too. God you were so loud! It was the first time we ever had a proper conversation outside of class."

Heeseung smiled as he thought about how you guys transitioned from enemies to friends to lovers.

"I found out about your family back then," you continued, "and your passion for music."

"You told me you wanted to be a lawyer and I thought it was totally weird."

You looked at him funny. "You don't seem to be so bothered by it now!"

"Only because I know you're gonna be rich someday."

That stupid smirk again. You poked his nose and he scrunched it simultaneously, earning a snicker from you.

"It wasn't always easy for us," you exhaled, "law school and work is tough."

"We pull through nonetheless."

You were both now on your third beer, and even if the night was still young and that it is still relatively too early for you to feel tipsy, it's there. You weren't drunk yet, but the buzz was slowly knocking on your head.

"How about Karina? Were you ever jealous of her?" he asked. You don't remember how the conversation went from arguing whether to paint the bathroom blue or yellow to the external factors that might have potentially caused a break up.

"No way!" you lied through your teeth, "I knew she was just a friend of yours from the start! I mean, she was drop-dead gorgeous but not enough to break me, nope."

He was full on laughing now, "Wokay, whatever you say Y/N my perfect angel bb girl lover baby."

"Stop mocking me!" you lightly slapped his shoulder, "Between you and I, in this relationship, you are the jealous one!"

Heeseung flinched a little bit because you were somewhat semi-screaming into his ear when you spoke. Oh he knew you were being your three-drink self already and he could tell because "three-drink Y/N" is loud Y/N. The buzz was now kicking itself in and you felt so much more light-headed that an hour ago. Nonetheless, he knew how you were feeling by now granted that this is probably your one hundredth time drinking together as a couple.

"Alright let me get this straight," he spoke close to your face, "you won't let me attend a Twice concert and finally see Jihyo the love of my life in person but still I'm the jealous one?!"

"Yes!" you huffed.

The sound of you guys' laughter and trivial taunting echoed the small bar. The music was mellow now and both of you were ready for another beer.

"I got really lonely when you decided to go to law school."

You nearly choked on your beer with his sudden confession. "Why? You always knew I was gonna get into law."

"Well, I know, I know, it's just," he took a deep breath, "Hearing how hard it was from my other friends and how demanding it would be for you, it kind of made me feel insecure."

"Why is that?"

"I thought that you might find someone in law school with the same interests, same aspirations in life, and end up dumping me for him." he let out a small laugh and rubbed the back of his neck.

Four-drink Hee was sensitive Hee, and although he looked adorable with his doe eyes and red ears, it made you sad because you wish he told you that before. You guys talked about your futures together even in the early stages of dating and he was always supportive of your life decisions despite them being almost entirely different from the things he wanted. Luckily during the course of your relationship, you were able to find common grounds and although in an ideal world things could have been called perfect, the life you guys had was close to perfect despite the struggles because he's just so passionate, kind, and understanding of your needs.

"I would never dump you." you huffed.

"Yeah, well I kind of figured that if you wanted to dump me you would have a long time ago."

"Right? Now I'm just stuck with you."

He pouted. Oh right. This was still Four-drink Hee.

"—but of course, wouldn't have it any other way!" you quickly took back and he made the most precious grin. You couldn't help but pinch his cheek.

Five-drink Y/N was dirty Y/N and Heeseung could see in your eyes how dilated your pupils have become and how touchy you've been for the last 20 minutes. He was feeling a little drowsy now too considering that these beers do come in a pint per order.

Were the mugs really that big?

He shook his head and continued to listen to you rambling about something he already knows and maybe it was just the alcohol but did you really just start caressing his thigh? No, you couldn't have, and you were at a public place.

With lightning speed, he ordered two shots of tequila.

"Coming right up, Sir!" the waitress chirped as she skipped back to the counter.

"That bitch is really getting on my last nerve," you say groggily, "do you want me to make a scene?"

He let out a breathy laugh, "No baby, I just want you to drink."

Truthfully he wanted to just move on to Six-drink Y/N because Five-drink Y/N was either just horny or violent and while it would have been absolutely no problem for him (he's been wanting you ever since your second drink) if you guys were at home, sadly you weren't. And he needed to be the responsible one.

God was he perfect or what?

You both took your shots and wow did your world spin with just one teeny-tiny drink? Heeseung let out the loudest Korean post-drink sound and you could only look at him in adoration.

"Did I ever tell you how annoying you are?" you ask.

"It was the first thing you ever said to me and the last thing I heard before you left for work this morning."

"Right, I remember."

"Do you remember the day we moved in together?"

He looked down at your fingers tapping on the table, then to your lips which were pursed together in thought. It was his turn to look at you in awe, and all you did were the most mundane things.

"I remember the day we decided to move in together" you finally spoke, "we were in my studio apartment and the kitchen sink was always leaking, the walls were so thin we heard the neighbors fight all the time."

"It always ends in sex though."

"Yeah, well we would sometimes fight over whatever they were fighting about too."

"And then we end up having sex too."

You felt your blood rush up to your cheeks and playfully slapped his shoulder. "It was a humble beginning, but one night you woke up and—"

"I woke you up and asked you if you wanted to move in together."

"Right," you respond feeling a little shy from his gaze, "and it's been two years since."

"I do not miss that old apartment of yours. The leaks and creaky sounds were loud and your roommates were insufferable."

"And yours weren't? You had to share an apartment with Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon, and they were all hooligans."

"Yeah, well we were in college and Jay paid for the rent a considerable long time so it helped me save up for our apartment now."

Heeseung was so much better than you when it comes to finances and since you were a student longer than he was, he covered for a lot of things for you. Post-grad, he was able to afford a two-bedroom apartment and even if the rent was a little high, not long after, he landed a considerably high-paying job at a creative agency. Sometimes you would envy his growth because it would always be exponential, but looking back to where you started from where you are now, you've come a very long way too.

"Do you ever see us getting married, Y/N?"

This was Seven-drink Heeseung and maybe this was his cap because you've never ever been asked this question by him before despite being together for so long. Nearly choking on your drink, you released a small cough in response.

He giggled and kept a lingering stare at your reaction. "I'm just messing with you, you don't have to—"

"Of course, I do."

"Oh."

His ears were burning red now. Cute.

"Who else would I spend the next seven years with? Or even the next ten? Twelve? Fourteen? Forever?" you made a cheesy grin to match your equally cheesy statement, "you ask the silliest questions, Mr. Lee."

"Alright, alright!" he put both his hands up in defeat, "let's go get the bill."

You could only nod because at this point you really did feel the alcohol in your head and it wasn't light anymore. It felt heavy, and if it weren't for the sobering conversation you had with your boyfriend by the end of the night, you would have semi-passed out by now.

--

Heeseung guided you up to your apartment, removed your shoes, and settled you onto your couch.

"Had fun tonight, baby?" he sat on the floor facing your bare legs as you rested your head back on the pillow.

"Mmm-hmm." you respond feeling his hands massage your aching calves, "Thank you for taking me out tonight."

"Of course."

The next morning, you could only recall the moment you fell asleep on the couch with him.

Seven years might not be a long time for some, and for others it might have felt like an eternity. But for some reason you were stuck in between a split-second and forever. That's how Heeseung made you feel. Euphoric but rational, ecstatic but calm, mature but youthful, innocent but brave. He provided the sweetness of Nirvana along with the thrill that comes with uncertain reality.

You were tiptoeing on the border of sober and drunk, and you're glad to be held by him now and maybe, just maybe, if life could just allow you to be even more lucky, forever.

[cheriekos]

Hiiiii, this is a snippet of a SuperBat Hanahaki AU I wrote up - it’s a bit weird and I don’t really know if I’ll go forward with this. It’s in Poison Ivy’s POV (lmao don’t ask me how I got here) and I LOVE this but I think I would have to go with a different version of the story I want to write if I keep this. So I’m posting this here for posterity and whatnot and I’ll probably re-write aspects of this into an existing project later. This has been lightly edited and is not beta’d. Enjoy!

Ivy doesn't get a lot of visitors. She gets plenty of wayward children and adrenaline-seeking teenagers that really liked to push the limits on her patience and graciousness. However, that plea deal she made with the city kept her a short, short fucking leash. And despite how easy it is to flick her wrist, send thorns and vines and venom towards intruders and disrespectful punks - she likes having the greenhouse. She likes keeping Robinson Park evergreen and yes, her sordid, traitorous heart was kept alight when she saw the young kids of Gotham gently step over tree roots and gaze in awe at her azaleas. That all being said - she's not quite a people person. And most people aren't approaching her unless they have a masochistic streak running through them. 

"Ivy," grunts out the too familiar voice.

Ivy has a running theory that the Batman was, indeed, one of those people with said masochistic streak.

"Whatever mystery you're solving, I have no part in it," Ivy drawls, gently misting a particularly sad looking plant. She frowns. "You can check with your little Oracle - I'm sure she can scrounge up the camera footage somewhere. I've only been in my greenhouse." 

"I'm here on business."

"And I just told you - I had no part of that business," Ivy says, sharper. The plant - the Passions Vine, maypop, Passiflora incarnata - begins to bloom anew beneath her fingertips. "You can't implicate me in anything."

"I wasn't planning on it," He says, with a strange lilt to his voice. Her ears twitch.

She turns, only slightly, in order to look at him. He's as imposing as ever, more of a shroud of inky darkness than a man. The white of his lenses and the faint curve of his pale jaw the only real visible parts of him in the dim greenhouse, especially in the shadows where he liked to linger. It's a familiar sight, which gives her a faint burst of nostalgia. How disgusting. 

"Here on business, but not here to drag me off to Arkham?" She hums. "Color me intrigued. Do make it quick, though, you're interrupting my bedtime routine."

He only grunts. Ivy rolls her eyes, wondering how earth she found herself at the beck and call of this wretched creature. He finally steps under the blinking overhead light, awash in an orange glow. Without a word, he raises an upturned fist. When she arches a brow, he slowly unfurls his palm. 

Three petals. Yellow, slim, long - flecked with blood. Helianthus annuus. 

"Sunflower petals," Ivy remarks. Her eyes dart up to him. "But you already knew that."

"Yes," He says simply.

"Well, what do you need me for then?" Ivy asks, disdain coloring her tone. 

"These were collected from an individual who appeared to have an upper respiratory infection," He says. "All the symptoms of a standard viral infection were present - sneezing, coughing, congestion. After five days of a normal course of cold medicine, symptoms began to evolve that indicated a lower respiratory infection. After three days of worsening symptoms -"

"Get to the point." 

"The individual eventually coughed up these petals."

"...Excuse me?"

"The individual coughed up -"

"I heard you right the first time," Ivy puts her hand up.  "But what in the world could cause that to happen?" 

He curls his palm again, arm disappearing underneath his cape once more. "That is why I'm here."

Ivy blinks. "You thought I would know something about lower respiratory infections?"

"I assumed that, perhaps, in your tenure as an ecological terrorist, that this is a phenomenon you may have come across." He says, dryly. 

"I can't tell if you're trying to be funny or not."

He just hums. "Can you tell me anything about this?" 

Ivy stares, one part dumbfounded, and another part itching with the familiar sensation that comes with a near encyclopedic knowledge of plants and the urge to know and be right. How dreadful that the remnants of a competitive, perfectionist PhD student still lived within her bones somewhere. 

"One moment," She says, and turns on her heel.

He waits, patient, like one of the city's many faithful gargoyles. She sits on a sturdy leaf with a little thank you and calls other vines to bring her old books out to her workshop table. She flips through a folder with old articles on diseases and infections, but that path is not fruitful. She skims a textbook, a section on herbal medicine and quickly shoves it away with a dissatisfied as another set of vines brings out her laptop and lab instruments.

Her eyes shoot to him. "Come here." 

He moves, like shadow, like a piece of the night come alive. He hovers by the edge of the table, a curious tilt to his head. If she had any little bit of affection left, she would consider it adorable - he seemed like one of the many fruit bats that tried to nibble at her gardens. 

"The petals." She holds out a glass microscope dish. 

He shifts, then stops abruptly; there's an odd strain to his already grim face. If she hadn't known any better, she would've guessed he was hesitating. But the moment passes; he gently places the petals in her dish.

She adjusts the microscope, taking note of the regular aspects of the petals - protrusions she notes that are pollen tubes, the very odd cell structures - and briefly examines the blood specks. When she lingers too long on that aspect, her impromptu lab partner grunts disapprovingly.

"Do you have a problem?" Ivy asks, not taking her eyes off the microscope.

"Are they any irregularities with these petals?"

Ivy taps a green finger against the table. "Well, since you mentioned it - yes."

With a great of amount of self-convincing, she vacates her spot and gestures to the microscope. She can't tell what his eyes are doing under the mask but the air around him seems to fill with a general distrust. He looks into the microscope anyways; while he does, she motions for a come to pluck a petal off her own sunflower.

"Thank you for your service," She says to the little petal, and puts it into another dish. "The sunflower is a dicot, which means there are a number of expected cells within its makeup."

She switches the bloody petals for the standard one.

"Parenchyma cells, epidermal cells, xylem and phloem," Ivy waves her hand. "Things you would've learned in your elementary science class." 

"However?" He prompts. 

"However," She slides the bloody petals back in. "There is a mutation within these cell structures." 

"Elaborate."

"Don't make a fuss, I'm getting there," Ivy says, as if speaking to an impatient toddler. "Patience is a virtue, you know." 

Once more, he grunts. 

"Do you see the spiraling vessel next to the xylem? They look almost identical. The difference, however -"

"This one is filled with blood." 

"Not quite like a photosynthetic plant to absorb blood." 

"What does this indicate?"

"Right now? Nothing," Ivy turns to her laptops and begins a new file dedicated to this particular sunflower petal. "I don't have a definite answer for you on what this is or what it means - or why your little friend is coughing up petals."

He grunts - one of the ones that clearly signals his dissatisfaction. "How soon can we know what exactly this is?"

"You'll know when I know - which is whenever I feel like it."

"This could be life threatening, Ivy," He says, urgency in his tone. She could scoff; everything was so urgent with him. Now or never. Save the city, save the world and all that bullshit. "I'd advise you to not waste time."

"Yeah?" Ivy puts her chin in the palm of her hand. "I'd advise you to take that stick out your ass."

"Ivy -" He stops abruptly. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out in a world-weary kind of way that makes him seem less like a statuesque figure of nightmares - and something more like an old man. She blinks. 

"What would it take for you to...prioritize this?"

Let me out and let me raze the world in order to stare anew - and then that stupid, awful little voice that sounds suspiciously like Dr. Leland's comes in to grab her gently and say 'what can you change in front of you, right now?'

"Harley is out, but she's not allowed within Robinson Park," Ivy says. "Change the details of her pardon."

"You know I can't do that -"

"Bullshit," Ivy hisses, hands slamming against the table - and she feels it. The edges of her vision going green, how the smell of the poison in the very stems of the plants around her are present, how she could send the thorns of rose flying at his throat. How hungry her fly-eaters were for blood. It would be so easy. So easy. 

"Aw, sugarplum, just think of all the good things when the green gets too big! The smell of roses, lavender, or um...um - I dunno much about flowers. Or maybe me! I'm as comfortin' as a daisy, aren't I?" 

She breathes out. Slowly.

It would be easy. Getting freedom was not.

"That's all I ask," Ivy says, voice strained. "Just - let me see her. Somehow." 

He stands so still. It's irritating. She despises this - how desperate she feels, all the power he has, and the embarrassment of it all. There was a time when she would send him flying to the rafters, wrapped in her vines. The poisons, the toxins, the pollens - all of her knowledge and power dedicated to trying to knock down the immovable force that was the Batman. And now here she was. Bargaining with him in order to see the woman she loved. Pitiful. 

He shifts. His hand hovers in the air between them and she feels an edge of paranoia curl at the back of her mind. But then his hand settles, lightly, with his fingertips gently brushing her hand. It's...surprisingly gentle.

"I will see what I can do," He says. "

For a moment, Ivy thinks she can see his eyes. Behind the glare of those lenses, she thinks there's a human somewhere, underneath all of this. It makes something curl uncomfortably in her gut. But as soon as the moment has come, it is gone - and his hand is back beneath his cape. He's just a figure, a piece of the night, and the blight upon her existence. Familiar. 

She doesn't say thank you. She already doesn't like how much of her current existence is in due part to his relentless crusade against violence - and the repeating, endless cycle of it. She doesn't want to admit that within the many hands trying to pull her away from her endless spiral downwards, his was amongst them.

She just juts her chin out, vines curling around her shoulders. "Scram, Bats. I've got work to do."

For once, he decides to take the normal way out. She watches, intently, as he makes his way to the greenhouse door, and without so much as a look back her way, disappears into the night. When she finally turns away, back to her work bench, the blood specked petals are gone. 

[muffinrecord]

New Event Explanation/Thoughts

Okay so like... free memoria on login. It gives attack up? eh alright, neato

Looks like Touka and Nemu are up to something? Or wittnessing something. idk it could go either way with these two

You can get free memoria specific to these girls! I'm not sure if it's event-only or if they'll work all the time. I'm hoping the latter because the effects are kind of super powerful.

The way it works: The little orbs in colors will give you lots of despair for your despair gauge. Each one will benefit all the girls, but you can prioritize which girl will benefit the most by selecting a node specifically. For example:

Purple tongue battle gives a lot of bonus to Natsuki and Shizuku, a medium amount to Ren, and then not as much to Sasara and Emiri.

These battles down here don't give you any bonus to the despair gauge. Instead, it gives you extra of the shop currency!

which is good. because you can't target what you want from the shop. It's a random gacha-style event reward system, similar to how New Years does it. And the very best stuff is located at the back.

So PREPARE TO GRIND IF YOU WANT THOSE INNOCENT GEM FRAGMENTS!

I'm pleased overall. This gave me massive nostalgia to play. I'm SO glad it's not a fucking tower event lmao. I even avoided using Historia Yachiyo/Devilmura combo and stuck with the event girls just to make it more fun although I'm back to histayachi and akumura for getting materials and stuff

I'm really hoping that the new memoria can be used outside of the event, because they're REALLY good from what I can tell. They're character specific but kind of amazing. I like it-- it's like SE, but you have to sacrifice a memoria slot except not really, because what they get is probably better than anything than you could equip.

[lesbianneopolitan]

I see you have Witch of Void in your pinned, may I interest you in the Homestuck/RWBY crossover fic I’m planning 👀 and what classpect do you think Neo would be, I feel like she’s a Thief of Space

It's been so so SO long since I last checked Homestuck, though, like, literal YEARS...the Witch of Void thing is there for nostalgia's sake more than anything, so I doubt I'm up-to-date if they explained the classpects even better (aside of those classpect and Prospit/Derse official quizzes that came out some time ago)

Now, iirc a Thief of Space would be more related to stealing something that already exists OR, stealing space (?) which, I would say Neo is actually more on the side of creation, related to her Semblance in canon (because well, Semblances are the manifestation of the soul!) so I think something related to the creation of things would be more fitting than the stealing of space or things that are already there (maybe something like this would fit Roman more, seeing that initially, his Semblance was gonna be what they ended up giving to Fiona Thyme instead, so, going back to that...) Then again, from what I remember (it's been years so my mind may be blurry) the only person I remember creating something from zero and from their imagination was Roxy Lalonde as a Rogue of Void, which makes someone believe that someone who can manipulate the Void aspect can directly create something from the nothingness, so maybe she would ironically end up somewhere with a Void aspect (dunno the class, but I think Maids were more related to the aspect directly too?), Witch of Void (lmao) was supposedly pretty OP in that aspect as well, but once again, it's been YEARS since I read anything on classpects, so they may have better options or explanations for information I lacked long ago

Because I didn't give a concise answer due to me being so rusty, have this pic of a fuchsia-blooded troll pic of my Neo that I drew last year just for the fun of doing it lol