#no one ever looks at its face. just its overall Form to recognize it. to most it probably doesn't even have a face

[front-facing-pokemon]

[nagifleur]

2am ⤿ itoshi rin

⤿ it only makes sense that most people wouldn't open the door for anyone at two in the morning. for you, though, rin would.

⤿ w.c: 1.0k

⤿ warnings: reader isn't doing well, but no reasons are specified.

it's two o'clock when rin opens the door to his apartment. two in the morning. it doesn't look like he just woke up, but he's clearly tired. or maybe it's just what you enjoy calling his signature resting bitch face, but you can't tell for sure through your blurry eyes.

either way, you're thankful he doesn't shut the door on you even though you'd knocked on it at illegal hours. instead, rin leans against its frame, arms crossing his chest as he sighs. "what is it this time?"

you're certain any other human right in their mind would - even with your terribly timed self-invitation - think that's a cruel, most disheartening reaction to your best friend being upset ever. to you. it's not.

you're his best friend for a reason. he's your best friend for a reason. you've learned to read him like the back of your hand, and what to others may seem like a heartless response rings in your ears like the genuine concern one would hold for their best friend - hence why you start crying, actually bawling your eyes out, to the point where you can't speak between choked out sobs.

another sigh escapes rin. pushing his weight off the frame, he grabs the hand that isn't covered in snot and wiped-away tears to pull you inside, "get in for now. if the neighbors wake up, i'd rather not cause misunderstandings."

you've been to his apartment countless of times. you could walk yourself in it in pure darkness, yet he doesn't release his hold around your hand yet, guiding you through the space and frankly, you don't mind at all.

the living room is dimly lit. you're quick to figure out he wasn't asleep after all, seeing as his usual yoga mat is laid out in the middle of the floor, a bottle placed nearby. okay, you now know you didn't wake him up.

you're leaving the room just as fast though. it's briefly dark when you enter next one, but with a flip of the switch the lights turn on and the kitchen you're oh so familiar with greets you warmly. "sit down."

a comfortable silence falls over the kitchen. it's vaguely broken by the sound of your sniffles, that of rin shuffling around in the kitchen and water soon boiling. the turmoil within you isn't letting up really yet. you know it won't, but having left your home that felt painfully lonelier than usual and instead find yourself in a different type of safety puts you at ease, if even just a little bit.

you're brought out of your thoughts when a cup is placed on the table right in front of you. along with the steam that it lets off, you quickly recognize the scent of the tea bag. one that rin doesn't like, but still keeps a package of in his cabinets because you like it.

you're amused by the thought that he never forgets to buy a new package whenever there's none left of the previous one. you're also amused by the thought that he, despite that, somehow always forgets whether you drink it with or without sugar and has to ask each time. "are you going to cry or grin? decide already."

"sorry," you puff out in something between a sob and nasally laugh. "with."

not too much later, rin sits by the other side of the table with a cup of his own preferred beverage. one leg bent over the surface of the chair. the other leg curled up, pressed to his chest. his elbow rests on top of the knee and against its respective knuckles, he rests his head. his shoulders are somewhat slacking now, and he has overall picked up a form that's relatively lazier than the one he's known for as a soccer player. that's itoshi rin. athlete rin. this is rin. just rin. best friend rin.

best friend rin that has an odd impact on you, because you soon subconsciously pick up his exact form as well.

"so?"

"just... the usual."

rin scoffs. "the usual, my ass. if it was the usual, you'd be crying yourself to sleep right now, not walk all the way here in the middle of the night."

"can you sugarcoat it at least a little? damn..." you scoff back. he raises an eyebrow in return, though doesn't go on. patiently, he waits for you to explain-so you do, you explain that it really is the usual, but with sprinkles of new additional factors that, in all honesty, you didn't need in a situation that already was bad enough as is. you explain that it simply got too much tonight, an amount of too much that wasn't within your control or ability to calmly register.

from start to finish, rin listens. he notes the puff of breath you let out at last, as if emphasizing the end of your miserable story.

"for starters..."

this time, you listen, from start to finish. he's not necessarily offering solutions, but rather helping you make sense of what doesn't; matter-of-factly pointing out what parts of your situation is receiving far too much of your attention than they deserve; threading in strings of logic around what you can do; bluntly sharing his thoughts to an extent just on the verge of brutal, though you do appreciate it.

"either way, the world isn't going to stop spinning for your sake."

"now, that, was unnecessary."

"well, it's true."

"ass."

rin merely sticks his the tip of his tongue out at you before getting up on his feet, beginning to head out of the kitchen as you ask him about it. "getting you some clothes. i can't let you go home this late." while his back is still facing you, a small smile finds its way to your lips before you, too, get up to wash the now empty tea cups.

in the middle of it, you feel a light lump of something settling on top of your head; the sleeve of a t-shirt and strings from a pair of sweats hang to cover your eyes, accompanied with words that make you feel like everything will eventually get better.

"by the end of the day you've survived worse times. you'll get through this too," rin speaks in one last sigh, an almost uncharacteristically soft one, "so let's go to sleep already."

[gazetto-no-ki]

2024.12.05 Ruki IG stories:

(1) Feel free to ask questions or chat every once in a while 👽🔥

(2) Ruki Update. The sample stickers are so cute, I had to stick one on. Might edit them and release them someday. 🤲

(3) Ruki Update, Part 2. Surrounded by the best staff, we had a great photoshoot. 👏 This story is a long one, so I’ll post about it in the future. 📨📮

(4) Look forward to lots of things in December, too! 🔥

On Twitter: "Just now, I opened up my Instagram stories for some questions and casual chat after a long time. Let me hear what you think 👨‍🚀📨"

1) Q: What kind of work have you been doing lately?

A: I’ve been working on music production, next year’s tour merchandise, and things beyond that. I’ve also been continuously working on NIL since summer. Right now, I feel like staying active rather than resting brings more fruitful results, and above all, it keeps my mind feeling healthy. 🍁

2) Q: Have you been anywhere on a walk recently?

A: In the second half of this year, I’ve often taken the time to visit various places.🚶 There were many memorable spots, so I’ll make another post about them before the year ends. 📨📮

3) Q: Have you been to any art museums recently?

A: There’s one I want to go to, but it hasn’t started yet. It’s something I’m really looking forward to.🖼️ If you have any recommendations, let me know 🙌

4) Q: Do you ever feel like you have the “professional disease”?

[Background image is from Chainsaw Man manga chapter 180 and reads "Uh-oh. It's almost time. This is it. I'm losing it. I'm going crazy, so you can disappear now"]

A: Pretty much my whole life.

5) Q: Do you think you'll get another pup?

A: No, I can't. I still haven't been able to throw away his bed. One of my goals is to completely change the interior of my house next year.

6) Q: Thank you for the story mentioning letters. You even included Hong Kong—thank you so much. It made me really happy.

A: I’m truly happy and grateful to receive letters from all over the world. I spent hours reading them. Please feel free to send more! 📮

7) Q: I'm looking forward to the new NIL products ♪ What will they be?

A: This year, I couldn’t switch out my wardrobe with the seasons, so I made items I want to wear right now. I also didn’t get a chance to change my interior decor, so I created things that can easily change the atmosphere and vibe of a home. Additionally, I wanted to capture "my current self," in a tangible way, so I completely shifted my mindset during the design process. It ended up being meaningful for me personally, and I felt happiness in being able to preserve it in this form. This was my 11th production overall. I’ll share more about it in a post later! 📮

8) Q: Thanks to my husband, I’ve become completely hooked ♡ I recently joined HERESY, and in March, I’ll be attending my first live show.

A: Just about a month and a half left until I get to see you all. Please tell everyone I look forward to seeing you in March😎

9) Q: What’s your current motivation for living?

A: You guys. This will never change, so don’t make me say it over and over again. 🤝🙆‍♂️

10) Q: It’s hard to recognize the moments when your heart regains its strength, isn’t it? But just breathing makes everyone amazing and a genius.

A: Even if you know it in your head, we’re not robots, it’s natural for emotions to have ups and downs. 🤝 There are no numbers written on your face telling you how much energy you have today, your age, your weight, or anything like that. That’s why I hope you don’t worry too much about what other people think and instead cherish the time you spend enjoying the things you love. This year, I’ve felt that it’s important to prioritize that for myself as well. Let’s make the most of the remaining month together and have wonderful days ahead. 🍁

On Twitter:

"I answered a few questions, but why do I keep getting asked about my favorite miso soup and oden ingredients? 🍲"

"Thank you for sharing what you're working hard on or what you're struggling to overcome. I’ll find time to respond to all of them and I plan to save it in my highlights."

"It's about time I get back to work 👨‍🚀"

11) Q: Ruki-san, let's go for a Harley ride lol

A: Rather than that, let's make glasses together again lol 🤝 inari_tsuchiya

12) Q: How do you deal with people whose personalities don’t align with yours?

A: Looking back, I’ve somehow managed to climb to a position where I don’t have to interact with such people. Even so, when I must engage with people in those environments, I try to respect them, thinking they probably have many sides I don’t know about. But I still keep a certain distance and avoid getting too close. Also, to put it simply, I don’t have the time to think about people I don’t get along with.

13) Q: I’m moving at a snail’s pace, but once I’m mentally ready, I will definitely go to another live show.

A: I’ll always be waiting for you. I’ve also received a lot of messages asking, “When is the world tour?” That’s definitely something I want to make happen in the near future. Come see me, because I’ll be coming to see you too🏃

[eldritch-spouse]

[Part 4 of Gifted. Fem reader.]

Previous poll winner: " I think I'll... Thank the chef, yes. " (37.1%)

TW: Violence; Descriptions of cannibalism; Slight gore; Knife play; Extremely dubious consent.

New choice! [VOTE]

" I think I'll... Thank the chef, yes. "

Do you really have a choice anyway?

You recall him, his voice mostly. A southern drawl that sounded almost goofy, but imposing. Which is fitting, you suppose, he's an intimidating cinder block of a monster. A mushroom monster, you've seen one or two of those before, they're generally quite pretty in your opinion. The chef in particular struck you, the dotted patterns on his arms glowing faintly in the cavernous dark of Sybastian's mouth when he reached in for you.

In truth, you're not too sure how to feel about him. And that insecurity manifests when you purse your lips, possibly regretting your cooperation regarding these two's lascivious suggestions.

" My my, she really is tame. " Vesper fans himself. " Oh how I regret handing her over! You and I would have had so much fun back in Lust, honey. "

You shudder, believing every word he says. Maybe a bit of fear here is healthy, you can only imagine what kind of animal you'd become in his hands.

" Well then, go! " The Icon urges, facing away from you and Santi dramatically. " I won't let myself stare a second longer, lest I ruin this game. " This guy is such a theater dork, you can't believe you sucked him off. And so happily too.

Nevertheless, Santi takes the warning to heart, ushering you up as soon as you have a couple more forkfuls, not enough to last you long. It's a waste of perfect cuisine, frankly. The incubus walks you through the crowd, hand locked with yours, ever determined to soothe you via gentle touches. You appreciate that about him, this demon's been very kind to you so far, for whatever reason. Maybe because you chose him... Well, it was a good choice, you reckon.

Speaking of choices, you're still not too sure about this last one. Every step through the crowd makes your heart beat a bit harder, a bit faster. Will things work out here too?

" You're so tense, love. Is it butterflies? " Santi teases. " Don't worry, keep up this precious attitude and everything will be fine. "

Encouraging...? Not really.

The doors to the kitchen are tall, a brilliant white, and although there's supposed to be windows in each one of them, the glass there is obscured, meaning the inside is a mystery to you. You can hear the sounds however. Nothing too suspicious, chatter and clinking, mostly.

When the two of you reach those doors, your back is basically glued to Santi's front, fear and dread keeping you stock still. The demon is unbothered, simply pushing the large doors apart and edging you inwards.

Now this... This is what you call a real kitchen.

It's absolutely massive. Then again, that's a theme here. You do understand why things need to be larger in general, after all, many of the monsters here are bigger than humans by a considerable amount, their comfort must be catered to- However, this place tends to exaggerate in the dimensions of its overall floors. This entire kitchen is like a house, it's furnished with all sorts of equipment, reminding you of a world-renowned establishment. The brightness hurts your eyes a little, but you suppose it's necessary. How come you've never even once heard of this location?

The first thing your adrenaline-sharpened mind notes is the blood.

On what you very clearly recognize to be some modernized chopping block. On the ground, like something bleeding and squirming was dragged from said block to another huge set of doors, leading lord knows where. A large scarlet handprint you can only guess belongs to the chef on one of those doors. Then there's that cleaver, a scary-looking thing, embedded in the cutting block, some form of viscera and tissue still clinging to it. So he's not just a chef, yes, he's definitely also a butcher. And yet... You know, deep in your soul, whatever creature possibly lost its life here was likely human.

God help you.

That's not all though. As soon as your gradually panicking mind looks at anything but the trails of red present, it quickly finds ambulating creatures. Small. Smaller than the waiter, totally black but reflecting some sort of pigment, their heads floating as they work, each one clad in white kitchen garbs with varying designs. The first thing that crosses your mind nearly makes you vomit. Children?! You blink several times. No. No, they can't be, just because they're small doesn't mean they're infants, you haven't seen a single child here. Besides, you're fairly certain these aren't monsters, whatever the Hell they could be, they all look the same physically speaking, only their color accents and facial expressions distinguish them. This is some sort of clone fest. What are you looking at?! What is this?!

" S- Santi?... " Are you going insane?

" Oh right, you've never seen one of those before. " The demon reminds himself, chuckling at his own antics. You don't question why he's okay with the shady blood stains. " Those things are called bobbles. They're made here, sweetie, think of them as extra helpers. "

Things... They're things. Uhuh.

You watch silently for a couple of seconds. Most of them appear to be absorbed in their own tasks, moving efficiently between each other. Cutting vegetables, passing utensils, cleaning dishes, shouting for ingredients. Some of them occasionally glance at you two, the gray-colored ones completely neutral, the blue ones with a hint of trepidation. They're a bit cute, you'll admit, if you don't question the logic of their mere existence too much. You wouldn't mind having one of these. After a minute or two of watching these "bobbles" work in fast-paced harmony, you relax enough to detach from Santi, standing by his side warily.

Soon, one of the things, with a tall hat and slightly ripped garb, stomps over to you two. Its eyes narrow over pink-freckled cheeks, and he frowns at Santi specifically. A wooden spoon is slapped onto the demon's stomach.

" Ya hav'ta knock! Sir doesn't like it when people don' knock! " It drawls at the snickering incubus, who merely takes the hits without flinching.

" Whoopsie... Can you find it in you to forgive me? "

You muffle an amused noise as well, watching the small critter's face puff in annoyance for a couple of tense seconds. How can anyone take them seriously, with that adorable look? Finally, it gives Santi a bright smile.

" Okay! " Big pink eyes settle on you, after a concerning pause- Like it genuinely hadn't seen you all this time. " Ooh! Ya brought a piggy, sir's gonna like her! "

The bobble grabs your hand with its four-fingered one and starts trying to lead you somewhere, but you stand your ground. Santi's eyes widen and he flicks that intrusive limb away.

" Hey-! "

" No no Turnip, this one's not for the warehouse. " The look on his pale face is serious, making the bobble tilt its perfectly round head. " This one's for sir. He knows her. "

" Ooooohh... " The pink and black bobble waves its hands excitedly. " Special piggy! "

Wait, hold on- It's name is literally Turnip? What.

" Yes, exactly, I need you to get Morell for me, okay? "

" Yessir! "

Funny, didn't Grimbly say that too? Irregardless, the small being trots away, pushing past those heavy-looking doors with great effort and disappearing from sight entirely. You couldn't get a good look at what lies beyond, which is disconcerting.

The incubus begins looking around, and though you can't really tell what he's after, you don't struggle too much when he beckons you over to an empty marbled counter, and sits you atop it. O-Okay. Satisfied, he goes back to waiting, some form of excitement in his gaze, although it mixes with something else, dampening it.

" Am I... " You start quietly, some of the adrenaline crashing, permeated by uncertainty. " Going to be alright? "

The demon faces you, reading into your expression with a carefully neutral one as he ponders. You don't like that he hesitates, that he's thinking about his answer. That in itself should be telling enough. When you look away, defeated, he grabs your hand, a much smoother smile on those handsome features.

" You're tough. " He begins. " I can tell. Trust in your sixth sense and keep it up. "

He meant to be motivating, but truth of the matter is that was neither a confirmation nor a denial. You can see through it, he doesn't know, but the probably doesn't want to scare you either. Fuck.

The humdrum of the kitchen workers chattering to each other and utensils clinking around becomes an indistinct buzz while you recess into the confines of your mind, adrenaline diminishing in the face of relative inactivity. What is the world outside these walls up to, right now? With you missing, your responsibilities unaccounted for, has your family noticed your absence? Is anyone coming for you? Do they even know how you got here? Will you ever see th-

A sudden woosh snaps you back into alertness, the bloodstained doors leading to who knows where parting smoothly. And he powers in. Him being, of course, the chef.

While not nearly as large as monsters like Vesper, he's towering in his own right. You've never been one to realize how much body language matters, but looking at... Santi called him "Morell", you think- You feel more on edge than you ever did around the massive demonic lord. It's his stance. Shoulders always squared, always flexed and tense, he constantly looks as if moments away from lunging towards something or someone. The few minutes of indirect interaction you've had with this monster were enough to transmit an idea of volatility, as if violence is always just one blink too late away.

The white garb he dons can no longer be called white by any stretch of the imagination, coated in splatters featuring varying shades of red. He looks mildly tired, and angry. You're not sure if he's shining from sweat or some differing condensation- The breeze you felt as soon as those doors parted suggests what lies beyond is cold. Like a fridge room.

A crimson-stained towel hanging from his shoulder is used to wipe bloodied hands rather poorly, before the thing is tossed away, a bobble catching it before it can hit the floor.

" This better be worth mah fuckin' time demon, ah'm two seconds away from- "

As soon as those curious cyan hues bounce up to regard the demon, they instantly dart to you, and he stills. Oh yes, he definitely recognizes you. You're being stared down.

" Well then... " The way bold bright teeth poke above that chunky scarf doesn't bode well with you.

" I take it this is worth your 'fuckin' time'? " Santi jabs.

The large mushroom crosses his arms over his chest, not moving from his spot. " Wha's this all 'bout? " Although he makes an effort to glare at the incubus, he keeps looking back to your figure on his counter. You wonder if he might be mad that you're sitting on it.

" Oh relax, I just brought the minx here to see you. " Santi does a placating gesture with his palms, though you feel a slight sting of betrayal when he opens his mouth again. " See, we just had dinner. Our present here loved your work sooo much she said she'd like to personally give her regards to the chef, and who am I to stop her, hm? "

Morell looks straight at you. Nerves force you to gulp, scratching at your arm and face lightly, better to stay silent than say something even more embarrassing.

Eventually, he relaxes slightly. It's a minuscule change is demeanor, but you don't miss it. " ... That so? "

When the demon doesn't reply, you realize it's a cue. What are you supposed to say here? You did agree to it. Besides, if not him, then they'll just toss you at someone else. There's no easy win, might as well do what's kept you alive thus far- Being polite.

" Y- Yes. " You look him in those cyan eyes, oddly shrunk pupils swimming in a sea of black. He seems like the type of guy that values eye contact.

Slow, evaluating seconds pass.

" Aight... Tha piggy can stay with me. " He says it with a chuckle, looking a lot brighter than he did not even a minute ago.

Santi nods, then quickly turns to you, rubbing a clawed hand on your cheek. His face betrays sadness, a little bit of resignation, disappointment. " Sweetness, it looks as if this is where we part. " He leans down, nibbling softly at your bottom lip, before brushing through your hair and taking several steps away. As if forcing himself. " For now, of course. " You can't really tell if that's good or bad.

" Ya done? " A decidedly not amused voice rings. For such a large man, Morell moved quietly, having closed some of the distance between you. " Git tha fuck out already. "

Santi only chuckles, making his way out to the main restaurant area. " Have a great time, love. " One last cheeky wink is all you get, before the demon is out of your sight.

For the first time in a while today, you feel truly alone. Santi had given you a sense of security up until now, even if said sense was erroneous. Here however, you're entirely on your own, feeling hunted, feeling cornered. There's no telling what this monster might want from you.

Keep calm. Breathe. Smile a little.

You'll make it through this.

Morell stares at you intently.

You seem to be faring well for someone who got thrown to the wolves, all things considered. No longer encased in lace, sporting clothes he swears he's seen before, not trembling in fear with your tail tucked between your legs like earlier. Tsk, Santi's been treating you too well, you ought to have some fear if you're staying here for a while. Fear keeps you alive, keeps you sharp.

Point being, you're clearly the clever type, you wouldn't have made it this far in such an intact condition if you pushed the wrong buttons with the demon. Sure, the shroom's certain you had to pay some sort of price to acquire these accommodations, but you probably knew that prior. He can tell you're not like most of the pigs he gets here, the kind that squeal and kick as soon as he nears them. No, it's in your eyes, you're so much smarter than that.

Doesn't matter, you're about to sing to a different tune with Morell now.

The monster moves once Santi leaves the premises, to the sink only a small distance away from the counter you're perched on. Though his back is mostly turned to you, Morell is confident you wouldn't try to bolt out. You know that you can't, know that without the staff's protection you're just mince meat for the crowd. His hands are rinsed and the towel atop his shoulder is wrung dry of the last pig's blood. He's glad to be rid of that one, they were troublemakers since the time they got dragged in to the very last breath- But you gotta appreciate the consistency, at least. If it was a calmer day, he'd play around with them some more before bringing down the hatchet, so to speak.

Ridiculous, here he is saying he's so busy, about to damn it all just so he can fuck with you. But how can he not? Look at you, just politely sitting on his counter with that fat fucking ass. Looking around, occasionally smiling briefly at his bobbles' antics. It's like you fit here already.

" Well pumpkin- " He starts, giddy that your spine straightens immediately. " 'S a pleasure ta have ya 'ere in mah lil' kitchen. "

The mushroom turns then, wiping his hands, cracking his knuckles. " Ya like tha food? "

You study his face for a moment, confused by the hint of mirth there, but eventually deem it correct to nod. Morell doesn't really care, he knows his food is good. Though he's a little upset you didn't get to try the best parts. When Grimbly dashed into the kitchen, the waiter told him everything. You, tangled between Vesper and Santi- To think that you've gotten an Icon of Hell's attention this soon! What kind of honey is up your ass?! Santi specifically requested something without human, and now he knows why.

Out of genuine fondness. Because really, you don't know what human tastes like. His dishes can oftentimes make that meat blend into other types, visually. If he arranges it well enough, you'd deem it a regular old steak, eat it, and call it delicious. All the incubus had to do is stay quiet. But he went the extra length to make sure you didn't obliviously consume your own kind, the sap.

" Good... Tha's good. " He says, after a pause. " Stop by whenever yer hungry. Ah'll get'cha somethin'. " Something worth eating.

" O- Okay. " Yeah, you're starting to click some things together by now, aren't you?

" Y'know, I'm real hurt, piglet. "

You blink, likely wondering if "piglet" was meant to address you -It was- Unsure where he's taking this. The chef paces several steps your way, ending up looming by your side, enjoying the way you immediately cast your gaze to your lap. He twirls locks of your hair idly.

" Mah memory's blankin', who got ya outta that mimic's jaws again? "

Looking up, searching his face for clues you won't find, you answer hesitantly but truthfully. " It was you? "

Morell snickers. " Yeah, sounds right. After all, who knows what could'a been o' you by now if ah hadn't? "

A sour expression crosses over your smooth features. Yes, think about it. Linger.

" An' still, ya pick the fuckin' demon. " The chef shakes his head, ruffling your hair. You shiver beneath him, likely realizing, just as most others do, that there's a great deal of strength behind his spongy-looking hide. " Ya can't make this shit up. "

" ... But- " What could've been an attempt to defend your incorrect choice is swiftly ignored.

" But what, sweetie? I was tha only one who could'a freed ya there! " The shroom points to himself, as if it was obvious.

Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't, you don't need to know that. Morell stands and watches a myriad of expression race on your complexion. Fear, confusion, dread. " I'm... I'm sorry? "

Hah, oh that's so cute!

His guffawing nearly shakes the kitchen walls, rocking his chest. You're adorable, he'll give you that much. Is this your attempt at placating him?

" 'S not a big deal anymore. " He waves, eventually stopping his fit of laughter. " C'mere. "

You hesitate a healthy amount, he can understand it. Though eventually, when Morell makes it clear he's not going to drop it, and that his patience isn't limitless, you plop down from the counter, taking careful steps his way.

" Closer. " He beckons when you refuse to stand in front of him. " Ya spooked? " Of course you are, he's been around your kind for so long, you're all like mindless gazelles, deers in headlights, pigs squealing to the skies and running around in circles.

It's when the chef places a heavy palm on the counter, and it rattles, that you zing to action and get just as suffocatingly close to the monster as he was hoping. " There we are, was it hard? " It was rhetorical, but he's delighted that you shake your head anyway. " Thought so. "

Morell takes a moment to appreciate the sight of you.

All humans are petite, and although there's something dainty about your demeanor right now, he can see your muscles tense like coiled springs, ready to snap, ready to run. Fight or flight is a beautiful look on you. You have a good amount of meat on your bones, he can tell with a couple of hearty gropes to those bare thighs. Hmm yes, fine cuts, good stuff. His fingers knead at you like dough, and Morell feels a sick little twitch in his pants when you start trembling.

" S- What are- "

" Sshh, quiet naw. " He warns, letting full hands roam around. The chef thrills himself with your obedience, going from calves to back of the thighs, gripping your ass firmly and snickering at your choked noise.

You're a lovely little thing, the kind he feels sorry for when he butchers, because they could last so much longer. Demand here is crazy, which is good for his pockets, but also saddening at times. Morell doesn't get to fool around with the pigs as much as he'd like to anymore. Especially not tonight! When his hands move to your front, palping at your belly, he shakes his head, clicking his tongue.

Practically empty. As he suspected. You haven't eaten anything properly yet, certainly not with those sluts, they probably think feeding you jizz will work out just fine, typical. They don't know how to care for a piglet at all! And to think you willingly chose him, how dim are you? You wince when he grabs at you more firmly, and it's enough for Morell to give it a rest.

" You don' look so full, piggy. " The chef tuts, patting your abdomen. " Knowin' them types, you prolly didn' get ta eat much since ye got here. "

He watches you squirm briefly, either tickled by the softer touch or wanting to stop it. " I'm... It's okay, I'm not that hungry. "

Liar. You're small and weak, you should be eating anything you can in this environment. So dumb, so naïve, it's a wonder luck has been on your side thus far. " Ya sure? " He squints.

" Y-Yep, thank you. "

Cute.

" Welp, in that case- " Morell lets some of his anticipation show, shrugging and moving to be mere inches away from your form. " We can skip right to tha good stuff. "

The whites of your eyes widen and you give him this puzzled, anxious look. Oh come now, don't play dumb. " Ya wanted ta thank me, right? " The shroom grabs your tiny hand in his and puts it to his chest, a lidded, much more playful and relaxed expression on his face. " Don' lemme stop ya, sweetie. "

Oh, the gradually rising panic in your face is just precious. He's a lot, not to toot his own horn, but Morell gets your nervousness. He's been called "an absolute unit" a couple of times and it strokes his ego. Speaking of, you need to be stroking something else right now. He's been pent up these last couple of days, preparing for this event hasn't been kind to Mori's libido.

The chef is starting to think he's going to have to do things the hard way until you finally move. While your palm shakily slides down his chest, feeling slightly excited breathing, he busies himself with untying the long sash around his waist. Much to his disappointment, you don't grope, not that he expected you to anyway. Chuckling, Morell corners you further against the counter, spotted arms on each side corralling your body. His cock jumps in his pants when you give him a doe-eyed look full of uncertainty. You're purposely lingering on his abdomen, avoiding what lies beneath. The chef responds to this by flexing slightly, allowing you to feel his well-built constitution. Yeah sure, he's showing off, let him have this.

You don't look him in the eyes when you eventually relent, fingers sliding down. He's impatient however, roughly grabbing your hand. He reaches for one of the torn sleeves of his white smock and parts it, shrugs off the other one, letting the outfit fall to the floor, kicked aside by heavy-looking boots. You're apparently fascinated, studying his upper body openly, visibly flustered. Morell smiles when you focus on a particularly dark mark on his arm, stare all you want. He rips you back into focus by firmly smoothing your hand over the raging hard-on tenting his black pants, unable to conceal his laughter when you audibly gasp. Aw, don't flatter him like that.

When Morell drops his grip, your fingers remain static, and he rolls his eyes. " C'mon, ya scared? " He parrots.

Scared is an understatement.

This guy puts you off. Plus, he's packing heat.

At the risk of sounding filthy, you'll admit he's not the biggest you've seen, that title now falls squarely onto Vesper. The Icon's size didn't strike you as something note-worthy- He's already gigantic in comparison to you, of course his junk would be appropriately huge as well. Not to mention your mind was a little clogged at the time. Morell is a whole other story, you might very well have to take him, and he's bigger than Santi for sure. It's cause for some alarm, but then again, this whole situation is.

He seems to have taken your shock as a compliment, though it's very clear the monster's patience is waning the longer you stall.

Shakily inhaling, you give the chef what he wants, stroking generously through the fabric and occasionally squeezing at him. It... It doesn't feel like he has anything on beneath these pants. Your efforts get the monster to sigh in pleasure, looming over you and adjusting, giving you more to work with. There's nothing left to the imagination, the shape imprinted on his clothes lets you know exactly what you're dealing with. And frankly, a part of you is oddly flattered by how much he appears to be getting into it, pressing back against your hand, throbbing, humming lowly.

He seems frustrated, stressed maybe. You don't know how much of a good idea it was to let those two basically nudge you into this.

" Mmf, they teach ya some or are you jus' excited fer me already? " Morell drawls.

Declining to answer, you merely keep going. Part of you was worried he'd call you out, as you're very clearly trying to rile him up so he'll settle for a sloppy clothed grind- As if.

The ring of a zipper coming down is predictable to you, a flushed blue cock already stained by its own precum bouncing free. Fuck, he's really not packing lightly. The look on the chef's face says you better resume, so you opt not to test his patience too much. He's heavy. To be fair, you don't doubt he's dense in general, but the warmth of his member on your hands has you gulping for what might come next. Nevertheless, you try not to look at your own motions while you work him, gaze scanning the kitchen instead.

It's incredible. All this time, the group of bobbles hastily working hasn't casted a single glance at you two. It's as if... This is normal to them. Like they know better than to gawk. You can only wonder what types of obscenities go down here.

You're still staring by the time Morell groans, reaching for your top. The surprise of slightly cold fingers edging up the hem of said cloth has your motions faltering, resigning yourself to letting the cook remove that oversized shirt. What's the alternative? Make him angry? You agreed to this, might as well try to get into it.

Nipples pebble in the cold air near immediately, and the chef laughs quietly to himself at the sight of your breasts, a discolored tongue wetting his teeth. " Everythin' about ya is jus' tha cutest, ain't it? " He grins. " Lookit 'em... "

Big palms frame your tits, and it's only now that the expression "baker hands" takes on a whole new meaning. Morell kneads at your chest in a confident and strong manner that has your breath catching. You're ashamed to admit no one's given your tits this type of attention before, feeling goosebumps rise in the wake of your unexpected pleasure. A high-pitched noise escapes when he plucks at one bud, and you realize your hand has been merely wrapped around him all this time when the monster thrusts impatiently.

" Oh? Did'ja like that? "

" N- No. " Yeah, super believable.

" Lyin' piglet. " The soft scolding is quickly followed by him bending to kiss and lick shamelessly around your tits. You can't help gulping when teeth glide and catch slightly on skin. Fuck's sake, if he actually- He nibbles slightly, spare hand forcing the one around his dripping shaft to work faster. When you look down, seeing a teal shade on his dark cheeks and most of your breast in his blunt-toothed maw, you almost panic.

" D- Don't-! " Did he just fucking throb in your hand? " Please- Don't bite! "

That bright flush intensifies, hot puffs of air wetting your skin as he all but steams, teeth flirting with your pain tolerance, forcing a frightened keen out of you, before he peels back, panting.

" Fuck yeah, yer a good catch. " Morell groans, zipping his pants back up in a vaguely uncomfortably manner. " Don' move a muscle, ya hear me piggy? "

When you don't answer immediately, he gives you an "are you testing me?" glance that installs the fear of meeting the maker into your bones.

" Y- Yes, Morell. "

Why did you say his name? You didn't need to that, you just added a personal touch into this. God damn it. Perhaps it's for the best, because the chef seems appreciative, smiling before hastily cramming himself through the bloodied doors he came from.

You have no idea what he's doing, what he'll return with. And frankly, part of you doesn't really want to know. When Morell's footsteps become distant, instincts beckon you to look towards the opposite direction, to the second pair of tall doors, the one you entered from. It's only a matter of putting on your shirt... Where is it? Who took it?! You look around frantically, but the thing has apparently vanished. Fuck's sake...

Regardless, you can just step outside the kitchen, maybe take your chances... It would be risky, but if you get in that fucking elevator! You know that's the ticket to leave this dump. You just have to figure out which floor leads to the ground level, it's that simple.

You don't even realize you're walking towards the exit.

One of the bobbles, a blue one with a shorter hat, stops next to you, some others giving you side-glances. Although she doesn't utter a word, you can see the silent warning in her face. A cautious shake of the head is all you're given, and then the doors part. Not the ones in front of you though.

" ... Where d'ya think yer going? "

It's as if your lungs collapse for a moment, air refusing to fill them. " No- Nowhere, nowhere, I- "

" And 'ere I thought ya'd behave. Tsk. "

When you zip around, you get to see the large mushroom power towards you, a sturdy-looking rope on his hands. Of course, the thing is adorned with aged red marks. There's a sadistic sort of glee on his dark face, making you take several steps back. His chest puffs, the monster bellowing out.

" Hah! Try it, piggy. " Morell taunts. " Ya take a single fuckin' step outta those doors an' ah'll hunt ya fer sport, pertty baby. "

You don't doubt him.

All you can do is gulp and hope for the best, feet rooted to the tiled ground in spite of the screaming voice that begs you to haul ass. The monster's still snickering to himself when he reaches you. You're no longer spared a hint of gentleness, as the chef grabs your arm tight and drags you to the center of the kitchen, towards one of the horrid, blood-stained chopping blocks.

You're flipped around and slammed face-first onto the wood, assaulted by the sensation of residual, cold viscera on your face. The metallic scent mingles with a woody aftertaste and you start to panic under his hand, very aware a huge cleaver lies only centimeters away from your person. Is this it? Is this the end? Is he going to cut your fucking head off?

" I'm- I'm sorry, please God- "

Your flailing, although definitely amusing to the cook, is halted when he squeezes exceptionally hard on your arm. Your limb grows numb from the sheer force, he's cutting off blood flow. A little more and he'll break your humerus, you can feel it. Getting the message, you go entirely limp, near hyperventilating.

" Easy piggy, easy- " There's a condescending pat to your head. " I'mma jus' tie ya up, 'kay? Don' make me hurt ya. " You can feel the weight of him poised on your back for a moment. " 'Cause ah'll fuckin' love it if I hav'ta. "

You whimper.

" Gonna be good for me? " He tests, already nudging your arms onto your back. You can feel the rope being weaved between them in certain patterns, movements rushed but expertly practiced. You nod rapidly, full of fear, and he hums while tying knots behind your back. One. Two. Three?! Oh, you're not making it out of this one on your own. For sure.

When the chef lets go of your bound limbs, not too tight but not too lax, you give them a test, making the shroom chuckle. " Mm, fine work if ah do say so myself. Good ta know I still got it. "

When fat fingers tug at the hem of your shorts, you can only try to focus on your breathing, shivering when the fabric is dragged down to barely hang by your knees. You still ooze remnants of your slick from prior activities, and Morell doesn't seem to miss that either, because he uses it as lube to jam a digit into you. The insertion is sudden enough to have you jump, leg jerking.

" Ey naw, don' buck at me. " The monster snorts, curling his finger and testing the waters.

You don't know why, or how, but your body warms regardless of the circumstances, walls tightening around that sole digit as if to encourage the chef. And all you can say to yourself is that it's a result of Vesper and Santi's influence. Residual effects, probably. It must be! You wouldn't be into this otherwise, right? You wouldn't find it hot that you're helpless, being molested by a gross butcher on his own filthy chopping block. No... God please no, you don't think you can face yourself after this.

The mushroom monster, oblivious or uncaring of your inner turmoil, simply forces a second finger in, without much resistance. Fuck him and his deliciously thick hands, the familiar stretching sensation sends sparks flying behind your eyelids and you close them. You're not the only one enjoying themselves it seems.

" Damn piglet, lookit that, ya needy girl. " The chef starts eagerly fingerfucking you, giggling and moaning quietly to himself when you reflexively tighten. " The Hell were you tryin' ta run if ya needed me this bad, hm? Too much pride in that lil' noggin'... " He teases, panting.

Unfortunately, no matter how hard you may want to will it into reality, closing your eyes won't simply make this unrequited pleasure fade away. It won't make you any less wet and inviting for the chef, it won't quiet down the shlick of his lurid fingerfucking that somehow manages to ring louder than the humdrum of the constant cooking around you. All that effort is rendered moot when you let out a fevered moan and flex hard around the cook's hand, wanting more.

" Hhn- Fuck yeah. "

Far too jarringly, your cunt is emptied, there's some frantic rustling behind you, a ziiiiip, you know exactly what it is that slaps onto your ass. He doesn't seem very calm.

" M- Morell. " You hope using his name will sweeten your request. " Please be gentle, please. "

" Aww. " He chuckles, stray hand reaching to tickle under your chin, the tip of his member lines up perfectly against you. There's a gentle push, and you do your best to relax, glad he's at least doing that much for you.

Tickling becomes a solid hold of your neck.

" You'd like that, wouldn' ya? "

Morell slams home with a brute strength that not only knocks the wind out of your lungs, it feels like he's shoved your guts up to your throat. It's such an intense feeling that you believe you're sick for a moment, vision blurring as you sob out a mangled cry. For a couple of seconds, you just gasp, pussy spasming and legs shaking erratically, staring straight ahead at the grayish wall.

The chef grunts and sighs loudly, canting his hips to make sure he's fully sheathed inside you, his balls tighten and he shudders in total bliss. " Fuuck, ya wanna milk me dry, don'tcha piggy? "

You really don't care for his taunts, but it's hard not to squeal when a palm strikes across your left asscheek with the fury of a thousand suns. He amuses himself with this, it appears, stroking over the sore spot while he rocks back and forth inside your pulsing walls. He seems to struggle with your tightness, and you struggle with his girth as well, the two of you locked until he thinks to torture your poor clit. " Real fuckin' tight fer someone who's been foolin' 'round with demons. "

He won't let you squirm your way out of his hard rolls, continuing the torture until you're sufficiently relaxed for Morell to establish a slow back and forth, every thrust making you dig your nails into the flesh of your own arms. " Ya oughta stay 'ere fer a while longer. This cute an' this hot? Ah can't jus' let ya out. "

You're just trying to adapt to the cook's size, but he's far too eager, not giving you enough time to adjust before he's speeding up, jostling you. A tongue tries to wet dehydrated lips, tasting nothing but smeared blood while the scent of exotic spices clogs your nostrils and his lewd panting rattles your ears.

You're sure you must have paled like the cauliflower he has laying around when the monster stops to yank that gruesome cleaver out of its groove in the wood you currently lay on. You're not sure whether to cry, scream or simply accept things as they are. Morell grabs a firm handful of your hair, pulls your head back, and allows the blunt end of the blade to flirt with your throat.

" Naw then, do me a favor- " The blade flips, pressing dangerously against frail skin as Morell starts drilling into your small figure. " An' oink fer me, piglet! "

Oh you do.

Even if you wanted to be quiet, you couldn't.

It's everything at once. The absolutely merciless pounding into your pussy, reaching deeper than it should -Why doesn't it hurt?- Dragging hellish waves of bliss through your poor overworked brain, the terror of that cleaver possibly sinking into your body, slitting your throat open so you bleed out while he happily fucks you till your dying breath, becoming nothing more than yet another ambiguous red stain in this morbid kitchen. Nothing could ever prepare you for this, so you moan, whimper and squeal like the animal he wants you to be, doing your best to hang onto anything, tears and drool cascading down your face.

You can't tell left from right anymore, shivering at every bestial noise Morell makes above, feeling his balls slap against you with every hard piston, it's really no wonder your confused body couldn't keep up, and you truly screech in the wake of your jarring orgasm, seeing dots swimming in your vision.

" Atta girl! Nice an' sloppy... "

In spite of his confident tone, Morell's rhythm falters at your clenching. And, much to your relief, he lets the cleaver fall to your side, focusing instead on using both hands to frame your head while he bends to be flush against your back. It's a humiliating position, but you've long since stopped giving a shit about dignity here. In fact, you just want to make it out of this hellish kitchen mostly in one piece.

There's not much room for thinking when he grunts like a bull into your eardrums, gasps turning into silent gasps the second he starts slamming home deep and hard. One, two, three, four and-

His deep growl shakes you from head to toe, legs kicking instinctively as his cock flexes and he fills you like an obscene bucket. It's an uncomfortable sensation that applies too much pressure everywhere, and even if you can't be sure, you think you came again from it, very briefly. The sound of cum splattering to the floor rings in your mind while you simply wait for Morell to milk the last of his orgasm so you can come down.

" Hm, didn' have this much fun in a while, piggy. " He finally mutters, massaging your hips calmly as he rises. " Gotta say, I'm real glad ya chose ta gimme your 'regards'. "

You just groan senselessly. Your legs feel like melting jelly.

You're not sure what he's about to do next, and neither of you get to know anyway, because a group of short pitch black bodies scram in through the front doors.

" Sir! Sir please, you have to help! "

" It's serious! "

" The giant snake woman swallowed Alfredo!! "

... What?

Staring vapidly at the creatures, nothing happens for a couple of static seconds. Then the cook sighs, exasperated, before sliding out of you slowly. He shushes you when you wince, patting your sore thighs before fully laying you onto the large chopping block. You can't muster the energy to care, merely laying there and hissing at the increasing discomfort from having your arms tied this long.

" Ah'll be right back, pumpkin', promise. "

The last thing you hear is stressed murmuring, a zipper sliding up and boots stomping away, another woosh signaling the doors have closed and you're now mostly alone.

Yes, finally, some peace... A smile of relief almost makes its way to your lips before your consciousness fades entirely.

...

" So this is where she's been all this time... "

" Geez, can you believe it? I bet they just threw her in here to fend for herself. "

" In all honesty, I am appalled she has lived this long. "

" She's special, can't you tell Nebul? "

" You're much too prone to theatrics. "

Distant voices lull you back to reality, tired eyes blinking open, adjusting to the lights in the kitchen once more, before appraising the two studying your curled up form. One being the waiter, and the other that guy wearing a cloak, with the strange-looking head.

" Oh here she is, hi! " The smaller one waves, smiling bright.

" You cannot stay here for long. " The other warns. " If you intend to live, that is. This floor has fallen to total calamity. "

Yeah, you bet.

" I'll take care of this, you can go back up! " Grimbly hastily cuts in.

" You misunderstand, I'm not leaving without the human. " Although monotone, even you can sense the warning implied. Not that his coworker seems to care.

" Yeah right, like that's happening. Who knows what you'll do to this poor girl, you freak. "

" It would certainly be better than becoming an impulsive vampyre's bloodbag. "

The waiter's eye twitches. " ... How fucking dare you. "

Alright, back to square one it is. You need to leave before Morell comes back, and these two don't seem like they'll reach an agreement anytime soon.

You'll have to pick again.

Sighing, exasperated,

[mwolf0epsilon]

The Umbaran Pathogen - Day 11: Paralyzed

Summary: At first, Dogma had done his best to fight off the influence of the thing that was trying to get in his head. The strange whispered promises of an utopic new era for clone-kind. One where they wouldn't have to be afraid of misstepping ever again. But unfortunately his body simply wasn't strong enough to keep it up anymore, and neither was his resolve when it came to his twin's gentle but clearly insane words.

Warning: Vomiting (kinda, it's more like spitting up silk but 10 times grosser), mind control, and overall mention of parasitic takeover (Dogma is having an awful time).

Prev / Next

[In which the events on Umbara are worsened by an unknown pathogen taking hold of both the 501st and 212th. These series of drabbles will follow a non-linear timeline based on the AI-less Whumptober prompt list for 2023.]

THIS STORY IS ALSO ON AO3

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At first, Dogma had done his best to fight off the influence of the thing that was trying to get in his head. The strange whispered promises of an utopic new era for clone-kind. One where they wouldn't have to be afraid of misstepping ever again. But unfortunately his body simply wasn't strong enough to keep it up anymore, and neither was his resolve when it came to his twin's gentle but clearly insane words.

The sergeant had known from the start that whatever had caused his twin's rash, should not have gone ignored for as long as the latter had permitted. Had even tried to ask the medics for help with his own rash, despite the thing in the back of his neck clearly not wanting him to bring attention to the matter.

The foggy memory, the inexplicable feelings of calm and contentedness at the thought of just letting things progress...

Those had all been the attempts the horrid creature had employed to lure him into a false sense of security. A trick which had apparently worked on Tup and made him into... Someone Dogma could barely recognize anymore...

After all, the Tup he knew and loved would never be doing this. Looming over his feverish form in the middle of the Umbara wilderness, spitting up thick yellowish gunk into his bare hands and spreading it over Dogma's blighted skin. Staring with that loving smile of his, pupils blown wide enough that his eyes looked as dark as the void itself, a trail of that same yellow ooze going down his chin as he reached for Dogma's face. Stroking it with reverent delight and leaving repugnant hand-prints in his wake.

Were he not completely paralyzed by both pain and whatever poison the parasite was injecting into him now, the sergeant would have recoiled in absolute disgust.

"It's ok M'ika... It'll stop hurting soon." Tup murmured gently, leaning down even further to brush his nose against Dogma's painfully itchy neck. The fragile raw skin breaking from the contact, revealing more of those blackened scales he'd found on every open wound that cropped up on his battered and sickly body. "You're going to be so strong."

His twin pulled away slightly, but kept his head bowed as he prepared to spit up more of that gross crap directly onto his shivering body. The smell was sickening. The sensation even more so. And Dogma couldn't help but to openly weep as Tup continued to envelop him in this cocoon of sorts. Swaddling him tightly in layers of unidentified fluids that shouldn't even be coming out of a human, much less his closest brother.

Something told him that once he was fully encapsulated, he wouldn't be emerging the same. That he'd be something new and horrifying and entirely not himself.

The thing in his neck practically sang with joy (and all sorts of other emotions he didn't particularly want to unpack) whenever it was around Tup specifically. It recognizing his twin's own parasite as its leader. Trying to make Dogma yield to it in the same way it did. And maybe once he underwent whatever metamorphosis awaited him, he might. Especially considering how it sent pulse after pulse of elation as he was cocooned. Gleeful at how close to full take-over it likely was.

There was only ever so much Dogma could have fought back before this sickness finally overwhelmed him... He was only mortal after all.

"Don't cry... Shhh, I'm right here vod'ika." Tup brushed his tears away with his disgustingly slimy fingers. "You're evolving M'ika. You're becoming so much more than we were ever allowed to be... And once you come out as your new self, you'll be able to help me spread this gift with everyone else."

More and more of the sticky substance was added to the growing and hardening shell Tup was constructing around him. Despite the grossness, it seemed to at least sooth the uncomfortable itch and pain that had been plaguing him for a while. Numbing him completely to it. Pushing away the agony that had caused him to collapse in the first place. The agony he'd had to grin and bare with for the last couple of days.

The cream the medics had given him hadn't even done that. Offered him any sort of relief. But then he should have expected that. They hadn't been particularly fussed with his concerns...

At least Tup was being kinder. Gentler. Even in the state he was now in. In spite of everything, his ori'vod still loved him.

And maybe this was just his brain finally giving up the ghost and letting the parasite win, but he couldn't help but smile as Tup continued to murmur and comfort him. Soothing away the terror, the pain, the need to worry about what might happen next if he and Tup spread this to everyone else. What that might mean for the GAR and the Republic itself.

All of it faded away into the back of his mind. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if they both went insane together.

At the very least they'd both be happy.

[ghostypetrainer]

i don’t know if someone else has had this idea yet, but… lord zoroark au, except emmet gets dropped into hisui (amnesia and all) a little before the player character, and somehow ends up as lord zoroark’s warden. all around a lot of ‘hmm this zoroark sounds very familiar’.

elesa has to try to explain why she’s accompanied by someone who looks so much like the newest warden.

Can you imagine Ingo's initial panic when Irida first introduces him to his new Warden, because that's his wholeass brother. Except... Emmet has apparently lost his memories? Okay. That's. hm. He can't say it's really a good thing that his brother has amnesia... but he'd be lying if he said it wasn't a little convenient. He probably avoids Emmet for a little while anyways, until Emmet nearly gets hurt trying to follow because that's his duty as a Warden! And then he just hangs around him more, because he really did miss his brother, and the odds that he'll recognize him like this when he a.) has amnesia and b.) only ever saw him in this form once briefly are overall pretty low!

Meanwhile Emmet does feel like something about this Zoroark is verrry familiar, which is strange because he feels rather certain that the type of Zoroark that Lord Zoroark is is totally different than what he had back home! Even if he does not remember where home is! He just knows that he likes spending time with his Noble Lord verrry much!

And yeah, Elesa arriving in Hisui with Ingo's body in tow, because she still made the pact with Arceus except its to find both twins this time. She sort of naturally assumes that they've probably found each other already since they've been in the same place for a few years, so when Commander Kamado and Professor Laventon express surprise at Ingo's face, she asks them if they've seen a man who has a matching one, and they promptly direct her to Warden Emmet.

Who is in charge of Lord Zoroark.

Who is a 10 foot Alpha Zoroark whose patterns and markings match the one form the video footage of Ingo getting exposed that she watched over and over again.

Who panics when he sees her.

But Emmet does not, because Emmet has amnesia, and doesn't realize Lord Zoroark is his literal twin brother. Because Ingo hasn't told him. Because Ingo has been avoiding this conversation for years.

Ingo is in soooo much trouble, lmao.

[horizon-verizon]

Reasons Why the Rhaenys-Alicent scene of S1E9 was Stupid

🔗LINK to Variety Article

Disclaimer(s): 

This post is edited from its original.

This is not against Eve Best or Olivia Cooke. In the article above, the latter is explaining how she sees Alicent and what she's interpreting.This is about how weak, how bad the overall writing and (here) Alicent/Rhaenys' characterization is. Because that’s the fault of the HotD creators.

Explanation

Watching the episode, I believed that the writers meant for Rhaenys to feel Alicent out for how far she would really go for power when she said, “And yet you toil still in service to men. Your father, your husband, your son. You desire not to be free, but to make a window in the wall of your prison. Have you never imagined yourself... on the Iron Throne?”

But these are reasons why, if Rhaenys wasn’t just mocking Alicent because she felt like it and was angry at her imprisonment, her words to her is a minimization of her intellect the writers made:

Rhaenys should have never been in King’s Landing anyway. Why is she still there after Rhaenyra and Daemon and all their kids left, including Baela and Rhaena, the only ones she showed herself actively looking out for? The girls would want to say their goodbyes, or just see Rhaenys. Thus, Rhaenys would know the blacks were leaving and would have left with them. She has no reason to stay if she did know the Daemona nd Rhaenyra were leaving?!

We’ve already have seen Alicent submit again and again herself to the irrational or self-serving men around her. We have no real expectation she would want the throne, as Olivia Cooke says. So what kind of tension did they want to create here? She has decided to seat Aegon despite neither liking him (liking and loving a person can be different) and thinking him unfit for kingship--just because she thinks that Viserys finally wanted him as king. Yet she's been fighting against Rhaenyra to not inherit because of how she acts against convention and the “good” rules, right? Or is she just mad at her for not recognizing how her actions make Alicent look pathetic for submitting herself all her life? Probably the latter, since she has forgiven Rhaenyra after an aPoLoGy, which comes right after Viserys demands that the factions get along and reveals his rotting face. As if everyone didn’t already know he was rotting. And she submits to Larys’ demands for feet-looksies as if she doesn’t have the means of threatening him as the ruling Queen Dowager then. Alicent says to Rhaenys, “We do not rule but we may guide the men that do. Gently, away from violence and sure destruction and instead toward peace.”

And as Cooke points out, she’s a Hightower with no claim at all to the throne and mother to the past king’s living male children. If Alicent were to try being Queen Regnant all for herself, she’d be seen as stealing her kids’ rights and receive immediate military backlash form most of the lords.   No, no one would accept Otto as their king and even Targaryen illegitimate offspring would have more of a claim. A Queen Consort whose mother was a princess might use that as a claim, but not a woman from a house that in no way, ever could claim kinship to the royal house could never hope to try for the throne without EVERY single house shouting usurper. There’s boldness, and then there’s stupidity. And this is case where there is no ambivalence.

If Rhaenys was made to kill a bunch of smallfolk, and we know later that Alicent brings Meleys' head to display throughout many streets of KL to those small folk, would that not twist the story into a sense that Rhaenys' death was deserved? That Alicent's actions and the greens are heroic and altruistic, caring for the smallfolk? Funny, because right after Alicent does this, the smallfolk immediately try to leave KL in droves! Kinda negates the whole "wisdom" that we're supposed to believe in Alicent, huh?

*EDIT* 8/29/23 -- We're told that Rhaenys is this intelligent "feminist" woman but she, like Alicent, often engages in actions and events merely because her husband wants it: marrying off 12-yr Laena off to a 30+ old man; Baela being made a ward of Driftmark instead of the heir (this is about Hotd's worldbuilding, not the actual logic of medievalist politics or the canon/original world; etc. Yes, the writing is telling us she is criticizing Alicent for buying in or complying with the patriarchal desires of the men around her, but HotDRhaneys does the same so the show really vacuums out any nuance Rhaenys can have by giving us clashing messages about her. Why does Rhaenys not even vocally protest and we are expected to see her as "strong"? *END OF EDIT*

...And why would Rhaenys even bother, when she knows the deal?! 

It’s all so shallow and hollow, while taking away the intellect, emotional layers, and drive for self gain of its characters.

Written Down Dialogue of Scene (I welcome corrections)

A: I came here to ask your support.

R: Well, I must credit you for your boldness.

A: House Velaryon has long allied itself with the Princess Rhaenyra and what has it gained you? Your daughter dead... alone in Pentos. Your son cuckolded. Rhaenyra's heirs are none of yours. It is your husband who grasps so heedlessly for the throne. And even he has abandoned you: gone these six long years to fight a desperate battle, returning grievously, if not mortally, wounded, leaving the Lady of Driftmark to chart her course alone.

R: The word of my house is not fickle.

A: No. But, dear cousin... you more than any soul alive understand what I say now. Princess Rhaenys, I loved my husband, but I will speak the truth we both know. You should've been queen.

R: I little thought to hear those words from you.

A: The Iron Throne was yours by blood and by temperament. Viserys would've lived his days a country lord, content to hunt and study his histories, but... here we are. We do not rule but we may guide the men that do. Gently... away from violence and sure destruction and instead toward peace.

R: Is it in the name of peace that you've imprisoned me? And what of my dragon?

A: If we are overmatched, Rhaenyra will be tempted to strike us, and war will ensue. Without your dragon, she may be persuaded to negotiate. If it's Driftmark you want, you shall have it for you and your granddaughters to pass on as you see fit.

R: You are wiser than I believed you to be... Alicent Hightower. A true queen counts the cost to her people. And yet you toil still in service to men. Your father, your husband, your son. You desire not to be free, but to make a window in the wall of your prison. Have you never imagined yourself... on the Iron Throne?

[i-cant-sing]

I know requests are closed so this isn’t a request I just had an idea based off an ask you got about hawks and the Todoroki clan. What if the reader escaped from yandere Todoroki clan (Dabi scared the reader/took it too far with the threats, or because endeavor and the brothers had a fight and the reader got scared)and they ran into hawks, crying and panicked thinking that he would help. But hawks recognizes them from the pictures in endeavors desk and offers them a lift to somewhere safe. Only for hawks to fly the reader back to the Todoroki estate where the whole family is waiting for them.

The reader feels hurt and betrayed and everyone is angry, but hawks being hawks tries to diffuse the situation by saying,”stop scaring the poor kid. They came to me scared out of their mind, but being the outstanding godfather that I am, I made sure to bring them back safely.” (Or something like that)

And endeavor just accepts that hawks claimed himself as the readers godfather, and tells the reader to get inside and to clean up.

So now hawks takes it upon himself to hang around the estate more to fulfill his “godfather” duties, spoiling the reader as much as he can.

Yandere Godfather Hawks x Todoroki clan reader

I was going to write boyfriend Hawks, instead of Godfather Hawks but this was just too good. I kinda thought that the age gap between Hawks and reader would be too much so maybe Godfather would be a better role for him, but the chaos that would follow if they find him dating reader would be just *chef's kiss*. I think I just might write bf Hawks too. Let me know what you guys think.

Anyways, enjoy!

Check out my MASTERLIST here!

Yandere Hawks:

You didn't know how long you had been running for. You didn't know how far you had gotten away from their house. You didn't even know where you were going, to be honest. But you did know that you had to get away from there as far as you could.

Sure, you only had a few hours headstart. But for them, the most powerful family in Japan, this wasn’t enough time for you. 

You had planned your escape with their schedule in mind.

Enji would come home from his office at 9pm; he used to return at 11, but ever since you were kidnapped adopted by them, he tries to come home early.

Natsuo had already visited you during the day. He habitually comes after his shift at the hospital. Once he would check you over for any injuries and be satisfied with your overall health, he would join you, Rei and Fuyumi for a quick lunch before leaving.

Usually, you would spend the day with Rei, Fuyumi and Shotou, then Enji would come by the time dinner was served. And once everyone went to sleep, Dabi would come to visit you around 2 am. He would tap on your window and disturb you from your sleep, but its not like you have any engagements in the morning anyways. Once you would let him in, he would talk to you and maybe watch a movie too. If he's pissed, he might "accidentally" leave a burn mark on your arm (and you've tried asking your family for help, but they wouldn't do anything. Natsuo would just bandage you up, while Shotou would comfort you. Besides, you've learned not to snitch on Dabi because he would even get angrier than before.)

That was your routine ever since they had took you, almost 7 months ago. Well, they had actually adopted you an year ago, and everything was going well. But then you started noticing their odd behaviour. You thought they were just being protective of you at first, but as time went on, their obsessive tendencies and no regard for your personal boundaries started weirding you out.

Then one day, they just stopped letting you out of the house. No matter how much you cried, begged or fought, they just wouldn't let you go outside, telling that you its for your own good.

At first, they would use cuffs to keep you bound since you fought so much. But then you started behaving, and they slowly started trusting you more and stopped putting on the restraints.

What they didn't know was that you were just biding your time, waiting for the perfect opportunity to escape. Like today.

Shotou had to go to his friend's house to work on a school project, so he wasn't able to join you at lunch today and would be coming home late.

After lunch, once Natsuo had left, you asked Fuyumi if she could go to the mall and buy you some books. You had been complaining to her about your boredom for quite sometime now, so she agreed and left to go shop for you.

So that only left you with Rei in the house. And while she had a weaker quirk than the rest of the family, your quirkless self was no match for her either.

But she was easier to fool. You told Rei that you were going to take a nap in your room and to call you when dinner was ready. Rei nodded before going to the kitchen to start preparing for dinner.

You went to your room and opened the window to get out. It used to be bolted shut but after months of working on it slowly but stealthily, you had managed to pop it open. It was 6, and you were sure Fuyumi and Shotou would be coming home by 7, so without having anytime to pack, you ran.

It was stupid. You should've at least gotten your coat and shoes on, but there was no guarantee a chance like this would appear again, so you left without them.

You kind of regret it now, as you winced in pain at all the rocks and twigs pressing into your bare feet. You shivered in the cold, which didn't bother you at first because of the adrenaline pumping through your veins, but now as you slid against a dumpster in an alley to give a break to your legs, you wished Rei could've given you some proper clothes, instead of the light, pastel pink dress. In her defence, the house was centrally heated during winters so you didn't really need warm clothes inside the house. But now, looking at the dark clouds forming in the sky, you wished she could've at least given you a sweater.

It had soon started raining, and the wind had picked up as well. Shivering, you decided to stay put by the dumpster and wait until it stopped. It would be easier for them to find you if you ran now because the streets will be empty because of the rain. And its not like you could go to a police station either. How will you explain to them that the no.1 hero had kidnapped you?

Sighing, you closed your eyes. You just have to vanish from their eyes until they give up on you, or at least find someone else to replace you.

Hawks was flying home when it had begun raining. Tutting, he flew back to the ground to walk his way home. It was dangerous to fly during the rain; his feathers would get heavy and weigh him down.

As he was walking, whistling to himself, he heard someone whimper in the alley to his left. He walked in the dark alley, bracing himself for any sudden movements. The little whimpers came from near the dumpster. The alley had no light, so he couldn't see much. He walked closer to the source of whimpers and he could make out a silhouette of a shivering girl, who was completely drenched. Her eyes were closed so she hadn't noticed Hawks yet.

He took a step closer. "Hey. You okay?" As soon Hawks voice reached her ears, she snapped her eyes open and backed away from him. Hawks backed up a bit, raising his hands in surrender. "Its okay. I'm a hero." He said, calmly.

Once she seemed recognise him, or at least realise he wasn't dangerous, she relaxed a bit. "What are you doing in the rain?"he asked. She paused for a bit, before replying in a tiny voice,"none of your business." Hawks smiled. "It kinda is. Now you can either tell me, or I can take you to the cops and you can tell them. What's it gonna be?"

Your breath hitched at his question. If he takes you to the cops, Enji will surely find you, and the punishment that will be waiting for you...you didn't even want to think about it. "I'm just...running." you mumbled, hoping he would leave you alone. "From who?" When you didn't reply, he sighed. "Okay. Can you tell me why you're running?"

You thought for a bit. Would he believe if you told him the truth? You knew he was close friends with Enji and you heard from Enji that he was very loyal to him, so you doubted that he would believe you if you told him the no. 1 hero had been holding you hostage for 7 months. But maybe he could help you. If you just tell him that someone's after you, then maybe he could drop you off somewhere safe?

Gulping, you answered. "I- I was kidnapped. And they've probably noticed that I'm missing now and- and I need to hide before they can find me. I can't, I can't go back there-" your voice broke down as you slowly started crying.

Hawks's eyes widened as he heard you confess. He hugged you, rubbing your back soothingly. "Shh, its okay. I'm here now. Tell me who it is." You shook your head no. "Don’t be afraid. I'll keep you safe. Just tell me who-" "No!"you cut him off, realising that you would be putting his life in danger if you told him the truth. The Todorokis have done it before, with your old family and friends; you have no doubt that they will do it again.

Hawks was taken aback by your outburst. Who were you so afraid of? Was it a crazy ex? Or a family member? Maybe you had gotten in trouble with the wrong crowd? Whoever it was, fear was evident in your voice. He had to help you.

"Okay. I'm sorry. How about we get out of the rain? Maybe to a cafe, where we can get a coffee to warm ourselves up?" He asked you again, trying to look at your face in the dark. You shook your head again, before speaking. "Could you- could you just get me out of this city? Or at least as far away from here as possible?"

Who were you so scared of that you wanted to leave the city? He could investigate that later, but first he needed to get you out of the rain. 

He nodded. "Alright. It should stop raining anytime now, so I can't fly you out right now. How about we walk to my apartment and warm ourselves and then, I could take you anywhere you want?"

This was the best you were going to get. You know you need to leave the city right now, but he was your only chance of leaving. So you agreed. Hawks smiled at that. "Can you walk?"he asked you. You nodded, but as soon as you took a step, you yelped in pain, almost falling down. Thankfully, Hakws was near to catch you. He laughed. Noticing your chattering teeth, he gave you his jacket. "You're going to catch a cold." Once you had worn his big, warm jacket, he lifted you up into his arms and started walking out of the alley and towards his home.

As he got out of the alley, the street lights finally illuminated your face.

You looked familiar, like he'd seen you before, but he can't seem to remember where he saw you. His eyes scanned your face. Your brows were furrowed in worry, and you kept looking over his shoulder. You looked scared, almost like a child. Looking down, he noticed your pink dress was completely ruined. He moved his gaze to your feet. They were bleeding, due to the stones, twigs and broken glass that had pierced them. Your legs had tiny burns, some had faded, others looked still fresh.

Were you being abused? Is that why you're running? He wanted to ask you these questions but he knew he had to wait for you to open up.

"Thank you."your tiny voice brought him back to reality. Hawks gave his famous heroic smile. "No problem." You gave a tiny smile of your own. It was kind. "Why do you keep looking back?"he asked you. Your eyes widened slightly, looking like a kid who got caught stealing cookies. "Are you worried about them taking you away again?"he asked, not really sure who he was referring to. You started tearing up again. Your lips wobbled as you slowly nodded your head. He stopped walking, causing you to look up to him. "Its okay. I promise I'll never let anyone hurt you again. I promise." His voice held such sincerity, you started crying into his chest as you kept on thanking him.

Hawks meant every word. He's going to make sure nobody ever lays a finger on you. How could anyone harm such a sweet thing like you?

He rubbed your shoulder with one hand to calm you down. Once you had stopped crying, he spoke again. "Hey, look. It stopped raining." You looked up and he was right; the sky had cleared up. "Well, are you ready to fly?" You smiled slightly before nodding. He told you to hold on to him tightly, and you buried your face into his chest before he took off.

Once you guys were in the air, Hawks told you to open your eyes. You did and the view was breathtaking. Tall buildings and sky scrapers were all over the city, and tiny lights from cars and street lamps looked like stars. It looked like a scene from an anime. Really pretty.

"Wow."you finally said. Hawks chuckled at that. Your looked like you just saw Santa. So adorable.

"I'm glad you like it."he said, as he started flying towards his home. You smiled. "Hey! You never told me your name."he said, mocking fake surprise.

You giggled at that. "I'm Y/n."

And just like that, Hawks finally remembered where he had seen you.

A year ago Endeavour had asked him to find everything he can on this one particular girl. Hawks thought that maybe you were linked to some case, but your records were clean, so he thought that maybe Enji was just looking for someone for Shotou. Hawks thought it was weird when you suddenly disappeared from the public eye a month later. He tried to ask Enji about you but he would just brush him off, telling him he had mistook you for someone else. It was odd, but Hawks eventually let go of it.

Wait. Does that mean Enji had been hurting you? No, that can't be it. Enji had been working with him on a lot of missions abroad, and the burn marks on your legs were rather fresh. 

"Whats wrong?"your soft voice brought him out of his thoughts. "Hmm? Oh nothing. Why do you ask?"Hawks faked a smile. You stared at him. Something was off. "Nothing. Its just you were lost in your thoughts, I guess."

Hawks laughed at that. "You’re really observant, aren't you?" Deciding to test out his theory, he continued. "Well, you're right. I was thinking about a work colleague. You might've heard of him. Endeavour, hm?"

At the sound of his name, you stiffened, confirming his suspicion. You were connected to him somehow. Hawks didn't know how, but he was going to figure it out. "Um, y-yeah. He's the no.1 h- hero, right?"the fear in your voice had returned, although you were trying hard to hide it.

Hawks nodded. "Yeah!" He had to find out how you were linked to Enji. Suddenly, he turned around and started flying back where you guys had started.

"W-what are you doing? Why are we going back?"you asked him. He looked down at you and replied, "we need to get bandages for your wounds. Otherwise your feet will get infected." You nodded. "Oh. Okay." With that you closed your eyes to prevent them from drying against the wind.

After maybe half an hour or so, you opened your eyes to look where you guys were flying to. You looked down and to your horror, saw a familiar house coming up. You looked at Hawks and he seemed to know what you were thinking. "We're going down there."he nodded his head towards the Todoroki estate. Your eyes grew wide, and your body started trembling. "No! No! We- we can't! We can't go there!" You started shaking your head. "And why not?"Hawks stopped flying towards the estate, simply flapping his wings to remain in the air. You just shook your head. "We can't. I can't. Just drop me off somewhere else. I'll be fine on my own." Hawks wanted to know the real reason. He frowned. "Tell me the truth right now or I'll take you down there this instant."

You gulped, his eyes were showing that he wasn't bluffing. Your eyes started to glisten with unshed tears as you finally told him the truth. You told him everything; about how Enji had kidnapped you, how he got rid of your real family, how he and Rei had tried to keep you a secret from everyone, how their kids found out about you but instead of helping you out, became attached to you just like their parents, about how the famous villian Dabi was Enji's son and how he would sometimes burn you. By the time you were done, tears were flowing down your cheeks as Hawks tried to process what you had just confessed to him.

"Do you trust me?"he suddenly asked you. You looked at him confused. "What?" He repeated again. "Do you trust me?" Did you? Honestly, not that much, but he was the only one who was going to help you so you slowly nodded. "Yes?" Not really sure of it yourself but Hawks accepted the answer anyways. "Good." As soon as he said that, he started flying again, towards the house. You started thrashing in his arms again. "No! You said you wouldn't take me back here! You said you wouldn't!"you were full on sobbing against him, trying to wring yourself free from his vice grip, but Hawks was neither listening nor relenting his tight hold on you.

You looked down and that's when you saw them. Enji, Rei, all of them, were standing in the garden looking at you and Hawks. Even Dabi was there. Rei must've panicked and called everyone. And from the look on his- everyone's face, you could tell you were in deep trouble.

You thrashed in Hawks arms, begging him to fly away, but he didn't listen to you at all.

Once you reached the ground, you didn't pull your head out of Hawk's chest. You don't want to see their rage or the punishments they have planned for you.

"Hey, Endeavour!" Hawks broke the silence first. "Mrs Todoroki. Kids." He nodded towards them. "Hawks. Who do you have there?"Enji asked, pretending as if he doesn't know you. Hawks laughed. "You don't have to pretend! I know everything." At this, Dabi activated his quirk, ready to cremate him but was stopped by Shotou.

Thinking that this was some sort of blackmail, Enji asked, "What do you want? Money?"

Hawks smirked. "Nope! Look, I know you kidnapped her and all but you are providing her a good life, right?" He paused to look at them. Everyone nodded. He continued. "And you're just keeping her home to protect her from harm?" Again, everyone nodded. "But she still managed to escape you all even though she's quirkless and you all are not."

"Get to the fucking point."Dabi said impatiently.

Hawks sighed. "Clearly, you need all the help you can get. You need me. I can help you help her keep safe and healthy!" He paused, before his eyes lit up. "I can't have my goddaughter getting hurt again." Everyone looked at him weirdly. Goddaughter?

"How about you hand her over and you'll still be able to fly." Dabi threatened, blue flames engulfing his hands. Hawks laughed again. He was right. It wasn't Enji who giving you those nasty burns, it was Dabi. "If something happens to me, I have enough evidence gathered against you" he pointed to Dabi, "and then cops will get involved and maybe take away Y/n away."

The threat of someone taking you away from them, made their heart drop. Rei, who had been previously sobbing, put a hand on Dabi's shoulder, telling him to calm down.

Hawks grinned at Enji, raising his eyebrows. "So what will it be, Endeavour?"

Enji understood the ultimatum Hawks was giving him. Either let him in the family or risk losing you to the authorities. And he knew Hawks wasn't one to make empty threats.

Enji's eyes snapped to you. You were trying to bury yourself into Hawks chest, trying to hide from them. He wasn't that mad at you for running, more worried if anything. Had his family really spooked you that much? He'll have to worry about that later. First he needs to get you back into his and Rei's arms.

Enji sighed, before nodding. "Fine. We'll do it your way."

Hawks beamed at that. "Great!" He was glad that Enji had accepted. "Now, you need to take Y/n in before she catches a cold; although I'm certain she already has. Oh and tend to her bloody feet too! Poor thing was just running around barefoot." He chuckled. Shotou moved forward to take you from Hawks but you clung tightly to Hawks shoulders.

"Please. Please. Just take me out of here. Please." You whispered to him, fresh tears pricking your eyes now.

You looked so scared. Your eyes were saucer wide, nose red from cold and cheeks flush. Fear. That was were you emitting. But the longer he looked at your face, he found something else too. Hope. Innocence. Naivety. And while fear was the predominant emotion, the latter were the ones that he wanted to protect. "Hawks." Enji's voice broke him out from his trance. Hawks smiled. Addressing you, he started rubbing soothing circles to your back. "Hey. Hey. Its okay, princess." You kept on crying, your eyes begging him to whisk you away anywhere but here. You looked so much like him when he was little. So afraid. "Listen, do you remember what I promised you?" You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. You're so endearing. "I promised you that I'll never let anyone hurt you again, didn't I?" You nodded slowly. "I intent on keep that promise, dove. Infact I'll talk to your dad tonight! But you need to go in and take warm bath. I don't want you getting sick, okay?"

You had seemed to calm down as you slowly nodded and let him hand you over to Shotou, who quickly ushered you in, with Natsuo, Rei and Fuyumi quickly following behind, leaving Hawks with Dabi and Enji.

"Lets go to your office, Endeavour! I have to go over some details as Y/n's new godfather." Enji nodded and went inside to go to his home office. Hawks was about to follow but was stopped by Dabi. "What game are you playing, you freak?" 

Hawks chuckled, before swiftly pulling out a very sharp feather and pressing it against Dabi's jugular. "I'm just here to make sure that no one hurts Y/n again. And if I see another scorch mark on her, I'll find you and carve your skin into ribbons."

I will be accepting requests and asks for godfather hawks and Todoroki clan!

Oh and don't worry, I'm working on part 2 of rei hurting the reader. It'll be done soon! :)

[boreal-sea]

I know everyone who follows me on Tumblr is cool, but I've seen some buckwild takes on twitter (mostly from people who are extremely anti-Izzy, yes, it's a thing, there's been a lot of drama, a lawsuit, and doxxing involved)

ANYWAY

I've seen some folks claiming that Stede is a horrible person for abandoning Edward... and in the same breath, they place all the blame for Edward embodying the Kraken at the end of the season on Izzy.

Both situations were trauma-induced reactions. But in one situation, the person is blamed for their actions, and in the other, he's excused.

Personally, I think it shows a severe misunderstanding of how trauma works, and a disconcerting lack of respect for people who react to "fight or flight" with flight instead of fight. There is of course actually four options: fight, flight, freeze, fawn.

I've seen this reaction in other fandoms too: people really cannot wrap their heads around anxiety, trauma, and fear causing a character to flee a situation if it results in someone else being harmed. I recognize it immediately, as someone who also has an anxiety disorder.

In Yuuri on Ice (stay with me), Yuuri has an anxious break down near the end of the series. He decides that the best way to "fix" the situation is to "run away" by breaking everything off with Victor. Yuuri very much has a low sense of self-worth and views himself as bringing Victor down, and preventing Victor from skating.

In OFMD, Stede has an anxious break down near the end of the season. He decides in a moment of utterly traumatic panic that the best way to "fix" the situation is to run away back home. Stede very much has a low sense of self-worth and views himself as bringing Edward down and is accused more than once of "bringing the greatest pirate ever to ruin".

You can see the similarities. I think I deserve a reward for comparing Yuuri on Ice to OFMD.

Anyway, in both cases, I saw a lot of fans expressing zero understanding, empathy, sympathy or compassion for either Yuuri or Stede.

"Oh my god, he's so cruel, how could he do that!? He needs to apologize on his knees! He doesn't deserve to be taken back!"

But let's look at Edward: he's also facing trauma: he was left behind by Stede, and then Izzy comes along and in his attempt to snap some sense into Edward, he makes it worse.

But Edward doesn't flee.

Edward's response is, in my opinion, a combination of fight and fawn. He becomes the Kraken both to literally fight, and also to appease Izzy, to scare people into believing he is who they want him to be. It's a very aggressive form of fawning, but he's not doing it for himself, he's doing it to make other people happy. He's becoming who he thinks they want him to be: the Kraken. It is, in its own way, a form of flight too, because he's retreating inside himself and putting up a persona to hide behind, but I think people don't always catch on to that form of flight.

And the people out there blaming Stede for his reactions don't blame Edward, they blame Izzy! "It's Izzy's fault! He did this!"

So Stede gets to keep his agency, but Edward doesn't. Edward is a victim, but Stede isn't.

And that's not even getting into how Izzy's actions are in and of themselves a response to him being genuinely worried for Edward's mental and physical well-being. He even tries to send in Lucius first before resorting to threats. He tries to do things the gentle and kind way.

All of the characters are reacting to everything and it's a big clusterfuck of feelings, but some folks don't like things to be complicated, so they have to pick aggressors and victims, and somehow, those folks decided Stede and Izzy were to blame, and Edward has no control or agency over his decisions.

And I think people just overall have more respect for people, fictional and real, who react to panic and trauma with "fight" instead of "flight". Which is a damn shame. I'm not sure if ableist is the right word here, but it feels derogatory in some way.

[byunbaekby]

title — a clouded fate pairing — badboy!mark lee x female reader featuring — lucas wong/wong yukhei, johnny seo, lee taeyong, nakamoto yuta (mentioned), lee donghyuck (mentioned) word count — 17.2k   overall warnings — extreme drug use, drug dealing, alcohol use, language, religion, addiction, drug overdose, vomiting, one explicit smut scene smut warnings — fingering, protected sex (stay safe, always!), high sex, corruption kink for like 0.2 seconds, degradation collab — bad boy bingo collab, link here lyrics inspiration — “call it quits, call it destiny.” bruno major, easily ; “gotta stay high all the time, to keep you off my mind.” tove lo, habits writing playlist  — link here

author’s message — oh my gosh, it’s finally here! this has been a work in progress basically ever since early summer, when i started writing on this blog. this is one of my favorite pieces i’ve ever written, but not because writing it came easy to me; quite the opposite. i scrapped and rewrote this three times, consulted many people for their opinions because i simply didn’t think that it was good. a few thank you’s: my babe @jensungf​ for reading the first draft when it was at barely 5k, the lovely @ncteaxhoe​ for reading it at 7k and also the night i finished it, @taempteng​ the writing god for proofing it for me, and my amazing @starlit-jeno​ for getting me through everything. also thank you @legendnct​ for hosting this collab! it’s finally at a place where i am happy and very very proud of what i’ve written. i hope you all read and enjoy!

—DAY ONE.

The ice cold water thrown over him shocks Mark awake from his post-high sleep. 

“What the hell, man?” He exclaims, wiping the water from his face as he sits up in his bed, soaked t-shirt sticking to the curve of his clavicles. His eyes meet the source of the intrusion: his roommate and best friend Lucas, holding a now empty pitcher. 

“Dude. It’s past noon. Wake up.”

Lucas’ passive words only make Mark furrow his eyebrows in annoyance. “Shut the fuck up bitch, I’m awake.” 

“Someone’s feisty today.” Lucas retorts, tossing Mark a towel as he swings his legs over the bed. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he recognizes his best friend’s chastising tone in his diluted ears. “When did you get back last night? What were you doing?”

“Calm down,” Mark groans, the volume of Lucas’ voice beginning to hurt his head. Running a hand through his now wet hair, he responds, “I was smoking with Yuta. Got back around three in the morning.” 

“Yuta,” mumbles Lucas. “You know, I don’t like him. You’re always with him, getting high or something. Exams start soon, and you’re not planning to study at all? You’ve been high every day for what, like, the past two weeks?” 

This early morning lecture is enough to cause Mark’s irritation to spike. Since when is Lucas so nitpicky? Last time he checked, Lucas enjoys partying just as much as he does. Sometimes, even more than Mark himself. “Fuck, are you my roommate or my mom?”

“I’m your best friend, is what I am. I’m worried about you. All you do is party, get high, and sleep. When was the last time you even ate?” Before Mark can even think back to answer that, Lucas continues, “You’ve been like this since you broke up with Y/N, and—”

Mark cuts him off. “Don’t say her name.”

“You’re hurting, Mark. And this isn’t the right way to handle it.”

“Oh, so you take one psychology course and you think you’re an expert or something,” Mark scoffs.

This seems to stunt his roommate for a second, before he sighs looking down at the image of his best friend sitting on the edge of his bed, gaunt eyes and all. The last time he saw his friend looking so pitiful was when his dad had passed. “I’m just worried about you. You should let me be, sometimes,” replies Lucas quietly. 

“I’m an adult,” says Mark, which causes Lucas to scoff and respond, “Then act like one.” Annoyed, Mark stands and instead takes a seat at his desk chair. 

The taller male speaks up once again, starting to tear off Mark’s bed sheets that are now wet. “You need to stop. This isn’t good for you. Stop the drugs and tell Johnny you’re done. Study for your finals. Get your act together, stop acting like an idiot, and go get her back.”

When he finishes stripping the sheets and looks up, Mark’s head is in his hands. “It’s not that easy.” 

“You love her.”

“But that doesn’t mean we’re meant to be together,” Mark finally says as he looks up, voice raised in frustration at both the situation and the fact that his best friend is calling him out for it. “We can’t be together,” he declares. “I’m only going to ruin her. She’s good. I’m bad. She has a future. I don’t. She’s everything I’m not and I can’t mess it up for her. Not after... Not after—” Lucas cuts his friend off, sensing that he’s about to start hyperventilating. 

“I know. What happened, you can’t change it. It was your fault. But don’t say you’re not meant to be together. Nothing’s going to change the past. You broke up. But nothing’s going to bring you back together but yourself.” 

Mark stares at Lucas with tired, red-rimmed eyes, wondering when his tall goofy friend had grown so much. Has everything around him changed, matured, while he stayed the same?

“How do I do that?” He finally relents.

“Make yourself good enough for her. Start with the drugs. Stop doing them.” 

He knows the truth in that statement, but doesn’t want to acknowledge it. It’s a lot easier said than done. With no words to say, Mark stands and starts to walk past his friend toward the bathroom. On the way out, he accidentally kicks his guitar, on the floor propped on the wall. “Fuck,” he curses, looking down at the old wooden thing. 

Lucas follows him out as he leaves the room, and Mark steps into the bathroom. Opening the mirror cabinet, he pulls out his prescription bottle which shakes with noise. Silently he pops a pill into his mouth and swallows it with a handful of tap water. It’s probably a bad idea on an empty stomach, but he’ll eat whatever Lucas is making right after. 

“That includes the Xanax, Mark!” Lucas’ voice calls from the kitchen. 

“Baby steps,” he responds, staring endlessly into the pitiful character watching him in the mirror. 

—THE FIRST NIGHT

It isn’t his first party, but it’s his first college party. There’s a big difference.

The scale is larger, the alcohol more plentiful. And more importantly, the shame of being under the influence is nonexistent. His ziploc of kush feels heavy in his pocket, but he knows he’ll feel lighter with its effect later on. School’s only been in session a week, yet Mark’s already decided he likes university more than high school.

He hasn’t smoked yet, but clearly others have, from the haze wafting from room to room. The music is loud, the air is musty, and there’s a cloud of visible smoke surrounding a group of people in the corner. He can smell it now, the familiar scent relaxing him in a new environment. 

He’s about to venture out to said group, catching Lucas’ ashy gray hair (a horrible decision, really) sticking out from its inhabitants, but then something catches his eye. 

In a room of dark gray smoke and purple LED lights, a white dress catches his attention. He turns his head and, faded by the blurred intensity of the smoke, there you are. Leaning with your back against the wall, alone. You’re not doing much, just standing there in your awkward lonesome looking entirely out of place while swirling the contents of your red cup in your hand. With seemingly no move to drink it, you’re staring blankly into said cup, and Mark stares blankly at you. The white fabric of your dress seems to vividly attract the iridescent purple lights of the party, leaving you to stand out in the massive crowd. Though from the way you stand out from the crowd, it seems that that’s the last thing you want to do; you’d rather blend into the scene. 

But you don’t. You’re a beacon of white light in the gray bleakness of the party, and Mark contemplates his next action. He had promised Lucas that he’d be his wingman to try and win over Yuqi. But there’s something about you that pulls him. 

Oh well, he muses to himself as he slides across the room toward you. It’s not his fault Lucas needs a wingman to talk to girls, and he doesn’t. 

“Hey,” he starts, trying to make himself heard above the music. “You’re staring at that thing like you need a refill.”

At the sound of his voice you look up as though suddenly startled. Then your eyes land on him and Mark’s not entirely sure if he’s sane, but you relax. “No thanks,” you respond politely. “I don’t drink.”

“Really?” Mark glances at his red Solo cup, half filled with some sordid mixture of vodka and Fanta that Doyoung had given him earlier.

“Is that strange?” You ask curiously as he makes move to lean on the wall next to you. Except rather than lean his back to it, he presses his shoulder to the wall to face you. 

“A bit.” Mark says as he tilts his head back, pressing the red cup to his lips as he downs the rest of the liquid in his cup. 

“Maybe. I’ve learned that there are more people who drink in college than people who don’t… I guess I fall into the second category.” When he finishes his drink, he tosses it over his shoulder. 

“Nah,” he says in response. “I don’t really drink either. Only occasionally. I’m already a mess with the weed, imagine how much I’d be if I was an alcoholic.” He nearly expects you to laugh at his lame attempt at being playful, but he’s met with silence. Still, he doesn’t miss the way your eyebrows quirk slightly upward at his words. Right now, dark hair tousled and dark ripped jeans decorating his legs, Mark thinks he looks pretty good. But you don’t seem to be as interested as girls in the past. 

“You smoke…” Your words trail and Mark finds himself enraptured by the form of your lips as you talk. His mind flies, but you continue, “How’s that like?” 

He shrugs. “It’s nothing, really. Just fun. I have some right now if you want,” he says, patting his jean pocket. 

“Oh, no,” you immediately recoil, as if it were preposterous. Immediately your eyes widen and you shake your head at him. “Not-not that people who do it are bad or anything! It’s just… not my thing.”

If you didn’t drink or enjoy any substances, what were you doing here? He asks this aloud. 

“My roommate dragged me,” you explain. “We’ve only been living together for a week since the year started but she’s… something else. I’ve seen her smoke more than I’ve seen her study.” 

You almost sound scared. This causes a laugh to leave his lips, and yours. He’s finding, in the mere two minutes of conversation you’ve made, that you are very different from the girl he thought you were across the room. You were indeed like your dress that attracted him: bright, pure, and comfortable. 

And he wants you.

Your silence brings about Mark’s introduction. “I’m Mark, by the way.” His hand stretches out to you and you stare for a second.

“Y/N.” You place your hand in his, and from the jolt he feels in his heart, the first of its kind, that is the first time that Mark Lee believes in the existence of fate. 

—FIVE HOURS CLEAN.

If someone had told Mark in his freshman year of high school that he would become a drug dealer in college, he would have directed them to his father’s church and told them to pray a bit. 

Yes, prior to his entrance to adulthood and the cruel, cruel world, Mark Lee was a church boy. A good boy. He did well in school, dedicated his weekends to church and playing basketball with his boys. Up and down the high school halls, his signature laugh could be heard at any moment he wasn’t in class. 

Then the summer before his senior year, Pastor Lee passed from cancer and Mark’s boisterous laughter became a long forgotten sound. 

It was two weeks after his dad’s funeral that he met Donghyuck, a boy with shady eyes who offered him some kush. Just want to try it, Mark had tried to reason with his conscience when he took that first hit behind the school. Then he fell into the fatal world of drugs and partying. Lucas had been there since their junior high days, sad to see his friend fall so poorly, and he had forced Mark to get his shit together for graduation that year. Barely.

So yes, he was once the bright eyed boy he always wanted to be, who read the Bible front to back and wouldn’t have known how to roll a joint, but that was fantasy. He wasn’t that anymore. He’s a college student trying to get along with the little money he can make from selling weed and other things. He had first gotten into this when he met Johnny Seo, two years above him who could tell that Mark was struggling to make tuition and rent with a job at McDonald’s. Now Johnny has graduated and Mark is still doing his dirty work for him.

That’s exactly what he’s doing now, standing outside Taeyong’s house a little past 6PM with a pouch of kush in his bag. 

It’s easy money, but that never calms his nerves. 

Even when the door opens to reveal Taeyong, shirtless and red hair in disarray, Mark doesn’t stop bouncing his foot in worry. His restlessness isn’t lost on Taeyong, who had obviously just woken up. “It’s 6PM,” Mark says, eyebrow raised at his appearance.

“I was up all night working on a track.” Taeyong’s eyes flicker to Mark’s bouncing foot. “You’re bouncier than normal,” he comments as he counts his bills in his hand. 

“Haven’t had my fix today.” Mark explains simply as the older male hands over a wad of cash. As he counts it silently, Taeyong points his thumb over his shoulder to his living room. 

“Wanna come in and hit some?”

Mark looks up at his offer and sighs inwardly. It would be rather easy to just give in and smoke a bit with someone he trusted, and he wouldn’t even be paying for the weed. He’s tempted. After weeks of being stoned nearly every day, he’s starting to itch for a fix. But Lucas’ gruff voice rings in his mind and he knows that if he gives in, only five hours in, he’ll never be able to live with himself. So for now he does it for Lucas, but maybe in time he’ll see that it was for himself after all. 

“I’m good.” Mark nearly shoves the pouch of green into Taeyong’s grasp, wanting to be away from it as soon as possible. The red-haired recipient only blinks.

“You’re giving it up or something?”

“Or something,” mumbles Mark sullenly, tucking his hands into his pockets. 

“That’s good,” Taeyong declares after a short silence. Mark looks up, meeting Taeyong’s suddenly sincere eyes. “Good for you. I really couldn’t believe that you got into that stuff with Johnny’s crowd anyways.” Mark only shrugs in response. He’d long since stopped deliberating over that. This is his life now. “Still doing music?”

“In name, yeah, I’m still a music major. But I don’t have time to play.” The last time he touched his guitar was this morning when he had kicked it. The last time before that… he doesn’t know if he can’t remember due to a marijuana induced haze or if it’s because it really has been that long. 

Taeyong continues. “You know, you don’t have to do this stuff. You’re a talented guy, you’re strong. If you could dedicate yourself to your music like you do to dealing, you wouldn’t need to deal.”

This brings about a sigh from Mark. Who is Taeyong to tell him what to do, anyways? Last time he checked, he was the customer, not Mark. “You all make it sound so easy.”

“Trust me. You can do it.”

—THE FIRST KISS

The first time Mark kisses you, it’s cold outside. 

He’s walking you back to your sharehouse, down the streets of town, when he asks, “Be honest with me and tell me if that date sucked.” 

It’s been a couple weeks since the two of you first met that fated night at Doyoung’s party, and you’ve only now allowed him to take you out on a date. He doesn’t know that it’s your first. Well, in some ways, it’s his also. 

Mark’s been on a few dates, sure, but those all ended up with him getting his dick wet in the dark parking lot of a Burger King or something. He’d normally take them out for fast food, and finish with the usual fun stuff in his back seat. This time it’s… different. Not only does he figure that you wouldn’t be down for that type of date, but something in him wants it to be different. The only problem is he doesn’t know how to plan a good date.

He still took you out to get McDonalds’, but instead of retreating to the backseat, he drove the two of you to the movie theatre. It was probably a dumb choice of him in hindsight, deciding to watch an action movie, but something about the way you hid your face into his neck when one of the characters got punched out made him smile.

“No, it wasn’t… bad,” you respond, swinging your interlaced hands. You had surprised him earlier when you had grabbed his hand upon exiting his car, curling your fingers together. 

“You’re lying,” he sighs. 

“No, I’m not. Really,” you reassure him as the two of you approach the door of your home. After all, how can you have a bad date when you’ve never been on a date before? You have nothing to compare it to. “I had a good time. Actually… it was my first date.”

Mark blinks, having not expected that to be so. A groan leaves his lips as his free hand comes up to run through his hair. “Oh god, and I ruined it.”

“No, no, it was perfect. I wouldn’t change it for anything.” You smile a sickeningly sweet, charming smile at him, and he sighs. You’re too good for a guy like him. 

He’s beyond surprised actually—even though you know of his habits, his hobby of wasting time and rolling joints, you haven’t run away like others. And he likes you. A lot. Even though everything tells him that what he does is bad for you, he still wants you. You’re a comfortable presence in his life. 

“You know,” you suddenly start. Mark looks up, intrigued. “I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

He wonders if the surprise on his face is painfully evident. “Really? Like, ever?”

His question is met with a shake of your head, and he blinks. So you’ve never drank or smoked. That, he can believe. But the fact that you’ve never kissed anyone? Sometimes… you shock him with your boldness. Like earlier when you grabbed his hand and at your first meeting when you had asked for his phone number before he could. But in some moments like now, he realizes just how the duality of your personality comes into play. 

“Why’s that?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, it never really felt right,” you explain as the two of you approach your doorstep. As he escorts you up the steps and to your front door, he furrows his brows deeper. Why were you telling him this?

“Does it feel right, now?” He asks softy, gaze flickering to your interlaced hands as he turns to face you. His hand reaches forward, cupping your cheek, the touch soft despite the callused skin of his hands. 

“Yes,” you respond gently, simpering smile on your roseate tiers. 

The smile on your face is sweet and pure, two words that Mark isn’t.

A flood of relief shows on Mark’s face, and you bite down on your lower lip as excitement bubbles in your stomach. “Can I kiss you?” A response quickly follows. For some reason he can’t quite figure out, you let him into the maze that is you. Despite the leather jacket, his messy hair, and the lingering smell of weed on his clothes, you want him just as much as he wants you. Even though you both know that he isn’t the type of guy that you normally like, the type of guy that your mother would approve of, you trust him. It’s bewildering to him. 

Then he guides you to him. Within seconds his lips are on yours, and you melt into him. It’s surely not Mark’s first kiss but it feels like it. The initial awkwardness, then the heat on his cheeks as you both fall into a rhythm. It feels right, like it was meant to be, just as Mark had hoped. 

You’re like the kind of irreplicable drug that Mark has sought after for years. The kind that brings a euphoric high which burns his lungs and twists his stomach, but in all the right ways.

—29 HOURS CLEAN.

The smell filling the kitchen leads Lucas to scrunch his nose in distaste when he exits his room. “Dude, what the hell is that smell?”

His answer lies in the pan on the stove and Mark standing in the kitchen, wielding a wooden spoon. Clad in only basketball shorts, he looks absolutely foreign to the environment. Lucas sighs. “Please tell me you’re not boiling crack right here in our kitchen.”

The face the Korean makes is scandalized. “What—no, what the fuck? It’s mapo tofu. I’d be insane to try and make crack cocaine.” He adds under his breath, “In the apartment.”

Lucas leans back against the counter, cocking an eyebrow. “Then why are you cooking mapo tofu of all things? I haven’t seen you eat anything but ramen and eggs probably since we moved in here. And—put on a shirt if you’re cooking, or an apron at least. You look like a caveman.” 

“Well,” sounds Mark with a roll of his eyes at his friend’s expected lecturing. “I had a shirt on, but I spilled some spicy shit on it and took it off. And I,” he pauses, turning off the stove. “I thought we could eat your favorite food together before we head out to Hendery’s party. You know, as a… sorry for being a bitch yesterday apology.”

The taller man narrows his eyes, eyebrows furrowing as he tries to make sense of his best friend’s words. “So you… decided to make my favorite food because you felt bad that I had to wake you up and take care of your shit?”

“I guess, yeah.”

Lucas laughs, a deep sound, whilst shaking his head. “Dude, I’ve been doing that since middle school and you’re only apologizing now?”

Mark purses his lips, making a face of annoyance. “Better late than never.”

“I guess. But sorry, I wouldn’t want to eat your mapo tofu anyways. Smells more like my week’s laundry than food. Maybe next time just order from that Chinese place around the corner that I actually like,” advises Lucas.

A pitiful laugh leaves Mark’s lips. “Duly noted.”

“And anyways, I’m not going to Hendery’s party. I have plans.” This causes Mark to finally take a good look at his friend. He’s normally well-dressed, but tonight he looks even better, a little too fancy for the typical college frat party. Before Mark can even question what these other plans are, Lucas explains, “I have a date with—”

“Yuqi,” finishes Mark for him. “Figured.” Lucas grabs his wallet on the counter, nodding before tucking it into his pant pocket. “Is that why you haven’t been partying with us? Or why you’ve suddenly been on this, ‘Mark, sobriety is key’ rant?” Mark questions, lowering his voice to imitate that of his roommate’s. At Lucas’ silence, Mark scoffs. “Dude, your relationship is so fucked up, how many times are you guys going to try to make it work when it doesn’t?”

All that leaves Lucas is a sigh, but Mark continues. “This is what, your third breakup so far? And fourth time trying to make it work?”

“Some things are worth the effort,” replies Lucas easily, slipping on his shoes. As he reaches to tie his laces, Mark continues, “She takes up all of your time now, you haven’t hung with us in months, and all for a relationship that’s destined to fail.”

“Nothing’s destined to fail, Mark. It’s all about how hard you’re willing to work for it.” His voice is calm, but there’s something building beneath it. To this, Mark sighs, and says, “You’ve changed, man.”

Lucas grabs his keys, clearly at the limit with Mark’s prodding. “Sometimes people are worth changing for, Mark. Yuqi forgave me for what I did, and I forgave her for what she did. We’re trying, okay? We’re not walking away. I’m sure…” The taller male pauses on his words, as though contemplating them, before continuing. “I’m sure Y/N would’ve forgiven you for what you did, but you walked away. And that’s where we’re different.”

It hits him, and Mark tightens his jaw. Yes, his relationship with Y/N was destined to fail too, there was no denying it. To fight with his friend who he had just tried to make amends with, or apologize? He goes with the latter, only because he’s too exhausted for a yelling match right now. “Lucas, I’m sorry, okay? I’m a little… on edge.”

“I know. I’ve known you for years,” chuckles Lucas softly. “I know how you get.”

“Yeah. Have fun on your date, though.”

His best friend nods tightly. “Yeah, I will. But if you care about what I told you, don’t go to the party tonight. You know you won’t be able to control yourself.” Mark nods, sighing. “And throw out that mapo tofu while you’re at it. It stinks, and not in the good way mapo tofu’s supposed to smell.”

Mark rolls his eyes while Lucas’ laugh fills his ears. “Just leave already.”

With a few smooth movements he’s already slid out the apartment door. A sigh leaves him, alone in the apartment. He does as Lucas says, tossing his attempt at dinner in the trash. It’s gonna be a long night.

—THE FIRST TASTE.

The first time that you kiss Mark, however, it’s hot inside his apartment and sweat sticks the fabric of your tank top to your stomach. 

That doesn’t stop you from cuddling on his couch however, and you gaze up at him from your position under his arm to watch as your boyfriend, focused on the TV, lifts his blunt to his lips and takes a long drag. Underneath his arm, you observe how his lips wrap around the circumference of it, sucking in a sharp breath before releasing it into the air. He knows that over your time together, you’ve come to accept the smoking. It’s obviously clear to him that you don’t particularly approve, but Mark’s responsible enough to control himself. Now however, as you gaze up at him, you realize just how attractive your boyfriend is. Dark hair tousled and arms bared through his tank top, he looks so, so good. Somehow, he looks even better with the cig in his hand. 

You never would have thought you’d fall for such a guy like him, but you keep falling. He’s not the good guy that you dreamed of, but that’s okay, because you make him good. 

“Mark?” You ask, still looking up at him. 

He hums in response, turning to look at you. 

Your voice is soft as you ask, “Do you believe in destiny?”

Your boyfriend blinks at the sudden question. “Define destiny.”

“That like, we all have a predetermined fate. That everything happens for a reason, and every challenge is just a small piece in a bigger puzzle. That we all have soulmates we’re destined to be with.” Mark’s lips purse, pouting just the slightest in thought, a habit of his. 

Does he?

It’s a question, because he used to. He used to be a good old Christian boy, of course he believed that God had a plan for everyone. Every tribulation was just something that would make him stronger in the end. Unfortunately, the last time Mark can remember being at church, he fucked one of the choir girls in the Bible study room. 

He can’t really pinpoint when he stopped believing in fate. God? Yeah, sure he still believes in him, though the big guy upstairs will probably send him south for his irrefutable sins. But fate? Not really. If fate was real then it was really messed up to make him such a failure. 

But, he realizes, gazing at the strands of hair matted to your forehead as a result of the hot summer weather, and the pure adulation in your eyes as you gaze up to him, that perhaps because of you, his destiny isn’t too bad. Sure, he’s a fuck up with addictions and demons, but he does pretty well by keeping you happy. Because you make him happy. A smooth, suave smile spreads across his lips like butter. “I didn’t before, but I do now.”

Your eyebrow perks up. “Now you do? Why’s that?”

His arm wrapped lazily around your shoulders allows him to pull your face close. With the same smile, he presses a number of kisses to your cheek (much to your sweet protest, complaining about his sweat and smoke). As though he attempts to mask his words against your skin, he mumbles, “Because I found you.”

Mark has never told you that he loves you; it’s a bit too intimate for him, who’s never been vulnerable in that way, and you, whose every first is him. 

But he doesn’t have to say it, because you know it. 

Your lips break out into a flustered smile, though you try to hide it from him. His quiet, unsaid confession fills you with glee and more importantly, confidence. 

“Babe,” you tell him. This grabs his attention, because you rarely use such sweet nicknames. He attempts to respond, but you’re already sitting up and swinging yourself over to straddle his lap. Your movement brings about confusion on his features, and you take a deep breath. This isn’t the first time you’ve been in this position with him, but the first time you’ve made the initiative to do it yourself. Mark was always leading you. So you lean forward, placing your hands on his shoulders, and you kiss him. 

You can probably taste the smoke on your tongue, but you’ve grown accustomed to that. Mark kisses back and grips your waist with his free hand, both shocked and amused by your sudden courage. Everything feels right, it’s like it’s destiny. He’s about to slip his tongue into your mouth but you break the connection, choosing instead to linger your lips over his. Your breath is hot on his as you finally speak. 

“I want a puff.”

“Are you sure?” He looks up at you, nearly breathless at the sight of you atop him. Lip gloss smeared from your heated kiss, you look delectable. Your wide eyes, once depicting innocence, are now focused and curious. He knows you don’t necessarily approve of his habits, but here you are, sitting on top of him looking irresistible and asking for a taste. 

“Yes,” you confirm, as though reassuring yourself. Mark had always liked you, been attracted to you because of the notion that you were innocent, pure, bright. Everything he was not. He had never wanted to taint you, yet his confession still hangs in the air.

But as he lifts his blunt to his mouth, taking a long drag before blowing the diluted smoke into your waiting cavern, he starts to worry that this would be the beginning of a long downward spiral which would place no blame anywhere but on him. 

—44 HOURS CLEAN.

The withdrawal forces him from his sleep at 5AM. 

Mark wakes in a cold sweat, itching for a fix. That’s when he realizes how deep he really is. 

Shit. 

His fingers are shaking, so he moves to occupy them with the only thing he can think of. He drags himself out of bed, grabs his guitar, and makes his way out to the living room. Plopping himself down on the floor next to a window, he attempts to refamiliarize himself with the strings that he had abandoned. Lucas is still asleep, so he plucks quietly. 

He has long since forgotten what it was like to lose himself in the sound. 

There was once a time when he was passionate for something other than haze. It was music. The first time he touched a guitar, magic sprung through his fingers and he knew: he was made for this. Somehow, majoring in music composition and being forced to take so many theory and history classes had caused his passion to simmer. Now, it slowly burns again. 

He doesn’t realize how the hours pass and the sun begins to shine between the blinds. 

His mind brushes over what Taeyong had told him two days ago. Is this what he had been missing all this time? All the hours he spent blinded by a foggy smoked haze, had he been neglecting his own love for music? It’s amazing what he can accomplish when he takes a break from that life. 

He starts to feel like the old Mark again.

For a second, he stops strumming and directs his gaze to outside the window. There’s not much to see except the college town, with the glimpse of the university itself just atop the hill, but he stares and relishes in the sight of the sunlight casting a glow over the town. 

A knock on the door interrupts his deliberations.

A glance to the clock tells him it’s barely 9AM. Who would be here so early? There are two options, he decides as he stands from the floor to stretch his legs, resting his guitar on the wall. It’s either Yuqi, Lucas’ renowned off-again on-again girlfriend, or Johnny coming to deliver the week’s set. 

When he opens the door, the visitor’s face is blocked by a box, but he knows those shoes. Those white ballet flats with purple bows were always your favorite. 

Suddenly the box lowers and Mark is finally face to face with you, his ex-girlfriend. He hasn’t seen your face in the months since you’ve called it quits, even though he’s spent countless moments just staring at the leftover pictures on his phone. You look surprised to see him. 

“Oh—Mark. Lucas said you probably wouldn’t be awake.” So you had been keeping in touch with Lucas? This is news to him. Had his best friend been sharing that he had been basically wasting away the past few months without you?

“Couldn’t sleep,” explains Mark almost sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. For a moment he’s glad he had the mind to put on a shirt before coming outside.

“Oh…” You trail, your gaze traveling down to the box absentmindedly. 

He doesn’t mean to be rude, but the surprise at seeing you on his doorstep makes him a bit gruff. You’re still the same as before: same face, same shoes, same bright eyes. But there’s something about you, about your aura that’s different. More mature. More independent. Because you don’t need him anymore. “What are you doing here?”

If you’re taken aback by his coarseness, you don’t show it. “I brought a box of your stuff. It’s just... stuff that was left at my house.” You gesture to the box in your hands, and Mark is quick to take it from your arms. He prays you don’t take note of the way his hands shake. 

Slowly he places it on the floor next to the door and when he stands again, you’re leaning back and forth on your heels looking rather awkward. He doesn’t ask for an explanation but you give one anyways. You had always had a habit of talking too much when you felt nervous. “I’ve had it since...” Your breakup, but neither of you want to say it. “I put it together a couple months ago but put off bringing it over. But I figured, uh, the school year’s over in a couple weeks so I should just do it. I texted Lucas, he said he’d be awake to grab it but..”

“He’s still asleep,” Mark completes for you. 

“Yeah,” you say simply. No longer having a box to occupy your hands, you hold them behind your back which only furthers the idea that you’re uncomfortable in his presence. It makes him sad almost, how much things have changed.

He thinks back to what Lucas had told him at the start of the weekend. Maybe it was possible to change things back to the way they used to be. “Do you want to come inside? I have some coffee, or some—”

You look at him with blinking eyes. “I don’t dr—”

“I know.” He knows you don’t drink coffee. Of course he does. “I have tea. It’s even peppermint, your favorite.”

“You drink peppermint tea?” You look at him, incredulous. 

“I don’t. It’s leftover from when I bought it for you. I just... haven’t thrown it out yet.”

That’s what your love had done to him: turned him from a brooding boy into a softened man, so much that he was willing to keep your favorite drink around just in case you’d ever come back and want it.

“Oh,” you sound. Your teeth bite down gently on your bottom lip, gnawing it in contemplation as you look away from him momentarily. When you look back, he can see you’ve made your decision. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Mark. I’m sorry.”

He expected it, but it doesn’t sting any less. “That’s okay. I understand.” An attempt at a smile is displayed on his face, but it doesn’t reflect any of the radiance in the smile that you mirror back at him. It’s small, the tips of your lips barely lifting, but it’s enough to remind him that you are indeed all that is good in the world, and he needs you. He loves you.

Maybe he can’t love you right now but one day, he’ll be good enough to deserve you. That day isn’t today, but it’ll come eventually. “I’ll see you around,” you say to him.

“I hope so,” is his response.

You give him another small smile before turning to leave. “I hope you’re doing okay, Mark.”

He is, or he’s trying to. When you leave, he closes the door and returns the box to his bedroom before opening it up. Inside, numerous hoodies gifted to you because they became too small for him but were still huge on you. Old songbooks from his high school days that he no longer needed. A teddy bear he had gifted you on your first anniversary. 

Pushing the box aside, he grabs a notebook and his music theory textbook. Maybe it actually would do him some good to study. 

—THE FIRST TEAR.

“What the hell, Mark?”

You don’t curse often, so when you do, it wakes him. When you find him in his room, he’s knocked out with his body half on the bed and the other half slung over the edge. His hair sticks out in numerous fluffy tufts over his pillow, but you can still smell the weed off of him. 

“He only came back like, three hours ago.” He hears Lucas’ voice selling him out, and he groans into the pillow, only lifting his head to grumble at his roommate. 

“Snitch bitch,” he says, his voice groggy and scratched. 

“Don’t get mad at him,” you suddenly speak up. “At least he answered my calls when I was calling, worried where you were because you hadn’t texted me since,” you stop to check your phone. “5PM last night!”

“I told you, I was going to Johnny’s party,” responds Mark, sitting up in his bed, head still spinning. Rubbing his eyes, he sits up, looking rather disheveled and hungover. 

“Yeah, and you never texted me to let me know you were home. How would I have known if you had overdosed, or passed out drunk, or got in a car accident? Or just died?” As your voice rises, reaching a volume you’ve rarely ever employed, you clear your throat to calm yourself and turn to Lucas. “Thanks, Lucas. I appreciate it.”

“Any time,” he responds, giving a nod before walking away, likely disappearing into his room.

When you turn back to gaze into Mark’s room, he’s slipped on a shirt. “What the hell were you doing out so late? 9AM is when you should be waking up, Mark, not falling asleep. Finals are next week, you were supposed to meet me at the library an hour ago!”

He makes an annoyed expression at your chastising, and you gaze at him with expectant eyes, awaiting an explanation. All he does is grimace and say, “Babe, can you like, quiet down? I’m hungover, your voice is too loud.” 

Your jaw drops. 

For a moment you stay like that, until you continue speaking, words coming out faster than Mark can understand them. “I’m just trying to help, Mark. You’ve partied more than you’ve studied this year, and I’m not going to let you just get away with it. Almost every weekend I have to stay up worrying about you, wondering when you’ll get home, unable to sleep until you text me that you’re home and okay.” 

“Maybe you should stop worrying then,” he retorts.

“Maybe stop giving me reasons to worry?”

He rolls his eyes, laying back in his bed. “Maybe you should come with me then.”

You quickly reply, “Maybe you should stop partying.”

“Maybe you should stop trying to control me,” he finally spits.

Once again, you’re rendered speechless. And when you turn your head away, focusing your gaze to the hallway instead of at him, Mark thinks he’s won. But then you sniff, an indication that your sensitive heart has once again been touched with tears. “Please,” you finally say, voice weak. This is the timbre Mark is used to hearing from you, not the tone you had used earlier when yelling at him. In this moment, he’s not sure which one he hates more. “Please stop this.”

In a swift movement you reach forward, gathering yourself on your knees before his bed. You grab his hand, pressing your lips to it as a tear makes its way down your cheek. “Please, please, please… please stop the drugs, Mark. It’s made you this… this terrible person and I know you’re not like this.” Suddenly, you’re crying into the palm of his hand while he gazes at you in surprise. “Missing dates, staying out late, yelling, I know that’s not you.”

“Y/N—”

“Please, just call Johnny and tell him you can’t do this anymore. Tell him you’re done. Please, for me.” 

Your begging causes Mark’s jaw to tighten subconsciously. What you’re hoping for is a better Mark, a different person. He’s not that person that you want him to be, he can never be that way. This is how he is and how he’ll always be. This is his fate, to be a lowlife drug dealer barely passing college, and if you can’t handle it then—“You know I can’t do that. You promised you’d be here through everything, all the good and the bad.” 

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to let you destroy yourself like this, Mark.”

He rips his hand from your grasp, causing a slight squeak of surprise to leave your lips. It’s almost as if he’s not in control of himself, because he blows up. “Can’t you just be like a good girlfriend and love me through the bad shit? I’m trying my best here.”

But is he really? Suddenly, as though empowered by some kind of intangible strength, you rise to your feet, the sadness in your eyes now quickly replaced by anger. “I do love you, that’s why I’m acting like this, you asshole!” You wipe your tears furiously with the back of your hand before glowering down at him. “But if you can’t keep your mind sober long enough to see that then call me when you can.” 

He registers the sound of the bedroom door slamming shut, causing it to ring in his ears. Within the blink of an eye, you’re gone. Fate is a really messed up bitch for this. 

—1 WEEK CLEAN.

It’s been a week. 

A week since the last time he touched anything, though he had been tempted when Yuta invited him over for some sativa. The drinking and partying isn’t hard to let go of. It’s the weed, because it got him through the hardest days. 

A week in, and he’s pretty proud of himself. 

Nowadays, he tries to occupy his shaking hands with guitar or studying but he’s started playing so often that his hands are now raw and in pain. Today, because the weather’s nice outside and his fingers hurt like hell, he decides to take a walk.

It’s aimless at first, just exploring the streets around his apartment on foot. But then ten, fifteen, thirty minutes pass, and without knowing it, he’s arrived at his destination. Johnny’s place. Standing in front of the door, eyes boring into the bright red paint of the front door, Mark feels himself start to slip. No, he decides, he has to do this. This is the right thing.

A shaky knock on the door is followed by another stronger one. He waits a minute before trying again, yet as his hand lifts to place another knock on it, it slides open to reveal Johnny himself in casual wear. “Hey,” greets Johnny, giving Mark a nod. “What’s up? I told you I’d drop the next batch off at your place, you didn’t have to come out here.”

At Johnny’s question, Mark feels his breath caught in his throat. Not only is the guy taller than him and towering over him in every aspect, but he could definitely throw Mark under the bus for his own crimes. But no… he wouldn’t do that, right? He had done enough for Johnny over the past three years that he would let him off easily, surely? A gulp is heard in Mark’s throat as he straightens his position in front of Johnny. 

“That’s the thing. I… I don’t want to do this anymore.”

For a moment, Mark thinks that the taller man will be angry. Johnny stands before him, eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

“I just need to.”

Johnny immediately starts to argue, tilting his head. “You know you’re my best seller, though. No one sells as much as you, and I trust you with all the big deliveries. Who am I supposed to give the heroin to now… Ten? As if, Mark.” He scoffs, shaking his head.

“I…” Mark starts, though he stops. “I need to stop. I’ll finish the batch from this week, I promise. I only have like, two deliveries left but I just, it’s not healthy for me. And it’s not because I’m planning to sell you out or anything, or find someone else but I just can’t do this anymore.” He finds himself ranting, finding more interest in anything but Johnny’s face. “I’m not happy, I’m angry and anxious all the time, and being around the drugs only makes me want to do it more, and I just… I just can’t, John.”

When he finishes his unfiltered rant, he looks back to the taller male and tries to read his expression. Will he be angry? If his earlier debate was anything, he definitely wouldn’t let Mark off without a fight. 

But instead, the older nods. “I get it. Just finish your deliveries for this week and call it done.”

Mark blinks at Johnny’s easy acquiescence. “T-That’s it? You’re not going to fight more?”

“You want me to?” Johnny asks, cocking an eyebrow that’s almost mocking. 

“No, but I…” 

“Thought you’d be worth the fight?”

“No, that’s not it.” Mark shakes his head. “I just…”

“Mark,” sighs Johnny, standing straight from where he had been leaning rather casually against the doorframe. “I’m not stupid, okay? I know that drug dealing is hard for you. And I’m also not oblivious, I know that you and your girlfriend broke up, okay? Yuta told me what happened with the coke, and I wasn’t surprised when you refused to sell it anymore.”

Mark frowns even deeper at the mention of it, but Johnny continues. “I’m not going to force you to do something you don’t want to do. If you say it’s not good for you, then it’s not good for you.”

“But…” Mark starts, but doesn’t find the words to continue. It was… that easy. “Okay. Uh, thanks, I guess. For everything?”

“Sure. Just don’t come crawling back when you can’t make rent on your McDonalds’ salary. Male strippers make pretty good money, if you’re interested.” It’s clear Johnny’s joking, so Mark rolls his eyes and laughs, though the sound is somewhat tight. 

“I’d love to talk to you some more about ways to get a hustle going, but I have to go find a new dealer, and teach Ten how to stop giving weed to everyone he meets because he thinks they need a pick-me-up.” Johnny sighs, as though the life of a drug dealer is the most difficult of them all, which in Mark’s experience, it might just be. 

“Alright. Uh, later, John.”

Johnny nods in acknowledgement before shutting the door. Mark breaths out a heavy breath. 

That went… surprisingly well. Maybe Lucas was right, maybe it really was this easy all this time. Perhaps he had always just been the one believing that it was difficult, because he had made it so. He had been stressing over it all this time, but Johnny was more easygoing about it than he’d thought.

As he walks the path home, he thinks he deserves a reward for his endeavors. It’s a bit selfish maybe, but he opens his phone, and you’re on his speed dial. 

“Hello?” You ask, voice bright as always but clearly a bit guarded from the name that had flashed across your screen. 

“Y/N,” Mark breathes out. It’s only been a few days since you had swung by the apartment. 

“Hey, uh… what’s up?”

He doesn’t quite know either. He had quite honestly been a bit impulsive in pressing on your contact, and now that you truly rest across the phone from him, he has no idea what his purpose was. “Um, nothing much, I just wanted to tell you…” A soft breath leaves his lips. Will you be happy for him? “I told Johnny that I quit, that I’m done.” 

There’s a momentary pause on the line, and Mark begins to worry that you’ve hung up when you finally breathe out, “That’s good, Mark. I’m… I’m proud of you.”

Proud. He had only been hoping for a “good for you,” at most, but to hear that you’re proud of him, it makes him smile to the ground as he walks the trail back to his apartment. Fuck, you’ve made him weak. “Thanks.”

“I guess you really are doing well then,” you say.

When he gets home, riding the high of his successes from standing up to Johnny to calling you, he flushes his Xanax pills down the toilet and watches as they swirl away into oblivion, as if they had never existed in his life in the first place.

—THE FIRST CRASH.

Mark connects his lips to your neck and suckles on it softly, drawing a moan out of you. The sound you make goes straight to his dick, and he releases a breathy groan against your skin. “Fuck, you sound so pretty, princess.”

Princess—that’s the name he’s given you, because all he wants to do is treat you right. And he does, especially in times like these, where you feel the heat of his body on top of yours and he devours your moans in his mouth. 

He currently lays between your spread legs, your combined figure lost in his bed sheets as he softly grinds his hardened core against yours. He’s still got his jeans on while you’re laying only clad in your panties, yet the feel of the denim is enough to have you moaning. You tilt your head back as a light mewl leaves your lips, your body subconsciously grinding down on his. 

It had been complete heaven for the both of you when you had given him your virginity, your purity, at the beginning of this year, and since then you have been basically insatiable. You had never felt such desire for anyone before him. Now as his hands rub small circles over your clothed clit, you want him once more.

You’re shaking your head, so needy for him but he doesn’t relent, only smirking more while he continues rubbing sinful circles on your clit. “Tell me what you want.” He wants to hear your beg. 

Voice soft and breathy, you say, “Please, Mark, I—”

The doorbell rings. It’s heard through the apartment and Mark groans, rolling his eyes while attempting to keep you going. “Keep going. It’s probably just Lucas forgetting his key again.”

Though the mood was momentarily killed, you both try to fall back into place. Now his fingers have left your clit, instead pulling your panties down to your midthigh. “Shit, you’re soaking,” he moans out in amazement, running a finger through your wet folds. As much as he wants to dive in and fuck you until you’re cumming all over his cock, he needs to hear your sweet voice dripping dirty words for him first. Easily, he slides a finger in, to which you groan at the stretch. But it’s not enough. 

“Don’t tease me, please.”

He smirks, slowly sliding his singular digit out of your sensitive core whilst he thumbs your clit. “Go on then, princess. Tell me what you need.”

“Fuck,” you curse and he finds it so hot. “I… I want you to—”

The doorbell again. This time, Mark audibly curses. “Fucking hell,” he sighs, removing his fingers from where you need him. Instead, he moves up and places a sweet kiss on your lips. “I’ll be right back.”

He’s still fully dressed, so he simply opens the door and slips outside before closing it again behind him. As he’s walking down the hall, the doorbell rings once again, causing him to roll his eyes. God, how many times was Lucas going to lose his keys?

The person at the door, however, isn’t his roommate. It’s Johnny, holding a black gym bag. Mark already knows what it is. He runs a hand through his hair, already crazy from how you had been running your hands through it. “Hey, John,” he says, taking the bag clearly in a rush. It’s Sunday, which means Johnny’s dropping off Mark’s deliveries for the week. 

“Hey, man,” greets Johnny, handing over the list. Mark doesn’t even bother to check that everything’s there, so the older man raises an eyebrow. “Busy?” He asks, eyeing Mark’s disheveled clothes and the fresh hickey on his collarbone. 

“Kind of.” 

“Nice. See you next week,” says Johnny with a click of his tongue and a wink, then Mark closes the door and he’s gone. Now, back to what’s important. He slings the strap over his shoulder and makes his way back to his bedroom. As soon as he enters, you look up at him with wide, anticipating eyes. 

You’ve pulled your undergarments back on, much to his displeasure. Mark drops the dark bag on the floor in the corner, and your eyes find it. “Johnny came?”

“Yeah. Just dropping off for the week,” replies Mark, his mind not exactly on it as he takes off his shirt, tossing it somewhere. He moves back over your figure on the bed, lips on the curve of your breast fully intending to return things to the intensity they were at just earlier. 

Though his lips trail up to meet yours and his hands begin tugging your panties back down, he can tell from the way you’re kissing him that you’re not fully there. So when you moan his name, he knows it’s not out of pleasure. “Mark,” you say softly against his lips.

“Hmm,” he responds, callused hands gripping your thighs and leading them open. He’s about to slip his hand inside your panties, but your hand stops him. 

“Can I have some?” When he looks at you, your eyes are not focused on him, but the bag in the corner. Your eyes are faded, clouded as your both ascend to a place of pleasure. You… wanted drugs? Sure, he’s blown a few times in your mouth but in your relationship spanning over a year already, you’ve never directly asked for any.

His dark eyebrows furrow. “Are you sure?”

You bite down on your lip. “What’s in it?” 

“I don’t know,” reveals Mark truthfully as he gets off of you and makes his way over to the package, picking it up and placing it on the bed. You’re sitting up now, peering over the bag with interest as he unzips the gym bag open. Though the exterior looks unsuspicious, the bag opens up to reveal bags of white powder and green kush. 

Cocaine. 

It’s dangerous. Mark gazes down at it, biting down on his lip. 

“Is that… cocaine?” You ask, not unaware of the extreme drug sitting in your boyfriend’s room. 

He nods, almost ashamed. “Yeah.”

A silence falls over the two of you, both just staring at the white bags. It’s almost unbearable, how much Mark wants to throw the bag away and just resume your activities, but you’re still gazing into the bag with contemplation, fear, and even… curiosity. 

“So, can I have some?” You ask again. 

Mark sputters for a second, blinking. “Babe. I—are you sure?” 

You nod, eyes dark and curious. “Yeah.” At your confirmation, sounding like it was more to assure yourself than him, Mark stares holes into the white substance. It’s filling the bag to the brim—surely whoever he has to deliver it to won’t notice a line’s worth missing. 

So it’s with steady yet hesitant hands that he pulls a pack from the bag, directing you. “Grab your credit card,” he says, walking over to his nightstand. Unzipping the bag just the slightest, he pours out a small amount. Just a little bit, he swears. 

When you return to his side with your said card in your hand, he takes it from you and lines up the coke on the table. In a neat little line, it’s set up for you. “Okay,” he starts, looking at you. “Just hold down one nostril and—”

“I know how to do it. I’ve seen it at parties.” You interrupt him as you kneel, finally head level with the nightstand. It’s true; the few parties you have attended alongside your boyfriend, there’s more than enough depictions. He watches with interest as you lean forward, holding one side of your nose closed, and snort up the entire line in one go. 

First, you cough into the nightstand. When you turn and look at him, you’re wiping the remaining white dust from your nose. “You okay?” Your boyfriend asks you, to which you nod. “It takes a few minutes to work.”

Again, you nod silently, sitting down on the bed and gesturing Mark to come to you. When he approaches, you lay back in his bed, looking up at him with lustful eyes. “Now, hurry up and fuck me.”

The words are so rare from you. It’s all he needs to hear, unbuckling his belt and dragging his jeans to the floor in two swift movements. Within moments he’s back on top of you, feeling your heat once again. He starts slow, pressing kisses to your stomach, breasts, and neck while waiting for the drug to take effect. He knows the exact moment that it begins to work; your pupils immediately dilate, and suddenly you’re a loose, moaning mess underneath him. 

Your muscles relaxed, Mark immediately presses a long kiss to your swollen lips while dragging down your panties. He would usually opt for more foreplay, but he’s waited long enough. He pulls away for the shortest moment to slip on a condom, but before you know it he’s already flush against you again. 

It feels so good, even just his touch on you. You’re so sensitive, senses heightened by the drug that you feel everything: his large hands on your breasts over your tips, his lips marking your neck. When he leads his dick to your dripping entrance, you watch in anticipation, though you’re shaking. 

As he finally slides in, finally filling you up, you tilt your head back and let out a loud moan, the loudest yet. It just feels so good, you feel so full, and he’s so, so deep.

Everything is…. so good. Euphoria creeps into your headspace. 

He pulls out, and you moan again. “Ah,” you gasp sharply, feeling every ridge, every muscle stretched as he slides out, only the tip inside you. Then he slams back in, causing your back to arch and your toes to curl. “Oh, fuck,” you moan out again, eyes closed tightly, lost in the pleasure. 

Mark’s hand grips at your hips, eyebrows furrowed in focus as he falls into a rhythm. He would have taken some himself, but he wanted to watch you fall apart under him. Suddenly you grab at his free hand, and he intertwines your fingers. You’re squeezing him, his hand and his dick altogether, so tightly as you’re lost in your pleasure.

“Fuck, princess, you feel so good,” he moans out, closing his eyes. He immediately opens them again, not wanting to miss a second of you. “You love my cock, huh?”

Breathless, you nod without words. 

“And to think, just a year ago you were an innocent little prude. Now look at you, taking my cock like the slut you are. High on my drugs, fuck—” Mark taunts, moaning aloud as you suddenly clench around him. “Fuck, you feel so tight.” 

When he adds his hands to your clit, rubbing the nub in circles the way he knows you love it, the pleasure is heightened for your sensitive body. Your temperature rises, your heartbeat uncontrollable—all the telltale signs of that euphoric high. 

A few minutes pass like this, you completely out of it and moaning at the top of your lungs whilst your boyfriend fades in and out of your vision. You grasp onto his arm, tilting your head back. “Mark, I’m—I’m gonna—”

“Do it,” he musters out, never stopping his hips. “Cum for me. Cum all over my cock like the good girl you are.” 

And you do, losing it as you tighten around his length, walls clenching repeatedly. This brings him over the edge, cumming into the condom with a shaky breath. He keeps the rhythm going for both your sakes, though his thrusts go erratic as he comes down. 

You do the same, your thirty minutes of elation coming to an end soon. As soon as you’ve come down from your orgasmic high, you immediately relax. Your breathing is labored as you relax into his sheets. 

Mark pulls from you with a low groan. By the time he’s tossed the condom off into the trash and returned to his bed, you’re already asleep, chest rising softly. A post-cocaine high can do that to you. A soft chuckle leaves his lips as he slides into bed with you, slipping a hand over your waist. 

With the way your body fits right into his, one could say you were made for each other. In Mark’s mind, maybe you were. 

—3 WEEKS, 6 DAYS CLEAN

His hands shake as he curls the wrapping paper, giving it a soft lick to secure it. 

Tomorrow will be four weeks, a whole month since the last time he had done anything. He had passed his exams. After he had thrown the pills away, he was sure that everything would be smooth sailing. But he was wrong. 

He’s disappointed in himself, he is. He wanted to be better, but it’s harder than it seems. Lucas would be disappointed in him. You would be too.

Luckily, neither will find out. 

Right now he’s tucked in his bedroom away from Lucas with the excuse that he was napping, but he’s not. Instead, he’s wrapping a joint with the leftover weed tucked in his nightstand. 

It’s not because he wants to, or because he’s being peer pressured by anyone around him. It’s for one person only—his dad.

On this day, five years ago, Pastor Lee passed away. 

The first three years, the hardest ones, he had Lucas. The past two years, he had you.

No—the first three years weren’t hardest to face, this one is. He still has Lucas, but not really. Had he swallowed his pride, had he just told his best friend that he wasn’t okay when he had asked about his father’s death anniversary, things would have been okay. Lucas would have nodded in sympathy, then dropped everything he had to be there for Mark. They’d chill and drink a couple beers—no, not drink, not anymore—but maybe watch a movie and play some games until the day had passed. That would have been bearable. 

But that hadn’t happened.

When Lucas had asked Mark how he felt about the day, Mark had lied and blubbered out a, “Oh, was that today? I totally forgot.” Why had he done that? He doesn’t know. 

Because he had had too much pride to admit to his friend that he was struggling… Now he’s here, trying to take care of his pain in the only way he has left. 

He lights it, fingers still shaking, and his body relaxes into the mattress as he finally gets a taste of the clouded, sinful smoke once more. The only downfall to this is that he knows, oh he knows well, just how much pain that it causes for him and those around him. 

—THE FIRST BURN.

Over the years, Mark has grown accustomed to the warmth.

It’s what you do to him, what he associates you with. Your first kiss, despite the cold winter air, warmed his soul from the inside. Whenever he looks at you… there’s a feeling of espousement that explodes within his chest. Yes, he loves you, even if he doesn’t say it often. He doesn’t need to. You know. You’ve opened his eyes to the beauty of love, the exhilaration of showing yourself to someone and being fully accepted. In his life once frozen over with the loss of his father and the death of his innocence, you showed him warmth. 

When he wakes, you’re burning up. 

More than you should, even with the two of you naked beneath his blankets. You’re sweating, he realizes as he slides his hand, which he had slung around your waist as the two of you drifted into dreamland, over your skin. 

You must be hot underneath the blanket, so he starts to slide it off the blanket from your figures. Then he hears it: you cough, the choked sound coming out scratched and labored. Though you’re turned away from him, he can hear the struggle in it. It’s as if… there’s something blocking your throat. 

His eyes immediately widen, adrenaline spiking as he sits up, grabs your shoulders, and turns you around. No, no, it can’t be. Where you had been laying, facing the wall, there’s remnants of your vomit, though some had gotten lodged in your throat. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. His fingers grab your wrist. You’re still breathing. You’ve still got a pulse, but it’s fast, too fast. So fast, he can barely count it. “Shit,” he curses. You’re overdosing. You’ve overdosed. Fuck. 

It’s the cocaine. 

“Y/N,” he calls, voice already loud enough to make the house burst into flames with the amount of desperation he puts into it. Shaking your shoulders, he tries again. “Y/N, baby, fuck—wake up!” When you don’t come to, he turns his head over his shoulder, screaming, “Lucas!” 

It’s only the early morning, will he be awake? “Lucas!”

“Mark…?” Your voice draws him out from his panic, and he turns to you with wide eyes. Your eyes, pupils dilated and shaky, fly all over the room. “W-What’s—” You don’t finish, because immediately you’re flinging yourself over the side of his bed and throwing up the remainder of what’s in your throat out on his bedroom floor. 

The door slams open. Lucas’ worried face appears. Mark is trembling, breath shaking, and you’re still vomiting over the carpet. At the moment, Mark doesn’t care that the both of you are naked in his bed. “What the hell happened?”

Mark feels himself start to slip away, only a moment from hyperventilating, but he speaks. “Hospital… cocaine—overdose, I—” 

“I’ll go start the car.” Lucas is immediately out the door, loud steps running down the hallway to grab his keys. At least somebody is in a stable state of mind. Mark starts to move, standing to dress the two of you, but you grab his arm as he steps out, perhaps using the last of your energy. Your eyes are wild, your mouth parted as you heave heavy, labored breaths. 

“I… I can’t breathe—Mark, I can’t,” you start between hurried breaths, but don’t finish. Immediately you go slack, falling back in his bed with closed eyes rolled into the back of your head. 

“Fuck,” he curses, immediately throwing on his jeans and sliding your dress over your sweltering body. Though he’s stumbling and racing to gather things, his phone, his wallet, and your’s, he picks you up into his arms bridal style, racing out of his bedroom into the living room. 

Flying out the front door, the cold morning air greets him in an unpleasant fashion, only making your perspiring body seem even warmer, reminding him of his faults. Lucas is already sitting in the front seat, ready to go, but Mark throws the two of you in the backseat. At this point you’re completely gone to the world, head thrown back against the cushion as he struggles to put on your seatbelt. It seems like an arbitrary precaution in this case. 

As Lucas starts to drive, moving as fast as he can possibly go, Mark clutches your hand. “Baby,” he finally breaths out as reality begins to set in. This is his fault, he did this to you. He doesn’t deserve to hold your hand, so instead he lets go, placing it in your lap before leaning forward to place his head in his hands.

“Oh my fucking god,” he finally lets out, exasperated.

—1 WEEK, 2 DAYS CLEAN

“My name is Hyunjoon, and I am addicted to alcohol. It has been… six weeks since my last drink.”

Mark bounces his leg erratically, glancing around the room. There’s some people he knows, recalling their faces on campus or around town, but some people he's never seen in his life. He’s supposed to reveal himself to these people? He doesn’t belong here.

Or maybe he does. After his last breakdown, it had taken him three days to fess up to Lucas. His friend, though disappointed, was more than understanding. “It’s a long road,” he had told Mark at the time. He said that he knew of an addiction support group in town, and encouraged Mark to attend. He’s right; Mark knows he can’t do this alone.

“Glad to see you’ve gone another week, Hyunjoon. Happy to see you back.”

He’s next, so he stands. “Um,” he starts, rubbing his nape and feeling awfully out of place. “I’m Mark, and I’m addicted to…” he sighs. “A lot of things.” 

The kind looking leader of the meeting offers him a smile. “You can share if you’d like.”

He takes a deep breath. There’s so many people, so many eyes. “Mostly weed. I drink a lot, or I used to. I… I was trying to stop everything then I had a—” How to describe it? “Relapse, last week. I don’t think I can do this alone.”

“We commend you for your courage, Mark.” There’s a soft round of applause in the circle. The smiling leader then continues, “We ask everyone who is new to this group, ‘why.’ Why do you want to stop your addiction? Why do you seek help? Besides the obvious reasons that it’s bad for you.”

This question doesn’t take long for him to answer. “I hurt someone. Someone that I really loved, and honestly… I hate myself for it. So I have to stop.”

There seems to be a couple of nods around the circle as Mark sits back down. He releases a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. This will work. Things will be okay. He will get better. He will get you back.

“Thank you for that, Mark. Welcome.”

—THE FIRST REGRET.

Mark finds himself in the same position he had been in earlier in the car, except this time he’s sitting on the floor right outside your room on the hospital floor, hiding his head in his hands. What is wrong with him?

What had he done to you? What had he allowed you to do to yourself?

God, he’s fucked up. 

Lucas is inside with you. He had wanted to be there when you woke up, but he couldn’t. He could barely look at his face in the hospital bathroom mirrors; how was he supposed to face you, IVs hooked up to your arms as a result of the drugs that he gave you? It was supposed to be fine, it was just a little bit! It was supposed to help the experience you two were having. But instead, it almost ended your life. 

He looks back now. Just two years ago, when you had first met, you didn’t even drink. You’d never been kissed, never been touched. Now he’s… done this to you. He’s despicable. You don’t deserve him. You deserve better. 

The door opens, and Mark finally pulls his head up to see Lucas step out with a somber expression. It’s a stark juxtaposition that saddens him, for Lucas is so often the light hearted joking one of the two. “She wants to see you.”

Mark parts his lips, shaky breath exhaling. “I can’t.”

Lucas takes a seat next to him on the floor, sighing. He probably looks crazy, shirtless and puffy eyed on the floor, but his best friend moves next to him anyways. “I know. She’s not angry, you know.”

“That’s the worst part,” mumbles Mark, staring out at the bleak white walls of the hospital in front of them. He doesn’t say much, but Lucas understands him it seems. 

“Something’s gotta change, Mark. Something’s gotta give.”

He knows, with a soft nod of his head. Of course, he knows what Lucas means, but what it means to him is different. He has to give something up, and it’s going to be you. Not because he can live without you or because he doesn’t love you, but because it needs to be you. You can’t be around him any longer. You’ll only continue to be hurt.

When this thought finally occurs, and he accepts it, it becomes a little easier to face you. 

He rises to his feet. “I’ll… I’ll see you later,” he finally says, twisting the doorknob to your room open.

—1 MONTH, 4 DAYS CLEAN

He doesn’t know why you asked to see him for lunch, but he does know that you look good. You look healthy, you look better than you did that day when he slipped into your hospital room and saw you there, laying lifeless and gray. But that day, you still smiled when you saw him. 

You look rather happy, like you’re doing okay without him, though he hopes that’s not that case—no, that’s not a good thing to hope for. He hopes that you’re doing okay, but that you’ll be even happier when you’re together again. Again, you smile at him over your food. Even after all this time, you still look at him like he’s the center of your universe. 

Though you had made small talk about your lives, what you were both doing, how your mom is, how Lucas is, and other unimportant things, it’s at the end of the meal when your voice finally sobers, though you keep a smile on your lips. 

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I brought you out here.”

“I…” Mark starts, blinking, before nodding. “Yeah.”

You laugh, causing the slightest smile to break out across his lips. It’s still the same laugh you had, that fated night when you met. “I just wanted to see you again. And talk. We haven’t talked in a while.”

Mark’s smile turns into a bittersweet simper. “I thought that was because you didn’t want to talk.” Though you had spoken to him on that phone that one day, he had chalked that up to you being polite when he suddenly called. 

“Well, at first, yeah, but you know it’s been almost a year since we broke up and… I had some things I wanted to tell you.” Him too, but he’s not entirely sure he’s at his best just yet. Nevertheless, he smiles and nods. 

“I’m listening. You know I always am.”

You take a moment or two to simply stare at him with thoughtful eyes as you think over your words. All the while, your sweet smile never leaves your roseate tiers. Finally, hands folded over your lap, you start.

“Thank you.”

Mark blinks, but you continue. “I know that we didn’t end off on the best terms but I wanted to make sure you knew that I was thankful for you. For having you. You’ve done a lot for me. You’ve taught me a lot, and I can’t thank you more for everything you’ve done.”

You blink repeatedly, eyes fluttering before you continue, which leads Mark to think that these words might be just as emotional for you as they are for him. “Thank you for teaching me love. Because of you, I’ve grown a lot and become a better version of myself. A stronger one. I’m really thankful that you were my first everything: my first real date—” His mind flies back to that night. That movie really was a horrible movie.

“My first kiss.” Does it feel right, now? Yes. Can I kiss you? Yes.

“My first time.” It was awkward, but it felt, as it always did, right. 

“Thank you, for being the first guy I loved. I really… really loved you, Mark. But most of all,” you say, gazing at his wordless figure with those eyes of yours. They’re not as innocent and naive as they used to be. They’re matured now, hardened, but still, the sparkle is there. The same sparkle that had attracted him that night, three years ago, with that damned white dress.

“I forgive you.” Mark releases a shaky breath. “For everything. I don’t want you to blame yourself anymore. It’s not your fault, really. I’m better now, I’m healthy. Please, don’t hurt yourself anymore because of me.”

“Y/N, I—”

“I met you in my first year here. We’re going to be seniors, Mark. We’re going to graduate and be thrown into the real world, where there’s real consequences. I don’t want the consequences of what happened to weigh you down. I just want to move on, and you deserve to move on too.” From the glint in your eye, it’s clear how long you’ve pondered over these words. 

He wants to reach out to you, to grasp you and bring you back to him. Because he’s trying to let go of the past so that he can focus on loving you fully as you are. 

Sure, you can forgive him, but he needs to forgive himself first. He’s not quite fully well yet. He has to be patient.

A soft exhale leaves his lips. “Thank you. For forgiving me.”

Yet another sweet, beautiful smile spreads across your lips. It’s the smile that haunts Mark’s dreams. “You’re welcome. And thank you again for everything.” As the waitress appears, returning Mark’s credit card that he had graciously used to pay for the meal, you stand with your bag.

No, you can’t be leaving just yet. “Stay in touch, okay, Mark?”

But he has to let you leave. The day will come when it’s right. “Yeah,” he manages, swallowing the lump in his throat. Yet as he watches you walk away, he can feel that that string of fate he had always believed tied the two of you together slowly wearing, twisting, breaking.

—THE FINAL TEAR.

“What do you mean we should break up?” 

Your voice is scandalized, angry. Mark simply keeps his gaze to the living room floor, eyebrows furrowed in complete unhappiness. He never wanted it to end like this, but he’s run horrible with thoughts that the things he did brought pain to you. It’s time to end it. Not because he wants to, but because he should. 

“We just should,” he responds bleakly. “After what happened, I think it’s clear that we’re not good for each other.” 

It’s been a month now since you’ve been discharged from the hospital. After you had convinced your doctor that you weren’t addicted to drugs and in need of rehab, you had gone home. Mark had luckily had enough saved to pay off your hospital bills; neither of you wanted your parents knowing. “Mark, it’s okay. I told you it’s okay!”

“No, it’s not. It’s not just because of the overdose. Things have been like this for a while now.”

You attempt to grab his hand. If he allows himself to bask in just one moment of your kindness, he’ll give in. You beg, “Mark, please, hang on for me, for us. I promise things will get better, things can change.”

He snaps, pulling his hand from your’s. Your eyes widen up at him, shocked and appalled at his sudden movement. “No! Can’t you see? You didn’t even take that much. I took more coke in my first snort than you took in that entire line. The overdose shouldn’t have even happened, but look, it did. This is wrong.”

“What, the drugs? I’ve been telling you that. Please, we can get better. We can find help.” The fact that you’re still pleading him with kind, gentle eyes, makes this all worse. It only further proves that you’re good. He’s not.

“No, not the drugs. Us.”

“Us?”

He runs a hand through his dark hair, shaking his head in frustration. “We’re not right for each other. This isn’t working.”

“What do you mean? Tell me why.”

“We’re just not… destined to be together. What happened, it was God’s way of telling us that this is not right. We’re not right for each other,” he explains, voice exasperated as he tries his best to explain the mess of his thoughts. 

This seems to take you aback, your voice finally rising. “Oh, so now you care what God thinks?”

No, not really. But sometimes he has to listen. He doesn’t respond, so you continue. “I’ve been more than willing to make this work for two years, Mark. You think any of this was easy for me? My first boyfriend and he’s a freaking drug dealer for God’s sake. I tried to take it all because I loved you! I took care of you when you were hungover, I waited around shady areas at night so that you could drop off deals, I stuck with you for everything. Fuck,” you shout, causing Mark to tense. You rarely curse, and based on your usage of it now, he knows just how upset you are. “I even overdosed and I’m still here. Yet it’s always you pushing me away, making it difficult. Why are you running away from us?”

He’s not running away. “I’m not running away,” he declares. “I’m letting you run away.”

“And what makes you think I need to run away from you?”

“Because! You heard yourself, don’t deserve those things. You should have someone to take care of you when you’re sick, not always be the one fixing me when I’m sick. You should have someone to walk with you through the shady areas. That’s not me. I’m not… right for you.” He finally spits it out, eyebrows tightened together as he releases the thoughts that have been on his mind for a month now. 

You’re silent for a moment, taking in his words with your arms crossed over your chest. When you speak, your voice has returned to its normal speaking volume. “You told me that you believed in fate, that you believed in us. Is this fate? Fate that we met, and fell in love, and broke up? Is it fate that you hurt me over and over again and I came back, every single time? Because if that’s fate…” A single tear falls from your eyes, though you wipe it away so it’s as if it never even existed. It seems even you have some pride now, not to cry in front of him. “It seems like your idea of fate is pretty messed up.”

Mark takes a large breath, looking away to gather his thoughts before looking back to you. You’ve both come so far since that night, the image of her clouded by the purple lights, the energy of the party. Now, all that glamour is stripped away. It’s just you and him, as you are. “You had to meet someone like me, so you can know what you deserve.”

“So that’s it? You’re just going to call it quits, and blame it on destiny?” Your tone is mocking, questioning his reasons and probably his sanity. 

“I’m not calling it quits,” he immediately retorts, responding sharp and quick. “I’m letting you go.”

“No,” you say as you approach him. “You’re giving up. On us, on everything we worked hard to build. Our trust, our relationship, everything.” Your finger digs into his chest, pointing an accusing blame. “I broke up with you,” you emphasize. “Not the other way around. I broke up with you because you tugged me around, you pushed me away, and you never listened to me. I got tired of it, and broke up with you.” 

With that, you pull away from him, though when he finally comes to realize the weight of the conversation you just had, he sees you grabbing your bag and slipping your white ballet flats with purple bows on. “Y/N.”

He wants to say he’s sorry, because it wasn’t supposed to be like this. He hadn’t planned for the conversation to go up in flames. 

Whenever you walked out during arguments, there was always a promise to call later, to talk when your minds were stable. But now, as you turn over your shoulder, walking out of his apartment and life, you muster a goodbye.

“Don’t call me.”

—3 MONTHS CLEAN.

“Senior year!” Lucas yells as he throws open the front door with the power of the Hulk, startling Mark who’s still unpacking some boxes of cookware in the kitchen. “It’s our time, time to shine!”

A soft laugh leaves Mark as he places some cups in the cupboard. He and Lucas had left their apartment for two months for the summer to return to their homes, but here they are, back and ready to take on their final year. They had finished middle school and high school together, and now they’ll graduate college together. It makes Mark smile. 

As he leaves the kitchen to greet his best friend in the living room, he sees that the guy has already brought in a number of his boxes. “Hey, man,” calls Mark, who leads Lucas in for a dap. 

“Hey yourself, you barely talked to me this summer,” Lucas chastises playfully. “Ignoring me, I see.”

Mark laughs, shaking his head. “Not ignoring, just… working on myself.” 

“Good,” responds Lucas, turning to bring in the rest of his boxes. Yes, Mark had spent the entire summer dedicating himself to the lost cause that was himself. He started working out again, got a job, and even worked on rebuilding his relationship with his mother. Things were looking up for him.

He feels ready. Lucas’ voice interrupts his thoughts. “Hey, wanna take a break and get some food?”

His question meets a raised eyebrow from Mark. “You just got here, like, two minutes ago.”

“And?”

A laugh leaves Mark’s lips, and he shakes his head. “Nothing. But, uh, I can’t. I was going to go… see Y/N.”

“Oh?” asks Lucas, leaning down to tear the tape on one of the dark cardboard boxes filled to the brim, probably with Lucas’ pillows; the man was like a giant baby, sleeping with ten pillows. “You called her and asked to meet up?”

“No,” responds Mark, who follows these words with a deep breath. “I’m going to go see her.” 

Lucas stands straight once more, his playful expression from earlier now serious. He shoots Mark a soft smile, patting him on the shoulder. “Nice. I’m happy for you. Are you leaving now?”

“Uh, yeah, I was planning to go after I put all the kitchen stuff away.”

Lucas’ grin grows even wider, stretching from ear to ear as he gives Mark a little pat on the bum, which is supposed to be encouraging. “Well, then go get her, tiger! Good luck, man,” he yells supportively as he pushes Mark out the door. 

As he shuts the door, Mark blinks. “Dude! I don’t even have shoes on! Or my car keys,” he laughs, banging on the door.

Some time later, Mark finds himself hesitating as he parks his car a block down the street from your sharehouse, the same place he had kissed you, that many years ago. He doesn’t even know if you still live here. You had been broken up since the beginning of your junior year, who knows if you had decided to move out?

He contemplates this as he walks down the sidewalk to your place, hands in his pockets and gaze on the floor. Surely, if you’re not there, one of the girls will point him in your direction? Hopefully.

Oh, but you are there. As your home comes into view, he sees you. You’re there on the front porch, dressed in a simple white skirt and the same white ballet flats with purple bows that you can never seem to grow out of. 

But you’re not alone. 

There’s a man with you, though his back is turned to Mark’s view. He blinks. His steps stop completely. Surely it could be anyone right? A neighbor? A classmate? 

But that’s impossible. Not because class doesn’t start for three days or because you and him met the neighbors on all sides of your house, but because you lean up on your toes, the way you always did with Mark himself, and kiss the stranger’s cheek. 

It would have been easy to lie to himself, but then it’s much too clear. He realizes it then as he stares, only a few steps away from the path that would have led to your steps, the steps he took when walking you back on your first date, intertwined hands swinging between the two of you. 

He’s too late. Maybe much too late. 

He was a fool all this time. Thinking that he could be better for you, that he could defy fate with his free will and urge the universe into letting you be together. Lucas was wrong; life isn’t free will, neither is love. 

This is his fate, there’s no use denying it. 

He stands staring for a few moments, simply gazing in complete desolation at the sight before him. This is it, this is the end. He’s ready to submit to his poor fate, the internalized idea he’s housed that he’d never be able to find a love like yours ever again, but then you see him, probably because he stands out like a stain of black paint on the green canvas of your lawn. 

He doesn’t hear you, but your lips form his name, “Mark?” and your eyes blink in confusion.

He doesn’t wait too long anyways, for he’s already turned on his heels back to his car. Fuck fate and its tendencies, giving hope where there will only be heartbreak. 

—SOMEWHERE BETWEEN THE FIRST TEAR AND THE FIRST CRASH.

The smell of you invades his senses, but he doesn’t care. It’s one of the first nights in a long time where you’ve agreed to go to a party with him. Though other girls beg for his attention, he’s still only got his eyes on you. Your outfit tonight is much too nostalgic.

“You know,” he whispers in your ear, dancing against your backside with a hand on your waist. “You look best in white.” 

“I know,” you respond, chuckling whilst dancing back against him. He had taught you how to dance a while ago, and you just keep getting better and better. 

“You wore this dress on purpose, didn’t you, you little minx,” he teases, though a playful laugh leaves his throat. His words draw a knowing giggle from you, and Mark feels as though he could get drunk on the sound alone. 

“Maybe,” you respond back, turning and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. This is when Mark gets a good look at you. 

It’s so easy to remember the way you first appeared to him, standing awkwardly in a corner of a party just like this. This time the lights decorating the aura of this party are not purple, but his heart is all the same. You’re wearing the same outfit now, definitely at this point to tantalize him and tease him; you loved to make fun of him after he told you that he had fallen for you because of that dress alone. 

But you’re different now.

You’re brighter, taller, more mature. Now you are not just your person carrying your own thoughts, but his as well. You know him, know his thoughts and his feelings, know his worries without asking. Your smile is bigger, it reaches your eyes more now than it did that first night, a forced simper at the strange guy coming to flirt with you. You dance with more confidence, you carry with yourself a quiet strength despite your hesitant nature. 

He loves you. God, he loves you. He tells you just as much.

With a hand over your hip, he pulls you close. You think he’s going to press another tipsy kiss to your lips, but he doesn’t. Instead he brushes his lips to your ear and he whispers, so softly you would have missed it if you hadn’t been purposely filtering the party’s music to focus on his voice: “I love you.”

You blink, and stop your dancing. It’s the first time he’s ever said this to you. 

“Mark…” you start, lips parting in surprise, but he’s pulled away to smile sweetly at you. It’s not flirtatious, the kind of smile he gives you before attempting to pull you in the bathroom for a quick one. Nor is it the knowing grin he shoots before guiltily asking you to go refill his drink. It’s a small one that barely touches the tips of his lips, and the look alone makes your heart melt in espousement. “I… I love you too.”

You had told him, of course, the other month when you had tore him apart in his bedroom after finding him hungover. But this time it’s real, and in the future you both will choose to remember this as the first time. 

Some might think that it’s unorthodox to confess such strong feelings such as love in the middle of a party, sweltering with the heat of dancing bodies and the musky smoke in the air. But for the two of you, it doesn’t matter. It’s just you two in here; you only see each other.

—3 MONTHS CLEAN, ONE HOUR LATER.

Mark’s currently in his room, completely bare except for his bed and desk, sulking away. When he had returned home with a bitter lilt in his steps, Lucas didn’t need any explanation, stepping out to “meet Yuqi.” 

Of course, it had been Lucas who had put him in this place of thinking he could get you back but in the end, it was only himself that he had to blame. He never had the chance, it was his fault for thinking he ever did.

He’s learned his lesson. 

It’s only an hour later when Lucas knocks on the door again. Fuck, Mark thinks inwardly while rolling his eyes. It’s only the first day back, has this giant managed to lose his keys, again? He makes his way out to the door, already preparing to give Lucas hell for being so irresponsible, but Lucas never makes his appearance at the door.

“Y/N.”

“Mark, I’m sorry, but—”

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shown up at your place uninvited.” He’s quick to interrupt you, shaking his head. It’s easy to pretend to be strong; he just needs to maintain a strong front until he shuts the door again. 

“It’s not that, I—”

“I won’t do it again, I promise. I know you said you wanted to move on and I shouldn’t be surprised, it just hurts to see it, and so, I’ll—”

“Mark—”

“I hope that you’re very happy, and that he can make you happier than I di—”

“That’s my brother, you daft idiot!” You finally cut him off, voice rising to a volume louder than his. He had flinched at your sudden peak in volume. You give him a pointed look, and when he doesn’t dare speak again, you continue. “That’s my brother, Mark. He helps me move in every year, you know that!”

That’s true, he does know that. And he’s met your brother many, many times. Shit, he realizes.

“... Oh.”

“Mark Lee, you think I could move on from you that quickly? It’s been like, two months!” You scold him, as if the idea is preposterous. 

“Well,” he reasons. “Technically we broke up a year ago.”

You seem to have the energy to argue back. “Okay, but I only really let you go when school ended this year.” 

The two of you stare at each other for a long moment following your words, before you both start to laugh. You crack first, trying to remain serious when all you want to do is envelope him in a hug, for how could you ever love anyone else? You can’t even imagine trying to date anyone right now. He follows right after, shoulders relaxing as you start to chuckle. 

“We look insane right now, you know,” he says, sighing as his chortle comes to an end.

“Yeah, and I’m insane because I drove like a madwoman chasing after my ex because he saw me with my brother,” you say with a pointed tone, to which Mark sighs.

“Okay, in my defense, I saw him from behind, and you are awfully touchy with your brother!” He starts, when you begin to laugh again, pure amusement breaking out across your visage. Wow, just five minutes ago he had been regretting all his life decisions, yet here he was with you again, making conversations like you had years ago in your relationship. 

When the laughter dies down, the two of you are left staring at each other, and reality sets in. Yeah, he had run away when he saw you with your brother of all people, and you had chased after him, your ex. Where does that place you?

Mark speaks first, breaking the short silence. “I’m sober now, you know. I haven’t done anything, anything at all, in three months now.”

Surprise seems to claim your face at the revelation, and he’s not sure if he should feel proud that he managed to shock you with his success or saddened that it seems to be that much of a surprise. “Oh?” Your surprised expression is replaced with a smile. “I’m proud.”

He nods, unsure what to say next, but luckily you add on, “What made you decide to stop?” You’re undoubtedly reminiscing on all the times you had begged him to give it up, to which he would stubbornly resist. 

“You.”

Your features contort into an incredulous expression. “Me.”

“Really,” Mark urges. “I…” he pauses, preparing himself for the words about to leave him. He had long pondered over this moment, wondering if it would truly happen. “I lost you, and I know that I said it was because we weren’t meant to be together but somewhere along the line I realized, I can live without weed, and parties, and alcohol but I can’t live without you.”

“Mark…” You start, lips parted as you grow silent.

“No, please, let me finish, I don’t want to take all the credit because it was Lucas who had to come and knock some sense into me and make me see: sure, fate can be real and that soulmate shit might be real too because I believe you’re mine, but I know that everything is a choice, including love.” His mention of Lucas has you smiling, and he has no doubt Lucas has talked to you recently, attempting to be the middleman once more. “I love you, there’s no doubt about that, I love you more than I love partying, my friends, or anything. And if I love you that much, there’s nothing that can keep me from you.”

He grasps at your hands, and thankfully, you don’t pull away. “Not God, not fate, not anybody. Only me. I was the only thing keeping us apart. I want to be with you, I want to make things better, and I promise… I promise I’ll do everything in my power to be the best for you.” Mark takes a deep breath, taking a moment to glance down at his hands holding yours before looking back to your eyes. “I can’t promise that I won’t have relapses. But I promise that as long as you’re there for me, I will be there for you. I’ll walk you through the shady areas, I won’t run away.”

“Mark—”

“I don’t know if my words will be enough for you to take me back but I swear to you on my entire being that I will be here—”

“Geez, Mark does sobriety make you extremely prone to interrupting, or what?” You butt in, but you laugh, looking up at him with sparkling eyes. Whether it’s you natural shine or tears building in your eyes, neither of you know. “Don’t even go there, or explain anymore. Of course I’ll take you back, you idiot. You think I would chase after you like that if I didn’t think about running back to you every day?”

This causes him to laugh. “I’m glad you didn’t. I wasn’t ready. I was waiting until I was good enough to run to you.”

“You ran away earlier,” you point out teasingly, and he rolls his eyes, pulling you close over the threshold of his apartment. 

“That was the last time.”

Your hands find his chest, resting upon the expanse of it as you look up at him with a cheeky smile. “Better be, mister.”

“Oh,” he muses, as you wrap your fingers around the fabric of his shirt and all feels right again. “You’re bold.”

“A year apart does that to you,” you smile, still a hint of shyness on your lips as you finally tug him in, kissing him. You melt into him and his hands immediately find themselves on your hips, just where they belong. 

Oh yes, there it is again, that feeling of euphoria. You’re the only drug, the only high he needs. 

[wolf-queer-discourse]

Adventures in Aphobia #1

So I was scrolling through Tumblr the other day (a regrettable mistake as always), and I had the great pleasure of seeing this joyous post.

*deep breath*

Not gonna lie, posts like this make me real pissed. Pissed because the person who posted this exists in a space where they feel comfortable enough to post this online. Pissed because these posts are so common and often face little backlash. And pissed because there’s nothing better than allosexuals condescendingly explaining to asexual people why they’re dirty attention whores who invent their own oppression. Ace people deserve to be defended against this horseshit. Young people see these posts, and it’s extremely damaging to have your identity be nothing more than fuel for people in discourse to mock you and demand you bled in order for them to notice your pain.

Anger aside, many people do not see why this post is wrong, so why is it? Let’s unpack this clusterfuck of bigotry:

“would love to see substantive evidence of systematic “aphobia” that isn’t actually just misogyny, toxic masculinity, or rpe culture.”

God damn, we are not mincing our words here XD. A few things: systematic in bold, which tells you if you do not make a blood sacrifice on the altar of queer pain you will not be taken seriously. Potential nitpick, but systemic and systematic are not the same thing. I believe systemic is the word they’re looking for. Systematic implies a lot more intentionality that can be hard to prove. Systemic merely means that systems, in their current state, do aphobic things, which they absolutely do.

“Aphobia” in quotes is absolutely rich. Not only will this person refuse to acknowledge systemic aphobia, which is only one type, but this poster casts clear doubt upon the mere concept of aphobia in and of itself. We love to see it.

There’s a lot to unpack here. The statement, as clearly condescending as intended, is sort of correct, though it doesn’t mean a whole lot. Systemic oppression is about the systems in a society (government, healthcare, etc) discriminating against people. Systemic oppression is not bigotry faced on a person-to-person level. In short, systematic oppression is something a person experiences in their overall life, while personal discrimination is experienced on a personal level by people who are not singularly in control of the systems. This post boils down the negative comments ace people face into being called “weird”, which is an understatement for sure, but calling a gay person weird isn’t systemic oppression either.

It’s still bad and discriminatory.

This is such a snotty way to dismiss aphobia as some mere, insignificant comment with no meaning as if it doesn’t reinforce society’s painful aphobic views in the same way casual homophobic comments reinforce heteronormativity and society’s hostility toward gay people.

Ace people face discrimination in healthcare, most notably, which is systemic discrimination, but the systemic discrimination of asexuals really ought to be its own post if I’m to nosedive into it. Even if ace people faced no systemic discrimination, it wouldn’t make this point anymore correct. Discrimination is a perfectly valid reason to feel disregarded by society, and often only ace people are denied the right to feel this way and are instead gaslit into admitting what they face is no big deal and they’re just making it up for attention.

The experience of being pressured to have sex when you’re allo vs ace is very different. The vast majority of allo people do not plan to be celibate their whole lives. Many ace people do not want to have sex, ever. “Waiting for sex” in much of western society and in Christianity is seen as pure and honorable. Yet being asexual and never wanting sex is seen as a deviant disorder and people are accused of robbing their partner of sex forever.

There’s really a specific flavor of sexual pressure that is unique to ace people. Sex being to “fix” someone or because they “just need to try it”.

In this respect, aphobic sexual pressure is better compared to that faced by gay people and lesbians. Lesbians especially often can face this same struggle, men pressuring them to have sex because they think lesbians just need to “try it” or to “fix them”. I can imagine this poster would have no issue acknowledging lesbophobia being the root of lesbians coerced into sex with men, yet she does not give ace people the same.

Imagine if someone said (and knowing our fucked world, someone probably has): “Lesbophobia doesn’t exist. It’s just misogyny. Straight women are coerced into sex too!”

It’d be pathetic bullshit. Toxic masculinity, misogyny and many other issues can all tangle into combined messes with other forms of bigotry. Lesbophobia is an experience that deserves to be recognized apart from misogyny, even if the two are linked. Please stop erasing ace people’s experiences with this when it’s not the same thing.

Honestly, though, this post, as trashy as it is, if anything, is perhaps, really asking: Is there any type of aphobic experience that’s inherently exclusive to ace people?

I still wager to go say, yes, yes there is, but I must make an important point first:

Most experiences of queer discrimination are not limited to queer people.

Homophobia and transphobia are both experienced by cishets in certain instances. Feminine straight men can be victims of homophobic harassment. This does not disprove the fact that it’s homophobia just because a straight man is the victim of it. A tall cis woman with broad shoulders and a lower voice may be the victim of transphobic remarks or comments. The basis of these comments is rooted in transphobia, however, so the fact that the victim is cis does not erase the transphobia.

People who argue that experiences ace people complain about can be experienced by allosexuals are not poking a legitimate hole in doing this. Certain experiences related to aphobia can and are experienced by allosexuals. If you do not acknowledge this, then homophobia and transphobia aren’t real because cishet people have sometimes experienced them.

Despite cishets sometimes experiencing queerphobia, most of us acknowledge that their experience of that bigotry, however unfortunate, is not the same as that experienced by actual queer people. It’d be quite homophobic for a feminine straight man to claim he knew just as much about the gay experience as an actual gay man. Similarly, when allosexual people relate experiences that were rooted in aphobia, it’s overstepping a line when they claim asexual discrimination isn’t real because they experienced elements of it too.

Cishet (cishet including allosexuals) people do not experience their doctors telling them their sexuality might be a disorder or caused by trauma. Allo queer people can experience this with their sexualities too.

“using sex appeal to sell products is misogyny, it is not engineered to gross sex-repulsed people, it is meant to objectify women.”

This is a strawman thinner than my last nerve. Uh, what? What ace people are you seeing that literally think sex appeal was engineered to gross-out sex-repulsed people?? I don’t think this is a core argument??

Yes, sex-repulsed ace people sometimes complain about sex appeal in media being uncomfortable. But that’s it. Every time an ace person shares a discomfort of theirs doesn’t mean it’s the entire basis of their oppression. For the love of God, let ace people discuss their experiences without being blow-torched over not being oppressed enough with an individual discomfort. 

BONUS ROUND

(This was in the tags)

“Completely vilifies celibate individuals” 

...no…? What…? Huh…? 

The most charitable interpretation of this vague accusation is that the poster means celibate people face aphobia as well, due to not wanting to have sex. I have no idea how this “vilifies” anyone, but that aside, as said before: people who are not queer can face aphobia. Also worth noting that society treats celibate people way better than ace people, which is really another example of aphobia. Celibate people can be told they’re missing out (which could be at very least related to aphobic ideals), but they’re rarely called broken. Celibacy is seen more as a respected, controlled ideal in allo people, but when ace people want to do it, they’re just mentally ill.

Anyway, the post was aphobic trash, and it needs to be debunked more often. Mocking ace people online is not a good look anymore, guys. Don't be ugly.

[starlightandust-marejai]

Tame the Beast

"But there’s something off when Raine comes inside tonight. The first thing they notice after closing the door behind them is something glowing, which they recognize to be a bottle of Eda’s elixir on the bedside table, completely full. And then there is a growl."

or

Raine meets the owl beast.

Read it on AO3 Here:https://archiveofourown.org/works/34020355

There’s always something strange going on at the owl house these days.

Hooty loves chattering everybody’s ears off and he is often swallowing up or breaking things he shouldn’t, Luz and King’s comedy hour somehow turned into Luz and King and Hunter’s prank each other hour somewhere along the way, and more often than not it is Raine and Eda who become their victims. You could say that not even at night the house is fully asleep, and so the constant noises, weird ones at that, are the norm.

Which is why Raine didn’t even flinch when they came up at the door of what now is their shared bedroom with Eda late at night and heard what sounded more like a monster snoring. Eda surely has always sounded like one when asleep.

But there’s something off when Raine comes inside tonight. The first thing they notice after closing the door behind them is something glowing, which they recognize to be a bottle of Eda’s elixir on the bedside table, completely full.

And then there is a growl.

When they look up, what stares at them is not the is not the playful glint of Eda’s beautiful golden eyes; but the void, pitch black of the owl beast’s angry gaze.

Raine startles so that their knees give out under them. They stumble backwards and fall on their butt, their back hitting the wooden door. The beast steps out of the nest, not at all happy at being taken out of its slumber, and slowly creeps towards them, head hang low and teeth bared.

Raine just stays where they are, shaking and paralyzed in fear at the sight of those huge sharp claws that could easily tear them apart. They feel a lump forming in their throat as they remember holding a crying, desperate Eda, after she accidentally hurt her father with those same claws. “It was to protect you!” is how she justified closing off, lying and pushing them away all those years ago. “I was terrified of what the beast would do to you if I ever lost control!” Even though it still hurts that Eda wasn’t able to trust them, Raine definitely understands what she was so scared of now.

Last they say it, when Eda was first cursed, the owl beast was different, smaller, and its mane was fiery gold like her hair. As the beast comes into their personal space, Raine shrinks into themself, whimpering “You’re a lot bigger than I what I remembered.”. The creature comes to a halt in front of them, and Raine closes their eyes and braces themself for a hit that never comes.

After a few seconds, when all they feel is the owl beast’s hot breath on their face, they open their eyes, and to their surprise, the beast doesn’t look angry anymore. It steps carefully around Raine, almost tiptoeing, and starts sniffing at them. “What are you doing?” they ask, mildly amused, even though they know it won’t answer, being too busy sniffing at their neck, their hair, their clothes and whatever it can finds. “Do you like my new cologne or something? That’d make sense, Eda likes it too.” They joke.

The beast reaches a particular sensitive spot at the back of their ear, and Raine lets out a high-pitched squeal. It startles for a second, but something left of Raine’s face seems to have attracted its attention. Raine sits perfectly still as the beast comes really close again. First there’s only the tickling sensation of its mane nuzzling their cheek, and its really stinking breath filling Raine’s nostrils, but suddenly there’s a painful tug at their ear “Ah! No! no, no, no! Don’t do that!” they yell and put their hands up, trying to move the beast’s face away from their own so it stops tugging at their earing. “Okay, okay, I’ll get it, I’ll get it for you, stop that!”

Owl beast Eda huffs, looking mildly offended at Raine’s resistance. They sigh, carefully removing the little piece of metal from their ear, and offer it to the owl beast with an outstretched hand. “Here. Is this what you wanted?” The beast cocks its head and gazes adoringly at the small shiny offering. It gently picks up the earing from Raine’s hand in its mouth and takes the treasure to its nest, along all the others, for safekeeping.

Now that the adrenalin is over and the beast is busy with its new toy, Raine takes a moment to really look at it.

The owl beast overall resembles a lot a gryphon, but half owl instead of the more common half eagle. Even though it is, unarguably, a beast, Raine can recognizes little bits of Eda in its face, in the silver of its mane, in how the ear tuffs frame its head just like Eda’s loose hair strands fall around her face. Its wings, even folded, are obviously very large, to be able to lift such a big creature into the air, (though Raine guesses the sheer amount of fur and feathers makes it look even bigger than it really is). Its appearance is very strong and brutish, but it walks and moves around with what Raine can only describe as cat like grace.

And to be fully honest, the way she looked at the earing and nuzzled Raine with such care was pretty adorable.

The beast finishes stashing its treasure and once again walks towards Raine, who gives it a confused look, right before being scooped by the back of their collar and taken to the nest, where they are very gently placed down. It takes them a few seconds to process what just happen, by the end of which she has already laid down and made herself comfortable, surrounding Raine with its strong paws.

The beast just cocks its head and quietly stares at Raine, as if trying to communicate something with its eyes alone. Against their better judgment, Raine outstretches their hands, and without hesitation, she butts its head against it, leaning into the warm touch of their hand. The silver fur is surprisingly soft against their skin, and just under their fingertips, Raine feels a slight vibration and realizes that she is purring. Loudly.

“Heh, you’re just a really big cat, aren’t you?” they whisper, voice filled with endearment, and slowly stroke the creature’s mane. “I would have never guessed.” The beast leans even further into Raine’s touch, who now has a lapfull of owl beast, and in turn, Raine nuzzles against the beast’s fur. It feels weirdly comfortable.

What a contrast this is to the tales Raine’s heard of the wild witch of Bonesborough, who, when angered or startled, would turn into a giant owl like violent and bloodthirsty monster who hurt countless citizens in its moments of rampage. Raine counts themselves lucky that the beast didn’t immediately pounce them; but then again, Eda said she had made a truce with the owl beast and that they both even talked sometimes. Raine guesses that, since they are Eda’s spouse, the beast must have recognized them as their mate. How cute.

After a while just sitting there, Eda looks a little tired, and Raine wonders how she would feel about a little lullaby. They draw a spell circle in air and summon their violin; and the creature’s eyes, which were half lidded, are now wide open and gazing at them with curiosity. The beast coos at the slow, sweet melody that comes out, its feathers puffing out in contentment. Raine can feel the beast’s loud purring against their back, just in time with the vibration of the strings. At one point in the middle of the song, the beast pulls back a little, just enough to nuzzle Raine’s cheek with its nose and lick them, and Raine’s heart soars. “Feels like sandpaper” they say, chuckling at the ticklish feeling the beast’s tongue left behind.

Raine keeps playing until they feel Eda’s body limping out with sleep. They dematerialize the violin and try to find themselves a comfortable position against her huge fluffy body. They lean against her mane, cradled between one paw and her face, surrounded by her warmth and comforted by the sound of her heartbeat and her steady breathing. Raine’s pretty sure tomorrow they will wake up with the worst back and shoulder pain ever, but tonight is the most comfortable they have been in a long while, the most safe and sound they have slept in their whole life.

[carnegiemuseumnaturalhistory]

Real Dinosaurs Versus Reel Dinosaurs: Film’s Fictionalization of the Prehistoric World

by Shelby Wyzykowski

What better way can you spend a quiet evening at home than by having a good old-fashioned movie night? You dim the lights, cozily snuggle up on your sofa with a bowl of hot, buttery popcorn, and pick out a movie that you’ve always wanted to see: the 1948 classic Unknown Island. Mindlessly munching away on your snacks, your eyes are glued to the screen as the story unfolds. You reach a key scene in the movie: a towering, T. rex-sized Ceratosaurus and an equally enormous Megatherium ground sloth are locked in mortal combat. And you think to yourself, “I’m pretty sure something like this never actually happened.” And you know what? Your prehistorically inclined instincts are correct.

From the time that the first dinosaur fossils were identified in the early 1800s, society has been fascinated by these “terrible lizards.” When, where, and how did they live? And why did they (except for their modern descendants, birds) die out so suddenly? We’ve always been hungry to find out more about the mysteries behind the dinosaurs’ existence. The public’s hunger for answers was first satisfied by newspapers, books, and scientific journals. But then a whole new, sensational medium was invented: motion pictures. And with its creation came a new, exciting way to explore the primeval world of these ancient creatures. But cinema is art, not science. And from the very beginning, scientific inaccuracies abounded. You might be surprised to learn that these filmic faux pas not only exist in movies from the early days of cinema. They pervade essentially every dinosaur movie that has ever been made.

One Million Years B.C.

Another film that can easily be identified as more fiction than fact is 1966’s One Million Years B.C. It tells the story of conflicts between members of two tribes of cave people as well as their dangerous dealings with a host of hostile dinosaurs (such as Allosaurus, Triceratops, and Ceratosaurus). However, neither modern-looking humans nor dinosaurs (again, except birds) existed one million years ago. In the case of dinosaurs, the movie was about 65 million years too late. Non-avian dinosaurs disappeared 66 million years ago during a mass extinction known as the K/Pg (which stands for “Cretaceous/Paleogene”) event. An asteroid measuring around six miles in diameter and traveling at an estimated speed of ten miles per second slammed into the Earth at what is now the Yucatán Peninsula in Mexico. The effects of this giant impact were so devastating that over 75% of the world’s species became extinct. But the dinosaurs’ misfortunes were a lucky break for Cretaceous Period mammals. They were able to gain a stronger foothold and flourish in the challenging and inhospitable post-impact environment.

Cut to approximately 65 million, 700 thousand years later, when modern-looking humans finally arrived on the chronological scene. Until recently, the oldest known fossils of our species, Homo sapiens, dated back to just 195,000 years ago (which is, in geological terms, akin to the blink of an eye). And for many years, these fossils have been widely accepted to be the oldest members of our species. But this theory was challenged in June of 2017 when paleoanthropologists from the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology reported that they had discovered what they thought may be the oldest known remains of Homo sapiens on a desert hillside at Jebel Irhoud in Morocco. The 315,000-year-old fossils included skull bones that, when pieced together, indicated that these humans had faces that looked very much like ours, but their brains did differ. Being long and low, their brains did not have the distinctively round shape of those of present-day humans. This noticeable difference in brain shape has led some scientists to wonder: perhaps these people were just close relatives of Homo sapiens. On the other hand, maybe they could be near the root of the Homo sapien lineage, a sort of protomodern Homo sapien as opposed to the modern Homo sapien. One thing is for certain, the discovery at Jebel Irhoud reminds us that the story of human evolution is long and complex with many questions that are yet to be answered.

The Land Before Time

Another movie that misplaces its characters in the prehistoric timeline is 1988’s The Land Before Time. The stars of this animated motion picture are Littlefoot the Apatosaurus, Cera the Triceratops, Ducky the Saurolophus, Petrie the Pteranodon, and Spike the Stegosaurus. As their world is ravaged by constant earthquakes and volcanic eruptions, the hungry and scared young dinosaurs make a perilous journey to the lush and green Great Valley where they’ll reunite with their families and never want for food again. In their on-screen imagined story, these five make a great team. But, assuming that the movie is set at the very end of the Cretaceous (intense volcanic activity was a characteristic of this time), the quintet’s trip would have actually been just a solo trek. Ducky and Petrie’s species had become extinct several million years earlier, and Littlefoot and Spike would have lived way back in the Jurassic Period (201– 145 million years ago). Cera alone would have had to experience several harrowing encounters with the movie’s other latest Cretaceous creature, the ferocious and relentless Sharptooth, a Tyrannosaurus rex.

Speaking of Sharptooth, The Land Before Time’s animators made a scientifically accurate choice when they decided to draw him with a two-fingered hand, as opposed to the three fingers traditionally embraced by other movie makers. For 1933’s King Kong, the creators mistakenly modeled their T. rex after a scientifically outdated 1906 museum painting. Many other directors knowingly dismissed the science-backed evidence and used three digits because they thought this type of hand was more aesthetically pleasing. By the 1920s, paleontologists had already hypothesized that these predators were two-fingered because an earlier relative of Tyrannosaurus, Gorgosaurus, was known to have had only two functional digits. Scientists had to make an educated guess because the first T. rex (and many subsequent specimens) to be found had no hands preserved. It wasn’t until 1988 that it was officially confirmed that T. rex was two-fingered when the first specimen with an intact hand was discovered. Then, in 1997, Peck’s Rex, the first T. rex specimen with hands preserving a third metacarpal (hand bone), was unearthed. Paleontologists agree that, in life, the third metacarpal of Peck’s Rex would not have been part of a distinct, externally visible third finger, but instead would have been embedded in the flesh of the rest of the hand. But still, was this third hand segment vestigial, no longer serving any apparent purpose? Or could it have possibly been used as a buttressing structure, helping the two fully formed fingers to withstand forces and stresses on the hand? Peck’s Rex’s bones do display evidence that strongly supports arm use. You can ponder this paleo-puzzle yourself when you visit Carnegie Museum of Natural History’s Dinosaurs in Their Time exhibition, where you can see a life-sized cast of Peck’s Rex facing off with the holotype (= name-bearing) T. rex, which was the first specimen of the species to be recognized (by definition, the world’s first fossil of the world’s most famous dinosaur!).

T. rex in Dinosaurs in Their Time. Image credit: Joshua Franzos, Treehouse Media

Jurassic Park

One motion picture that did take artistic liberties with T. rex for the sake of suspense was 1993’s Jurassic Park. In one memorable, hair-raising scene, several of the movie’s stars are saved from becoming this dinosaur’s savory snack by standing completely still. According to the film’s paleontological protagonist, Dr. Alan Grant, the theropod can’t see humans if they don’t move. Does this theory have any credence, or was it just a clever plot device that made for a great movie moment? In 2006, the results of ongoing research at the University of Oregon were published in the Journal of Vertebrate Paleontology, providing a surprising answer. The study involved using perimetry (an ophthalmic technique used for measuring and assessing visual fields) and a scale model T. rex head to determine the creature’s binocular range (the area that could be viewed at the same time by both eyes). Generally speaking, the wider an animal’s binocular range, the better its depth perception and overall vision. It was determined that the binocular range of T. rex was 55 degrees, which is greater than that of a modern-day hawk! This theropod may have even had visual clarity up to 13 times greater than a person. That’s extremely impressive, considering an eagle only has up to 3.6 times the clarity of a human! Another study that examined the senses of T. rex determined that the dinosaur had unusually large olfactory bulbs (the areas of the brain dedicated to scent) that would have given it the ability to smell as well as a present-day vulture! So, in Jurassic Park, even if the eyes of T. rex had been blurred by the raindrops in this dark and stormy scene, its nose would have still homed-in on Dr. Grant and the others, providing the predator with some tasty midnight treats.

Now, it may seem that this blog post might be a bit critical of dinosaur movies. But, truly, I appreciate them just as much as the next filmophile. They do a magnificent job of providing all of us with some pretty thrilling, edge-of-your-seat entertainment. But, somewhere along the way, their purpose has serendipitously become twofold. They have also inspired some of us to pursue paleontology as a lifelong career. So, in a way, dinosaur movies have been of immense benefit to both the cinematic and scientific worlds. And for that great service, they all deserve a huge round of applause.

Shelby Wyzykowski is a Gallery Experience Presenter in CMNH’s Life Long Learning Department. Museum staff, volunteers, and interns are encouraged to blog about their unique experiences and knowledge gained from working at the museum.

[harrypotter-imaginess]

Part 2 Here!

Commission info for a Love Letter from you favorite character here!

- You’re probably someone on his morning routine, or who could easily become apart of his daily routine

- Maybe a friendly barista at a café he’s curious about on the way to the his store

- But I like to think you’re someone that works at the local flower shop

- He catches you on his way to work one morning, choosing to walk that day to stretch his legs

- Apparating is convenient, but if he’s not careful he’ll get out of shape pretty fast.

- He see’s you across the street, watering the plants you keep outside the shop, talking to each of them, a smile across your face as you do

- The morning light hits you just right, the golden glow spreading across your face

- “Well aren’t they quite cute?”

- He starts walking to work everyday from then on

- It’s on the fourth or fifth day you notice him-

- Well really you notice his hair, it’s such a rich red

- A livelier shade than any rose or hibiscus you could grow

- “I bet it’s hair dye.” Your co-worker tells you “you know how these city boys are-“

- Well your store is in the heart of the city, on the Jump Street, sandwiched between a book store and a boutique

- And yeah, most of the guys around here do seem impeccably dressed,

- one of your very handsome regular's who comes in to get flowers for his husband every Tuesday even admitted he has a running bi-monthly appointment at the spa, he gets a spray tan, dye job, eyebrows tweezed, the works.

- “It’s just what I have to do to compete, there’s so many young CEO’s now, you’ve got to keep up appearances.” 

- And you’re sure he’s not the only one

- Still.. you can’t help but believe that a shade of red that vibrant- that beautiful- can’t be from just hair dye

- “Maybe” you mumble, turning your attention to the peony’s

- You wonder if you’ll see him walk by at the end of the day when all the offices close

- But even though you keep your eyes glued to the store front window, he never shows up

- You see him again the next morning, walking across the street

- This time you take a little more of him in

- He’s pretty tall, though you can’t make out much of his build when he’s wearing that rust colored coat

- And a splatter of freckles across his face, almost like constellations

- He’s got a long nose, but it works with his face

- He’s pretty handsome

- What comes next shouldn’t surprise you, but it does

- Perhaps he felt your eyes on him, silently assessing him- studying him

- Because his eyes lift up to meet yours

- They’re the deepest brown you’ve ever seen, especially when the morning light hits them just so

- Oh sh*t, he caught you staring

- Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t.

- Okay, it’s fine

- Just okay- Just play it cool

- So, you pretend like you weren’t just staring at this handsome stranger admiring his features

- And shamelessly offer your best smile and a wave

- To your surprise he grins, smile spreading across his face

- A light pink dusting his face as he waves back

- And so you become waving friends

- Waving to each other every morning

- Which slowly evolves into trading morning greetings

- “How’s your morning going?” He asks from across the street

- Miffed commuters give him disgruntled looks as they walk around him rushing to work, but he stays rooted to the spot

- “It’s alright can’t complain!” You shout back from your spot by the gardenia bush, earning several looks as well

- “How about you?”

- He gives a teasing look to all the angry passerby’s and gives a “so-so” hand motion

- You almost laugh so hard you cry

- This goes on for a few more days, and your co-workers take notice

- “Flirting with the red head (Y/N)? On company time?” Your co-worker mock gasps and you roll your eyes

- “Oh hush, I’m just being friendly to a neighbor.”

- Your co-worker doesn’t look like they’re buying it, but they don’t say anything else

- It’s late in the afternoon when the shop bell rings

- You’re up to your elbows trimming and re-potting the hydrangeas

- You figure one of the others will get

- You hear some footsteps but ignore it, 

- This part is tricky, if you damage any of the roots the plant might not be able to make it

- “Um excuse me, I was wondering if you might help me with something?”

- Ugh, don’t they see you’re in the middle of something

- You’re about to turn around and tell them that customers aren’t supposed to be in back room-

- When you catch a glimmer of vivid red in the corner of your eye

- No that can’t be right, he doesn’t even walk back this way in the afternoon

- Your heart stutters in your chest, face growing hot

- Your crush is getting out of control-

- When you look up, there he is

- His adorable freckles face in all its glory

- Here in the homely, rather dirty, back-plant room at your flower store

- A hesitant smile curled on to his lips

- “I’m sorry, it looks like I’m interrupting, the clerk in the front said you would be back here-“

- Of course they did

- So well what’s he here for?

- Is he here to ask you in a date??

- You might just combust from joy at the thought

- Or maybe he’s here to order a large bouquet for his lover, and the rest of your co-workers think it’s time you get yourself out of this little crush of yours

- The thought fills you with both embarrassment and despair

- Only extreme highs and lows with you, it seems

- “- I’m a business owner a few streets over, and I thought some flowers might add some atmosphere, they said you’re the expert”

- He gives you a boyish grin, his hands shoved into his pockets

- So somewhere in the middle then

- Aright you can work with that

- “Do you have an idea of what kind of flowers you might want?” You’re already moving towards the sink, washing the fertilizer off your arms.

- George blanks, he hasn’t really thought that far

- “Not particularly, do you have any recommendations?”

- You nod, lips pursed as you grab the order form

- “Well what kind of store do you have? Peonys’ and orchids’ are always good with boutiques”

- You figure he owns an upscale boutique or maybe a restaurant, those tend to be the places that do the best in this area.

- And by the looks of his taupe coat, his store is doing very well

- “Hmm well-“ his hand rubs his chin

- Technically it’s a joke shop, but it’s grown to be more than that isn’t it?

- He sells potions, charms, stationary, prank goods (of course), muggle novelty’s- it makes sense to him- but his store has grown to be quite eclectic over the years

- Besides he doubts he can explain it you

- He’s still on the fence whether you’re a muggle or from magic like him

- You’re plants have him suspicious, no way a muggle could grow a gardenia that would put Neville Longbottom to shame-

- Still, if you were a witch there’s no way you wouldn’t have recognized him by now

- The Weasleys have all become some sort of warrior clan war hero, he’s even on a chocolate frog card now.

- Well, he would rather not risk it

- He’s always been the cautious one

- “It’s sort of a hobby store? Well it started out as one, but now we’ve been expanding and we sell a bit of everything.”

- “So kind of like a department store?”

- Department stores are a bit more tricky, each room has a different vibe, but the overall tone has to be neutral

- Hmmmm

- “Maybe some white roses? Orchids might be nice too, and if you’ve got a bit of a green thumb I might recommend succulents or some devils ivy?”

- This is all going straight over George’s head, he never did pay much attention in herbology

- But you’re talking to him as if he’s an equal and he doesn’t want the cutie who works at the local flower shop think any less of him because he doesn’t know a d*mn about plants

- “Those sound lovely”

- He’s not entirely sure how it happens, but by the time he’s left he’s got an armful of plants, and a rolling order at your store to pick up plants every Tuesday

- “Are you sure you’re alright? We deliver for free you know?”

- “No no it’s fine-“

- The tall leafy plant shakes every time he shakes his head

- “Besides I wouldn’t want to miss the chance to see you again” he winks before turning to leave

- You feel your heart skip a beat

- “Did you ask if it was a dye job?” You co-worker yells from the other side of the store as soon as he’s gone

- “Of course I didn’t Ainsley! For one that’s awfully rude”

- They nod knowingly

- “Yeah that’s really fifth date talk”

- They laugh when you throw one of the cards at them

- And like clockwork George comes in every Monday afternoon, and leaves with a handful of arrangements and plants

- You still talk to each other on the street

- “How are the hydrangeas working out for you?” You ask and he gives a ‘ditto’ hand gesture

- “They’re class! I was wondering if I could get a few more?”

- You nod

- “We’ll have more ready for you on Monday, are you sure you don’t want delivery?”

- He manages to carry them off every time, but it sure makes you nervous, just one tumble and they would be ruined

- “We’ve been over this, how would I get to see you then?”

- He gives you a lopsided grin and you find yourself reflecting the expression

- “Oi! Would you two stop flirting in the middle of the street, you’re blocking traffic!” Someone shouts

- He just laughs and offers you a wave

- “What’s with all the plants?”

- They’re the first words out of Ron’s mouth when he steps inside the shop, he’s already shrugging off his coat making his way to where George is fiddling with a new contraption

- “I thought they would make the place livelier”

- False.

- He just wanted an excuse to talk to you.

- He does like the plants though. The white hydrangeas you recommended for the potions section are absolutely lovely

- Though he did use a few charms to make them larger, and stay fresher longer.

- He’s basically got a wall covered in hydrangeas now

- Still lovely though

- “It does look nice” Rob admits

- “So where are the products you need help fixing?”

- George groans waving towards a few oddly stacked boxes

- The packaging on his restock of the portable swamps came in the wrong color, not a big deal he can always change it with a spell

- But it is tedious work, especially when you have to do it one by one, otherwise it might upset the contents.

- And he does not want a swamp in his store

- Ron only nods, unpacking the box

- “You want purple right?”

- There’s a moment of silence between the two

- Purple was Fred’s favorite color

- He used to joke it was because that’s the color Snape turned when he was mad

- But George knows it’s because purple’s the color of the first fireworks they saw.

- He, Fred, Ron and Ginny had snuck away when they were younger to a muggle festival in the village, awestruck by the shapes the fireworks took.

- Fred would have carved that moment into his bones if he could.

- George clears his throat

- “Yeah, purple, same shade as the shop sign”

- Ron nods, pulling out a products wordlessly, motioning with his wand

- “So what’s really the deal with all these plant?” Ron asks, and George sighs

- “Nothing I just thought it might be good for business”

- “Did you get swindled by an attractive salesman?”

- “I wouldn’t say swindled” you gave him a pretty generous discount, and you were even offering free delivery

- That’s kind of a lot to give for a muggle shop

- “So they were attractive then?” Ron says with a grin, he’s only ribbing

- But George’s inquisitive look and the pink flush across his freckles nose makes Ron think he’s on the nose

- “(Y/N)’s fairly attractive”

- Fairly is putting it mildly though, George thinks your adorable

- Ron stutters halfway through the transfiguration spell

- “(Y/N)? Like hot (Y/N)? From the flower shop?”

- George is puzzled but nods

- “You went to hot (Y/N)‘s shop?!?!? WITHOUT ME?” Ron looks like he’s about to cry

- “How would Hermione feel is she heard you talking about another person like that?”

- Ron just gives him an incredulous look

- “She would say ‘I can’t believe George went to hot (Y/N)‘s shop and didn’t invite us’!”

- Apparently you’re quite popular in the shopping district. Your flowers have won the city award twice, before you opened your shop you won a contract as the city’s horticulturist.

- “Last Valentine’s Day Harry and I stood in line for two hours to pick up our bouquets” Ron tells him, he’s already done with the first box

- He figured business was good, it’s almost impossible to run a flower shop in the middle of the city if it isn’t.

- But he didn’t imagine you were award winning or anything

- He sighs so you are a muggle, and you’ve got no need for magic, you make up the difference in talent and skill

- He likes that, maybe he should get some shirts or art prints that say something like that

- He feels a small smile creep onto his face

- Oh well, probably for the best, he’s not sure he has time to date what with how busy things have been

- “Free for dinner? We can go wherever you want, my treat.” George says, slipping on his coat as they finish with the last of the products.

- “How about (Y/N)‘s flower shop?”

- George laughs

- “I’m pretty sure they close at 5....also they don’t have food Ron”

- Ron sighs like he’s just been told Christmas is just cancelled

- “The leaky cauldron is fine too I guess”

- But George can’t stop thinking about you for the rest of the weekend.

- It’s not really that big of a deal if you’re a muggle, but-

- Well how would that even work?

- The closest thing to a muggle he’s personally known is Hermione- who’s a witch and just muggle born

- He wouldn’t be able to tell you about being a wizard- not until you were married, or at least serious enough that he knew you both were going to get married. Which he doesn’t know how he feels about

- So he would have three full time jobs

- Taking care of the store, being your boyfriend, oh and hiding his magical powers from you

- Lovely

- But Merlin- wouldn’t his family love it if he brought you home?

- His Dad would be over the moon, and his Mum, well she’d be happy he found anyone at all. But she wouldn’t mind the pointers you gave her on how to get pinker roses.

- Percy wouldn’t really care either way. He might even like it, a muggle in the family might help his political agenda.

- Good for optics and all

- He already knows Ron likes you

- He and Hermione will be quite pleased they get to ogle you all they want at holiday dinners

- Ginny will like having another person in the family, she would personally give you a tour of the burrow

- Fleur will like having another in law in the family- and Bill will be happy that she’s happy

- Charlie would love it, asking you all about what kind of plants his dragons might like, and if you might plant a few for him, come visit in Romania- the port key’s always open for family-

- Actually he might have to watch out for Charlie, his older brother might legit steal you away from him

- .

- ...

- Fred would have loved you

- Fred would have never let it go on this long

- Fred would have seen George’s lovestruck expression the first time he saw you and said-

- “Well are you going to ask them out?”

- Fred always was the bold one, George was just following his lead most of the time.

- That fireworks thing in their last year was entirely Fred’s idea. 

- George would sputter and shrug in response

- ‘I was just lookin’, a man can look can’t he?’

- Fred would have given him one of his wicked grins and said:

- “Look if you don’t ask them out now, then I will”

- And pushed him across the street, holding him to it

- And then when he was halfway across the street towards you Fred would shout:

- “And see if they’ll give us a friends and family discount for the store!”

- George is grinning just imagining it

- Fred wouldn’t have cared at all that you were a muggle.

- All he would care about is that you would make his brother, his best friend, happy.

- “Honestly George, you get hung up over the dumbest things-“ Fred would have said

- “You like them don’t you? They make you feel good about the world and life?”

- And George would just dumbly nod

- “Then that’s all that matters doesn’t it? That you care about someone, and that you can see a future with them. All that other stuff- it’s just noise”

- Alright he’ll try then

- Not just for Fred, but for himself too.

- George strolls into your shop on Monday, an hour before you open-

- “Oh hello George! You’re a little early, I’ve got your hydrangeas trimmed I just need to get your potted plants ready and-“

- “Would you like to go out sometime?”

- “-then I’ll fix up the roses for y-“

- Huh?

- You freeze for a moment, almost dropping the plant in your hands

- Did he just ask you on a date?

- “If dinner is too much, maybe just tea- or coffee?”

- Maybe it’s not exciting enough for you

- Ugh! He knew he should have suggested something more fun like the zoo or maybe a botanical garden?

- But you’re around plants all day, he didn’t want to make you think he only knows one thing-

- “Friday?”

- His eyes shoot up to look at your face, he hadn’t even noticed he was staring at his shoes

- “What?”

- “Friday” you repeat, you’ve got a smile that seems lovelier than any of the flowers you grow.

- “Is Friday good for dinner? I close up at six”

- He grins so wide he’s afraid his face might break

- “Friday is perfect”

[tarysande]

S6 Thoughts: A Tale of Two Brothers

But wait! There’s more. Thoughts on the overall arc of the series, Heaven and Hell edition:

In S1, Lucifer is “vacationing” on Earth but doesn’t plan to return to Hell. Amenadiel spends that season trying so hard to force Lucifer back to Hell, where he “belongs,” that he himself Falls. We’ve got this role reversal of an angel doing evil things to return the devil (doing ... good things, like solving crimes) to Hell. It’s all very “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” 

In S2, Lucifer still has no plans to return permanently to Hell, but he’s willing to face it to save Chloe. Of course, this then leads to him experiencing his own forced hell-loop. Amenadiel is also conflicted. Though he’s changed enough that he no longer wants to force Lucifer back to Hell, he’s still uncertain where that leaves either of them. In fact, even when Lucifer pleads with Amenadiel to return him to Hell, Amenadiel refuses. However, when Mum plants the idea of returning to Heaven as a family, Amenadiel clings to that. He’s looking for a purpose. Lucifer, on the other hand, is still very much aboard the Heaven nope train. Here, we also get the foreshadowing of celestial war, and Lucifer’s rejection of Mum’s plan because “In war, there are always casualties.” He would rather sacrifice one--Mum, Uriel--for the many. But it hurts him. If he belongs anywhere, he thinks, it’s Earth ... but, ultimately, that’s shortsighted because we know he doesn’t actually want to be on an Earth that doesn’t have the people he’s coming to care about on it.

S3 is, as we all know, a bit of a mess. But, hey, it’s actually thematically appropriate! Lucifer’s having an identity crisis (wings) that just keeps giving (or taking), and even though subconsciously (we later realize) he gave himself the wings because he was, in fact, making progress reconciling his past and present, his conscious is backsliding like (pun not intended) hell. Much as he wants Earth to be home, he’s got these non-stop reminders of both Heaven and Hell. It makes complete narrative sense that this season reaches the point where he can no longer hide from himself--or from Chloe. 

In this season, we also see Amenadiel really start to settle into the idea of staying on Earth, of embracing humanity. He’s shedding the aloofness he once had. He’s learning (we later realize) how to be the kind of God who sheds mysterious ways in favor of boots on the ground. I mean, he doesn’t realize this. But Dad ... well, he has a Plan. Lucifer begins the season with sudden wings. Amenadiel ends it with his wings’ very deliberate return. 

In many ways, this season is about Hell on Earth and torture at the hands of an entity far more intentionally and deliberately evil than the actual devil. This is why the catalyst of Cain is so important. He is all the things Lucifer has been accused of being, only he embraces it in ways we’ve seen Lucifer reject and recoil from again and again. This season is torture (lol). It’s Hell. It’s every ugly thing lies beget. And much as we love Lucifer, we’re given an extreme close-up of how his omission of truth is very nearly as devastating as Cain’s outright lies. Of course, this nearly results in Chloe’s death (in more ways than one; you can’t tell me that godforsaken marriage wouldn’t have been like dying), and the devil’s vengeance results in the removal of Lucifer’s choice about the where and when to reveal his true nature to Chloe. 

Which brings us to S4, aka The Season of Angst. For Lucifer (and Chloe), anyway. Not so much for Amenadiel, who is set on the path of fatherhood, of responsibility, of partnership and not just commands he expects to be followed. In case we’ve forgotten how much Amenadiel has changed, Remiel “mini-Amen” shows up to remind us. In Linda’s “When angels fall, they also rise” of it, Amenadiel is rising again. He’s not the same as he was, no, but ... we didn’t like old Amenadiel very much, did we? Like Lucifer, Amenadiel is on a journey of learning who he is, the good and the ugly, so he can choose the parts he wants to keep with both eyes open. 

Of course, while Amenadiel is rising, Lucifer is falling. In having to deal with Chloe’s reaction to his devil face, Lucifer is put in the uncomfortable position of either growing enough to face his own darkness and self-loathing or retreating, very literally, into who he used to be because it’s comfortable and less frightening than the prospect of change and the unknown. Until it isn’t, right? The more he becomes the devil Eve remembers, the more uncomfortable he becomes. And the more frightening he becomes. Not to Chloe, as he fears, but to himself--though it takes a while to recognize it. If nothing else, we have to hand this to Lucifer’s subconscious: when it wants him to PAY ATTENTION DUMMY, it’s pretty good at getting its point across. If S3 was Hell on Earth starring Cain as the devil, S4 is Hell on Earth starring, well, the devil as the devil with bonus demons. It’s Lucifer’s earthbound iteration of a guilt-induced hell-loop. And at the tragic end, he chooses to return to the place he swore he’d never return, losing everything good in the process, but doing it for selfless reasons. So, that’s new. And it’s why there was still a sliver of hope even when things looked impossibly dark.

S5 begins with Lucifer in Hell--farther from the things he cares about than he has ever been, but also closer to his true calling. Not that he realizes it; this is Lucifer we’re talking about. So, of course it makes sense that as the season goes on, he’ll end up confused by suddenly having everything he always thought he wanted within his grasp. The Lucifer who led a rebellion against his father because he thought he could do better than God? Of course that part of him wants to be handed the job now. No--he wants to earn it. And while some of his reasons are not great, others are. His heartbreak about the injustice and unfairness of life, well ... who hasn’t felt that way? Who hasn’t wanted the power to unilaterally make things better? But that’s not how free will works. That’s not how choice works. While Lucifer wrestles with the necessity of becoming God, Amenadiel recoils from what his S1 self would have seen as his right and his calling. S1 Amenadiel would have made a terrifying and inflexible and absolute and judgmental God. Perhaps even a God closer to our imaginings of Evil than Good.

S6 is about how sometimes personal growth means we grow out of old dreams and acquire new ones. Sometimes, it’s about reimagining those old dreams, rebuilding them with new information. For Amenadiel, that means recognizing that the person he is now is the best man for the Big Job. It means recognizing that Heaven can be (a place) on Earth if he wants it to be. It means he sets aside the pride of “If God wants something done, he sends ME” in favor of delegation and accepting help--and in doing so, helping others (his siblings) discover their callings too. He learns to lead by example, tempered with love and humility.

In Paradise Lost, Milton’s Lucifer famously declares that it is better to rule in Hell than serve in Heaven. But our Lucifer ... his calling isn’t ruling in Heaven. That’s the old dream of a person who no longer exists. Ironically, Lucifer’s calling is to serve in Hell. Not to serve a distant, ineffable, unfathomable being’s mysterious ways, mind you, but to tangibly serve the humans he has come to love, and who have taught him so much about himself. Who have taught him about love and sacrifice and light and darkness and second chances and hope and faith. When Lucifer chooses to return to Hell, he does so with his eyes open, just as Chloe returns to the LAPD with her eyes open. It’s a lesson that revisits the first episode of the season: Truth and wonder don’t have to be at odds. They can go hand in hand. The mysteries at the heart of pain and suffering and trauma--those are the ones Lucifer wants to solve. Because solving them isn’t about trusting to a higher power (aka the justice system, which is flawed) or designing the perfect torture. It’s about quite literally helping others set themselves free. Finding release. It’s about being a guide, not a judge. And it’s about fulfilling not the temporary desire that merely scratches the itch, but offering the tools necessary to help others determine--choose--their path to the desire they may not even realize is buried beneath the layers of scar tissue within them. And what could be more wonderous than that? Especially when you have a partner who makes you better at your calling, even as you make them better at theirs.

In the end, Heaven and Hell are what we make of them. One person’s Heaven is another person’s Hell. Love is what matters. In all its many, many forms.

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 2

Helmetless + Death!Din and Female + Cupid!Reader.

Summary: You’re a Cupid whose primary reason for existing is to guide people in the direction of their soulmates. Din—known to the rest of the universe as Death with a capital D—has, as of three days ago, become your next client. You wonder, not for the first time, how is this your reality? 

Rating: G

Word Count: 1000

Warnings: Plot development, pining, overall nothing too serious

Author Note: Oh my gosh! Thank you so much for the incredible response to my little universe!!! I hope you like this segment just as much, fingers crossed. If you want to be added to tag list, let me know! 

Link to part one and part 3

Photo Inspiration:

You’re a Cupid whose primary reason for existing is to guide people in the direction of their soulmates. Din—known to the rest of the universe as Death with a capital D—has, as of three days ago, become your next client.

You wonder, not for the first time, how is this your reality? 

Memories of your mortal life are few and far between, slipping through your fingers like fireflies in the summer when you try to hold onto them too long. But you doubt anything you experienced could have prepared you for the sight of Death sitting across from you in your living room, legs crossed and entirely at ease in your apartment despite it being his first time visiting.

You have to remind yourself that right here, right now you’re a Cupid with a mission. Quite possibly the biggest mission of your entire career. You can’t screw this up, not even if it feels like an invisible fist is slowly clenching around your heart as you listen to Din describe his ideal soulmate.

“Whoever it is,” he says while unabashedly observing your furnishings, not willing to rule out a specific gender or race, not when they’re his supposed better half. “They can’t be a mortal.”

Your pencil stills mid-note taking, unsure you heard him right. Most people would assume Death has no sense of humor, but you’ve learned from your encounters with him that assumption is far from the truth. However, when you look up from your notebook to check if he’s trying to make some kind of joke, you fail to find any trace of jest in his expression, not even the faintest gleam of amusement in his brown eyes. 

You tap your writing utensil mindlessly against your leg, looking him over from head to toe and reconsidering your opinion of him in light of this new information. “I didn’t know you disliked mortals so much you’d purposefully exclude them.”

“You misunderstand, angel. It doesn’t matter if I like a mortal or not, either way my touch will kill them.” Din holds up one of his gloved hands in front of you for inspection, as if you’d never noticed them before. Asshole. “Why do you think I take such precautions when we’re in public spaces?”

Truthfully, a specific reason for him wearing multiple layers hadn’t ever really crossed your mind. You’d just accepted it from the start as a facet of his being. Still, your ears burn with embarrassment hot enough you’re half-convinced the room’s temperature has also risen several degrees. It’s not out of the realm of possibility for your house to turn against you in an effort to cause you humiliation in front of your unattainable crush.

On the receiving end of his arched eyebrow, the only defensive retort you can manage is, “Everyone’s got their quirks. I thought poor fashion choices just happened to be yours.”

“Says the angel who collects newspaper scraps as a hobby,” he fires back, peering around you at the stack of newspapers in the corner you’d yet to sort through for articles that snagged your interest.

More and more you’re starting to regret inviting him into your home. 

“We’re not here to talk about me,” you snap, but the rebuke is diminished by the audible note of laughter in your voice, the grin stubbornly pulling at the corners of your mouth.

A flicker of emotion flashes across his face as he stares back at you, as quick to vanish as it was to appear, resembling a glimpse of sunlight peeking through an overcast of clouds. If you didn’t know better, you’d almost think he had regarded you with...fondness.

“So,” you shake your head, derailing that pathetic train of thought, and reposition your pencil to continue writing, “your soulmate has to be someone who can survive your touch. Which means they obviously have to be immortal like us.”

Like us, that tiny lovesick voice in the back of your head coos. Maker, you’ve got it bad. If you could get away with slapping yourself in front of him, you’d be giving yourself a concussion right now.

“That should narrow your search down considerably, shouldn’t it?” Din asks, bracing his forearms on his knees as he leans closer into your personal space. If you were to look up, your noses would be within inches of touching. 

Stubbornly, you keep your head firmly looking down at your notes. Partly to hide your expression of embarrassment, partly because you don’t trust your own self-control to prevent you from doing something stupid. “In theory, yes. I have a few potential candidates in mind we can arrange dates with.” In response to his prolonged beat of silence, you find yourself offering, “You can wear your armor. If—If that would make you more comfortable, I mean.” 

You’re so focused on keeping your breathing steady you nearly miss him murmuring, “Are any of these dates Cupids?”

Your mind is slow to process the question, even slower to form an answer as it flips through the list of names that you’d started compiling from the start of your interrogation. 

“No,” you answer at last. Not a single one.

His lips purse, another flicker of emotion flashing across his face, before he pulls away and stands up from his seat. Your heart flips in your chest, because this time you don’t have any doubts about recognizing his expression. But...it doesn’t make any sense.

Din slips his arms through the sleeves of his coat, preparing to leave through your front door and step outside onto the snow-covered sidewalk. You barely pay him any attention, replaying the recent exchange in its entirety on loop within your brain like a vinyl record.

“I look forward to your next call, angel,” Din says, nodding his head in that dumb, stoic way he always does when he leaves you.

“Goodbye,” you say belatedly, seconds after the door had already clicked shut behind him.

In his absence, you finally allow the realization to sink in, rubbing a hand over your mouth in disbelief in spite of the certainty you feel about your assessment being correct. 

That look you saw on Din’s face when you’d told him no.

It had been disappointment.

Tag List: @leilei-draws, @theocatkov, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph, @stardust-and-starlight, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor