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byunbaekby · 4 years

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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.

#NCT-WRITERS #mark lee angst #mark lee smut #mark smut #mark lee x reader #mark lee fanfic #nct angst #tw: smut #tw: drugs #tw: drinking

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ariadnekurosaki · 3 years

Text

Just Let Go

Rating: T (Ichigo has a potty mouth... again)

A few weeks ago @creativepromptsforwriting posted a weekend game and I got prompt #401: "Just let go." "You know I can't."

Anyway, this happened. Minimally polished and not connected to anything else I've written.

His suit collar itched fiercely and beside him Inoue beamed as Ichigo took pictures using the girl’s new camera. A murmur arose from the back of the room; the bride and her brother had arrived. Ichigo swallowed heavily as the guests around him stood and turned to watch the bride walk down the aisle. This was really happening.

Rukia was getting married.

To Renji.

Today. Right now.

It took only a moment for her to come into his view, and an ice-cold bolt shot down his spine. She was wrapped in white silk, tiny in the heavy layers, and the veil over her head obscured her face. All Ichigo could see was that day on the bridge, when she’d been helpless in white cotton and a red collar.

Inoue hissed at him cheerfully to take pictures, but Byakuya caught Ichigo’s eye. The older man looked at him before his glance slid down to Rukia.

He knew what Byakuya was asking him to do.

Ichigo shoved the camera into Inoue’s hands.

“Just let go!” They were different words but the same sentiment, each time she asked him not to follow her, not to rescue her, not to worry about her. Each time she asked him to let her sacrifice herself for him, for his friends, for Soul Society.

For the world.

“You know I can’t,” Ichigo growled low in her ear. His arm tightened around her shoulders, the other beneath her knees, pressing the side of her body against his broad chest. He sprinted through the dangai as though the Kushanada of Hell were after them.

After all, he’d basically kidnapped her. And on her wedding day, no less.

The strawberry flower-embroidered veil fluttered behind them, and when the benighted thing got caught in the walls of the dangai Ichigo spared half a second to tear it from Rukia’s head, leaving it to be absorbed into the dark walls surrounding them. Damned thing, he thought as he put on more speed. He’d pricked his fingers sewing flowers into the veil, flowers that bore his name.

“But Renji…”

“Will forgive us both eventually.” Ichigo tried to sound more confident about that than he felt, but then – Renji hadn’t looked thrilled about the wedding either.

The larger of his two blades banged against his back as he ran. Sode no Shirayuki slapped against his thigh; in the chaos of tearing off that ill-fitting polyester suit in favor of his shihakusho and stealing Rukia from Byakuya’s side he thought maybe Kiyone had shoved it in his obi.

Not that he knew why the blonde had it.

“Nii-sama…” Rukia yelped as Ichigo sped up again.

“Would have stopped me if he’d wanted to,” he bit out. Though they’d been first enemies and then uneasy allies, Ichigo had learned to read Byakuya’s expressions since that first fight when he’d stabbed Ichigo and called him slow.

Stop this, Byakuya had been saying with that look. Stop my sister from making this mistake.

“But he planned the whole wedding!” Rukia protested, and smacked him in the chest, trying to get him to let go.

Ichigo only squeezed tighter. “Stop that, we’re in the fucking dangai,” he growled. There was a light ahead of them, but he could hear the cleaner behind them, could practically feel it breathing down their necks.

Zangetsu cackled in his head. Bankai, the zanpakutō said, and Ichigo took a breath. He hadn’t tried to use his bankai since defeating Yhwach – and what a shitshow that had been. But his zanpakutō usually knew better than he did, about these things.

“Bankai! Tensa Zangetsu!” he roared, and instead of the heavy white bands and red scaled pauldron, instead of the heavy, black fabric that had weighed him down three years ago, Ichigo wore the sleek, open coat of an earlier transformation, the one that – thank kami – made him fast. He roared, putting on a last burst of speed and reaching the light at the end of the long tunnel.

They burst into the nighttime sky of Karakura, no one there to break their fall. Ichigo landed hard, falling to one knee with Rukia still clutched close in his arms. Zangetsu’s blade and Sode no Shirayuki’s sheath scraped against the pavement.

“You idiot!” she cried, but when Ichigo met her eyes he saw relief in them. “I told you—”

“And I told you, all your opinions are rejected,” Ichigo growled down at her. “I’m not letting you sacrifice yourself, not ever again.” She was so light in his arms, even with the heavy, white silk wrapped around her body; Ichigo was sure she hadn’t been eating enough.

Yuzu’ll fix it, he thought. She’d take one look at Rukia and make the older woman’s favorite dishes every night for a month.

She looked away from him. “It was for the best. And he’s been in love with me for almost fifty years,” Rukia mumbled into the cool night air. A car, headlights on high beam, drove past them without noticing either of the shinigami.

“Do you love him?” Ichigo asked quietly. If she did, if she really did…

“…No. I tried to,” she whispered. “No.”

“Hn.” He started walking, feet finding the path to Urahara’s shop unerringly. She needed a gigai, and the ex-captain would probably be expecting them soon. The man always did know too much.

“And when Soul Society comes after us?” Rukia demanded as Ichigo let her geta-clad feet touch the pavement just outside the shop. Ichigo had been right – even though it was the middle of the night, a light still shone from the open doors in welcome. He straightened up and she followed, taking in the black markings – like bindings – that once more wrapped around his wrists and streaked over the backs of his hands. He wondered what it meant that Zangetsu had changed yet again. But the zanpakutō was silent.

“Tch. I’ll beat all their asses,” Ichigo said easily. “But I don’t think they will, since they’re not here already. Byakuya wants you to be happy.”

“And you think you know what would make me happy?” Rukia demanded.

Ichigo’s expression softened, and he brushed fingers feather-light over her cheek. “Don’t I?” he asked gently.

“Ah, Kurosaki-san, Kuchiki-san,” Urahara’s voice reached them from his place in the doorway. His good eye raked over Rukia. “I have a gigai and some more comfortable clothes ready for you, Kuchiki-san.”

“How does he always know?” Rukia grumbled, but she allowed Ichigo to escort her into the bright light of the shop. “I won’t thank you for this,” she whispered. But her hand slipped into his.

“Yeah, yeah.” Ichigo's hand squeezed hers, and the door slid shut behind them.

#ichiruki #ichigo x rukia #bleach fanfiction #deathberry #flash fiction

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kaizokuou-ni-naru · 3 years

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The Voyage So Far: Alabasta (Part One)

east blue (1 | 2) || alabasta (1 | 2) || skypiea || water 7 || enies lobby || thriller bark || paramount war (1 | 2) || fishman island || punk hazard || dressrosa (1 | 2) || whole cake island || wano (1 | 2)

(this is a repost, i deleted the first version of it by accident cause im Idiot)

the entry into the grand line is such a great sequence. it feels like such an ending- a triumph after they’ve spent pretty much all of east blue struggling to make it here, and at the same time the beginning of a new adventure, the biggest yet, one that has yet to end a solid two decades later. they all look so happy to have made it here- it makes me smile.

whiskey peak is one of my very favorite short arcs, and i think of the whole first half of the baroque works saga its the one that hits and maintains a tone best (almost certainly because its so short, admittedly, but still). i love the repeated shots of the moon, the reveal that the cactuses are actually covered in graves, the way everything seems far too good to be true at the start and the sense of suspense that creates.

zoro’s extended fight scene in whiskey peak is so great- it’s so creative and so dynamic and the odds are stacked so high against him and yet he’s clearly having so much fun. i do miss this sort of scrappy, improvised fight, cause its largely absent from later one piece but its SO much fun to read- zoro cutting holes in rooftops for people to fall through or shoving ladders to the ground as bounty hunters try to climb them.

i’m a huge fan of fight scenes that use the environment to their fullest, and this is such a perfect example of it. it makes the fight feel a lot more real and exciting, in my opinion.

i’ve never liked zoro and luffy fighting at whiskey peak, its always struck me as frustrating and contrived and kind of out of character for both of them, but i will say that i do like how on the same page they are even when they’re trying to kill each other.

the entire first half of the baroque works saga basically serves to introduce and endear us to vivi so we’ll be invested in the alabasta conflict, and that starts here in whiskey peak, when we get our first glimpse of her actual personality rather than the act she was putting on as miss wednesday, when she bites her lip hard enough to bleed in order not to break down at igaram’s apparent death.

watching robin’s actions with the added context of later one piece is one of the great joys of rereading alabasta. she does a fantastic job of appearing to be crocodile’s most dedicated and capable and dangerous employee while quietly but consistently sabotaging his efforts; saving luffy, sparing pell, sparing igaram, not telling crocodile anything about the strawhats despite meeting them here at the very start of the saga.

little garden has some really cool and striking panels that really put the scale of things on the island, the dinosaurs and giants alike, into perspective, and i love it.

i’m a huge fan of the depth of in-universe lore one piece has. just having little details like this, quotes from books written in-universe, go so far towards making the world feel like a real and wondrous place with mysteries to be solved and details to be uncovered.

i still think sanji is firmly at his best when he’s being a sneaky bastard, and i will never cease to be delighted by how thoroughly he manages to fuck crocodile over with nothing but a phone and some quick thinking not once but twice.

i really like dorry and brogy! for minor characters who’ve only appeared in one relatively minor and inconsequential arc so far, they’re not only very fun and memorable but also leave a hell of an impact on the story, not only in usopp’s new dream of eventually visiting elbaf but also in how they and their crew just keep coming up, first in enies lobby and then even further down the line in dressrosa and whole cake island.

i’m really excited for when we eventually get to reach elbaf, because this plot thread has been so thoroughly and subtly built up over such a long time that i can’t wait to see how it ends.

this is one of my favorite little moments to really drive home how much the strawhats care about each other. they all fell asleep on the floor rather than leave nami alone.

the whole introductory scene to drum is a really good summary of who vivi is as a person and how she contrasts with luffy, and it’s something i’ve written extensively about in a past meta. here ill just settle for saying, vivi is chronically selfless, and always the sort of person to sacrifice herself for others, and these traits which save the strawhats here are the exact same ones that bring her and luffy to blows later on in alabasta.

a good thing to remember when writing characters is that traits aren’t really inherently good or bad, they’re just traits and can have positive or negative consequences depending on the situation, and i think oda is really good at this. vivi’s selflessness, usually a positive thing, becomes reckless self-sacrifice when she’s pushed to her breaking point.

‘kindness begets kindness’ is a pretty consistent theme throughout one piece, though luffy is most often on the other side of it. someone (rebecca, law, tama, etc.) does something for him without really expecting anything in return, and gets paid back a hundred times over. this is a case of the opposite- luffy helps someone offhandedly, and is later saved by their gratitude.

i think luffy wearing his fingers bloody as he climbs the drum rockies is the only time one piece has ever made me cringe back from the page. this sequence is absolutely brutal, and it’s so well-done.

the way luffy decides chopper should be his crewmate is precious, and also reminds me a little of his recruitment of sanji (ironically, given he’s talking to sanji about chopper here). in both cases he sees someone do something good without even really knowing the full extent of their abilities and makes a snap decision that they are awesome and are gonna be part of his crew, no matter what they have to say about it.

i really, really enjoy the way the drum island flashback is set up, with the cutaway right as luffy is about to punch wapol’s lights out. the cut back to that punch finally hitting when the flashback ends is by that point infinitely more satisfying, since you’ve just read chopper’s backstory and therefore have a deep and abiding desire to see wapol eat shit.

hiriluk’s final speech is definitely one of the best and most memorable quotes from one piece, and effectively the crux of one of its biggest themes. one piece is all about inherited will. all of our main cast and a solid percentage of the supporting cast bear the legacy of at least one forebear on their shoulders, from kuina to corazon to otohime. the entire setting of the story is defined by roger’s legacy.

all those people are dead, but they’re sure as hell not forgotten- how can they be, when their legacies are actively shaping the world as a direct result of their lives and influences?

i really, really like the use of flags in one piece. flags are how you declare loyalty or war in equal measure, and flying a pirate flag is a declaration that you’re choosing freedom, come what may, over the laws of the world government. it’s just a really excellent running motif, and a great symbol of what one piece’s definition of piracy means.

this scene is also one of the ones that gets even more extra weight behind it when you know luffy’s full backstory with sabo, which i love.

chopper’s recruitment scene sums up one of the reasons luffy is really great. he just doesn’t care about a lot of things other people would normally take notice of. occasionally that gets him in trouble, but other times it leads to him responding to a situation exactly right, like here. chopper is listing off all his insecurities and reasons he can’t go with the strawhats, and luffy just flat doesn’t care. he wants chopper on his crew and he knows chopper wants to be on his crew, so as far as he’s concerned, there’s no issue at all.

it really is wild that the will of D is named this far back in the story, and has consistently been referenced and built up ever since in very slight ways, through comments by characters like robin and corazon, and yet we still know basically nothing about it.

and a toast to a new crewmate!!

continued in the next post, which covers alabasta arc proper.

#the voyage so far #arc: reverse mountain #arc: whiskey peak #arc: little garden #arc: drum island #one piece #opmeta #not japanese #long post

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astrovian · 3 years

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the official ranking of RA photoshoot outfits (pt. 1)

as @dykethorin said when I first proposed doing this particular ranking, “Some real Decisions™️ were made” with these shoots y’all

all photoshoot outfits (for part one) under the cut

the official ranking of Daniel Miller outfits here

the official ranking of Adam Price outfits here

the official ranking of Claude Becker outfits here

guys, I’m crying with laughter

hey quick question: what the fuck was this photoshoot??? (and also I need current RA in these poses)

it’s real nice to see a fun, loosey-goosey RA (before he established himself in the broody-character archetype) but there are so many questionable fashion choices here

when I started this list I had two options:

1) allow some leeway to the older photoshoots because, let’s be real, the early 2000s were an atrocious time for fashion that a lot of us would most rather forget we participated in

2) judge them by today’s standards, which is harsh but some of these outfits deserve it

naturally, I chose option #2

It’s so hard to even pick where to start. the too-loose pants? the ill-fitting suit jacket? The untucked dress shirt that is for some god-forsaken reason undone in two separate directions??

I have chosen one thing that sums the outfit up as a whole: what monster decided to put the shirt collar over the suit jacket????

the jazz hands scream “hey I’m a FUN guy” but the suit screams “I’m the yo-pro asshole at the office who is so unreliable you’re pretty sure some nepotism must surely have had an influence during the hiring process”

I originally said ‘I guess we should be glad there’s no surfer necklace’ but then I had the horrifying realisation that it’s a 50/50 shot as to whether that would improve this outfit or make it worse. and you know when there’s even slimmest chance a surfer necklace could improve an outfit somehow that it’s time to take a good hard look at yourself

1/10 just because this photoshoot made me genuinely laugh out loud

wait I’m sorry, what-

how on god’s green earth is this the same photoshoot (?) as guys, I’m crying with laughter????

the great thing about these lists is that you are getting my genuine reactions as I progress down the images. I had no idea this was the same photoshoot (?) until approximately 10 seconds after writing guys, I’m crying with laughter

this perfectly encapsulates the duality of man – one moment it’s all goofy jazz hands and the next it’s a hunk-of-the-week moment

this man and guys, I’m crying with laughter are the equivalent of looking at pictures of yourself in high school vs. in your 20s/30s/at your prime. the whiplash is insane

and why is he in front of barred windows?? it appears they were afraid of what would happen if this hunk escaped into the general population

I still can’t believe they kept the collar over the suit jacket though

I’m so conflicted guys, the urge to numerically rank this terrible outfit is strong but uh… as per usual shirtless ones aren’t fair/10

revenge of the killer surfer necklace

do you ever look back at a specific moment in time and are so thankful that someone took one tiny action? one small thing they did in the heat of the moment that probably seemed innocuous at the time but had far-reaching consequences? for example, it might something as simple as deciding to take a umbrella on a bright sunny day only for it to be extremely useful on the way home when the weather turns

this is how I feel about the person who decided RA could leave that top button closed for this shoot

if you squint, you can see the surfer necklace under that top button. and thank god you have to squint

this is such an early 2000s look though. that shirt by itself is fine and would actually look killer with a properly fitted suit nowadays. it’s the shirt dress and loose denim look with makes no sense to me

2/10 for a pretty uninspiring early 2000s outfit

revenge of the uh…

from the same shoot as revenge of the killer surfer necklace this loses .1 of a mark for adding a jacket, while pretty innocuous, to an already busy outfit

1.9/10

were we really that afraid of legs?

why were we, as a society, so obsessed with loose, ill-fitting pants? why were we so desperate to conceal legs from the general population? what secrets were we trying to hide? I understand the comfort factor on the hand, but on the other did anyone actually have eyes

the sneakers/suit combo I can definitely live with. but those pants (that I’m convinced must be pyjama pants in another life) turns it all into a sloppy, blurry mess

2.7/10

is it a bird? is it a plane? no, it’s… a floating RA?

what is it about photoshoots in the early 2000s where they just make no damn sense. it’s my opinion that the theme/concept of a shoot should not overshadow the subject, and that’s the correct opinion (as well as being the exact opposite as to what’s happening here)

maybe there was a hint or reason as to why floating wizard RA exists in the article that this shoot presumably came with, but I don’t get it. clearly I’m far too literal of a person and need to embrace my inner artist

looks pretty, still weird

moving on the entire point of this post, the outfit, I uh,… oh god

I’m pretty sure this the same (and similar, if not) outfit RA wore in the North & South behind-the-scenes, and how we as a society went from John Thornton’s stiff collar and top hat to this is amazing

maybe we were so obsessed with period dramas back then because it was a nice alternative to indulge our eyes in when we had to face the harsh, cold reality of modern fashion at the time

anyway – trust me, while I am all for a man in a necklace, let’s pray surfer necklaces never come back 2.9/10

I genuinely was looking up “pinstriped jacket jokes” because I couldn’t think of anything off the top of my head but then I realised I don’t need a joke here because pinstriped jackets are a joke all by themselves

I feel like there may be a situation where pinstriped suit jackets might grow on me, but this is not that situation

also I don’t really know where I stand on the belt, but I certainly think I’m leaning towards the ‘why’ part of the scale. if you’re gonna make a belt that prominent in a photoshoot, at least make it a fun belt

3/10

I’m noticing a trend in these photoshoots and it’s these horrific backgrounds

I will admit that the non-patterned suit jacket is going with the jeans a lot better here. but now that my attention isn’t focused on that, all I can see are the dress shoes. WHY DID YOU PUT DRESS SHOES WITH STRAIGHT-LEGGED JEANS???

please someone I am begging you, can we as a society get to tapered jeans already

3.3/10

did RA genuinely ever get put into any clothes that actually fitted him properly at this point in time?

look, I know I’ve been picking on the bootcut jeans & loose attire that plagued us in the early 2000s (or 2006, to be specific to this photoshoot). what can I say, it’s the low-hanging fruit. or loose-hanging, as the case may be

I do appreciate that rich brown leather jacket and that smile. but that’s where it stops. someone take dress shirts and dress shoes away from bootcut denim PLEASE

3.5/10

this is the bad-boy from your hometown in every rom-com ever

as with well this in an interesting development that I can’t say I disapprove of below, the lower rating is simply because from what we can see, it’s just a plain shirt. however, that dipped v-neck? mm-mmm

look at that smirk. this man knows what he’s doing to us, dammit.

why do you persist in hurting us this way 4/10

well this in an interesting development that I can’t say I disapprove of

god bless the person who said we need this shirt wet and clinging and only half-soaked

I’m so sad that I have to give this such a low ranking because uh… we’ve established I have a weakness for those biceps

this does also get bonus points for the creativity of “only this portion of your shirt needs to be wet for your close-up” but at the end of the day it is a solitary grey t-shirt even if it is floating in an attractive sea of muscles

4.5/10

the photographer really said ‘who gives a crap about the clothes’, huh?

an interesting shirt! but as much as I love RA’s face, we should be able to see more of the shirt (and the outfit) because uh… it’s hard to make a judgement call on a photoshoot outfit without that

also, it’s just so hard to concentrate on some of these with RA staring into my soul like that

*sigh* 4.6/10

hello sir, are you as kinky as your shirt?

this is one of the few occasions on which I will give the bootleg baggy jeans a pass. interesting choice to go shoeless for all outfits in this shoot – but the way the shirt is all crumpled is annoying me an incessant amount. I am begging you, someone pass this stylist an ironing board PLEASE

4.7/10 for a crinkle-cut RA

all that’s missing is the beer cans

I’m not sure of the short sleeves here. I think with the shirt open as well my brain doesn’t know where to look

HOWEVER, this is an RA from the early 2000s that I can get behind – largely because he’s not drowning in his denim

the nice, plain belt which matches with the shirt? excellent

interesting choice to go with the bare feet – this entire look (and the quality of that concrete floor) screams ‘we’re chilling at a summer party in your parent’s basement in the early 2000s’ if not for one thing – that couch is way too nice looking. am I being too pedantic about this? no. If you’re gonna go for the whole basement party look, you need a couch that’s falling apart and has at least one questionable stain on it

that being said, I would hang out in this man’s basement

it’s a shirtless one so once again, I cannot give a numerical answer/10

I’m not sure if this man is dangerous or is just an idiot

they may have been wanting RA to embrace his inner Daniel Miller here but that is NOT a jacket that should have its collar popped or if it is, it definitely should not be popped that much. just turn the intensity of that pop down by… at least 35%

this look is telling me to embrace my inner lacy, ruffled collar that men in England used to wear around the 1500 - 1600s. I hate it and refute it with every part of my soul

this is what happens when you embrace your inner Daniel a little bit too much 5.6/10

the return of the leg monster

not much to say about this except once again we are terrified to put RA’s legs into well-fitted pants. what secrets are hiding underneath those voluminous billows? will we ever know?

5.8/10

the one that crushed my hopes and dreams and then spat on my corpse

so I admit it, I got really excited because I thought that this was a leopard print shirt and I was like “this is something I did NOT know that I needed until right now”, even if I would argue that it could have been nice in a little bit of a brighter colour. no matter, I thought it was a nice subtle addition to this plain suit and was just very excited at the prospect of RA rocking leopard print even though I almost always hate leopard print in single every form it comes in

and then. upon zooming. a disappointing paisley. sorry, paisley lovers. I hate it

I would also argue here that the pocket square would have been nice in a plain, bright colour rather than another patterned item thrown into the mix. come on stylists, stop letting me down with your pocket squares

also if there is a point where a suit can be too shiny, I think we’ve found it. I could wax floors with that fabric and I’d rather be thinking about RA’s talent & good looks rather than imagining him being used as a human mop

the hand porn is uh… strong with this one 6/10

the hand porn one

the ring is a nice subtle touch but I can’t decide where I stand on this tie. for me, the checks are just a *wee* tad too small. so small that it I’m scared it will turn into one of those optical illusions with a number in it if I stare at it the tie for too long

the pocket square could also have not tried so hard to blend in with the rest of the suit jacket. give me some colour, baby!

Richard really needs to put his hand down so I can actually concentrate on the clothes 6.5/10

I’m just dotty for this one (I’m so sorry y’all)

so suave. so shiny. I wanna stroke that fabric so bad, it looks so soft

the dots bring a nice yet understated touch to a monotone outfit and GOOD LORD those thighs

they just had to pose him like this to torture us, I’m convinced. also they call him a “commanding gentleman” in the subtitle which is really just unnecessary to verbalise when he’s sitting like this

Someone put me in a rom-com with this man 7.2/10

the modern magician (at least he ain’t floating this time)

I know that the hat should be the focus of this shoot but I can’t get over those shoes

tangentially related, I have never understood why they make men’s dress shoes so excessively long and pointed. these certainly aren’t a good example of this but uh… I don’t understand why men’s dress shoes are clown shoes

I think part of what’s throwing me off is the sockless look. normally I can handle (and even love) it with some shoes but there’s something about the hem of those jeans and those shoes that turn them into slippers when worn sockless

I love the two-tone scarf but what really excites me is the plaid shirt that we can barely see. I’m eternally sad that they had RA hid it in this pose. and also, come one. you could’ve at least gotten a chair with an actual back to it. that can’t be good for his back at all

the one bonus of this outfit is the hat because when do we ever get RA in hats?? and hats that aren’t baseball caps?? a nice, rare touch. but also one which hides most of that face so…

can we talk about the fact that my gut tells me those jean cuffs have been deliberately turned up at the front and all I want in life is to reach into this image and flip them down 7.5/10

*pterodactyl noises*

holy macaroni. that demin shirt. and this shirt’s even a nice lighter denim colour??? and the v-neck?? SIR

I know he’s worn some faux-denim shirts in the last few years (see: Uncle Vanya rehearsal pics) but as outerwear? knocked it out of the park in this one

also I know this is a shirt not a jacket, but this shirt made me think about how I never realised how much I needed RA in jean jackets until today

It could be argued that a nice crew neck cut would work slightly better than the v-neck but that’s really a personal choice

a lovely respite for my weary eyes 7.7/10

a truly, truly blessed image. the sort of image that would bring you endless good luck

I know I’ve given a lot of pants crap on this list but these. these are the ones. these are doing the lord’s work for sure. and god bless the person who decided to shoot from this particular side angle.

and then the shirt?? I’m honestly afraid it may rip if he moves. I could leave or take the tie though. it’s not adding a whole lot to this outfit and I would much rather that shirt be uh… open at the top for a glimpse of uh… well. you know.

this RA outfit laughs in the face of all those early 2000s RA outfits 8.1/10

me running to open my phone every time an RA-related notification pops up

my only sadness is that this shoot was in black & white. we need more action-shot RA shoots!

also the subtle plaid?? *chef’s kiss*

well, I said ‘my only sadness’ but is it also me or are both ends of that tie strangely square? that is throwing me off from an otherwise spectacular photoshoot outfit, I won’t lie

8.5/10 for a man of action

this is what we all like to think we look on the way to work. hate to break it to ya - we don’t

god, that wind-ruffled hair. the rustic look provided by both the suit material & the photo editing. that stare over the top of that coffee mug. the casual ‘I just picked up the paper on my way out this morning’

words fail me

would it be weird if I said I would pay money to be able to run my hands through anyone’s hair that looks as soft and wind-swept as that 8.9/10

the comfiest RA

I love. love. love this outfit, especially the sweater. the pant colour goes extremely well with this one and I’m so glad they didn’t just stick him in jeans. the is the softest, comfiest RA and I love it. this is an RA who you can simultaneously share a beer and takeaway with at home, cuddling up on the sofa while you watch a film, as well as an RA who will take you out to eat fancy pasta at an upscale restaurant.

the choice of sitting on a stool is also great. my only real gripe here is the watch (and even that’s a minor one, really). the watch isn’t THAT bad, but it’s chunky face reminds me slightly of the watches boys in my class would wear in middle school. the watch could be a *wee wee tad* slicker, but really, I’m nitpicking here (and this is the only time I will admit to it)

the more I look at it, the more this becomes one of my fav RA pics. the slight smile. the relaxed pose. the hint of hand porn

weirdly, for some reason this picture gives me the exact same comfy and ‘just chilling out’ feeling as when I hear the song “Kiss Me” by Sixpence None the Richer 9.5/10

#richard armitage #yes this is a multi-part one because uh... there's a lot of photoshoots guys #also yes most of the early 2000s ones ended up at the bottom and I refuse to apologise for that

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obeyme-kaidii-writes · 3 years

Text

Hot Pepper Challenge

Mammon x poly gn!MC x Leviathan

Words - 2626

Content warnings - humor, some mild language, polyamorous relationship

Prompt/Inspiration - Mammon and Levi engage in a hot sauce battle/hot pepper challenge

Summary - Levi challenges Mammon to a Hot Pepper Challenge and things go about as well as one might expect.

AO3

You weren’t quite sure why you let them talk you into this. Normally, you did a pretty good job of keeping their combined idiocy in check. But for whatever reason, when Mammon and Levi had both come to you, eyes sparkling, full of excitement, you just couldn’t say no.

Levi had heard about a viral trend from the human world whereby you record yourself eating an extremely hot pepper and post it online. And of course, being Levi, he wanted to take things up a notch and make this a contest of sorts between him and Mammon. The prize being a date with you.

How bad could things be? you had thought to yourself. Surely demons were better suited to hot peppers than your average human, right? You would have been correct had Levi been simply intending to ingest human realm varieties. But since he cannot do anything in half measures, he upped the ante by acquiring several varieties of Devildom peppers unbeknownst to you. In fact, it wasn’t until you had started setting up the kitchen with large glasses of milk, with some containers of softened ice cream on standby in the freezer, that you noticed the peculiar peppers Levi was spreading out on the counter.

Not only were they varieties you did not recognize, there were far more of them than you had imagined necessary. It was clear he wasn’t planning on eating just one or two, and you started to have second thoughts about encouraging this activity.

“Um Levi?”

“Yeah?”

“How many peppers are you planning on eating…?”

“As many as I can get Mammon to eat,” he said with a mischievous grin. While he did love the idea of winning an extra date with you, his motives weren’t altogether pure. What he really wanted was to make a viral video for DevilTube...and seeing Mammon suffer because he would be too stubborn to back down from a challenge and admit when he’s had enough? That was icing on the cake.

It was then you realized that there was a good chance Mammon had no idea exactly what he had agreed to, and you knew your sweet, precious idiot wouldn’t be able to stop while he was ahead even after he did. You heaved a frustrated sigh, rolling your eyes at Levi, as you took up your position on the barstool opposite of where he and Mammon were to be sitting. Maybe you could send a text to Mammon, to give him a heads up at least? But no sooner had the thought crossed your mind, than Mammon strode through the kitchen doors, brimming with confidence and smiling broadly.

He walked right over to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders before pressing a quick kiss to your temple. He knew he had this in the bag, and had already bought tickets to a concert he was positive you would enjoy. His smile started to falter however, when he caught sight of the lineup of peppers on display. He glanced down at you, and you just gave him a weak smile, not bothering to explain what he clearly knew.

“Uhh, Levi? Whatsup with these peppers?”

“They’re what we are using, of course,” Levi replied, smirking. This was going to be epic.

“Umm, are you crazy?! We agreed to the human realm challenge. Like that video ya showed me.”

“What’s wrong Mammon? Scared?” You glared at Levi who was looking absolutely gleeful at how things were unfolding. You loved him to bits, but he could be outright devious sometimes.

“I ain’t scared!” Mammon snapped, swallowing thickly, “Just makin’ sure we are doin’ things right is all.”

“LOL ok. Then let’s get started.”

“ Fine.”

“Well, let’s get this over with,” you mumbled to yourself, as you positioned your DDD on the mini tripod Levi had provided you. Mammon and Levi took their seats, with Mammon doing his best to keep a straight face. He hadn’t even touched the peppers yet, and was already sweating bullets.

“You know, you guys really don’t have to do this. I can just go on separate dates with…”

“NO!” They both replied, in sync. Despite the fact that Mammon looked like he was about to cry, he was still staunchly determined to win and somehow impress you. And Levi, of course, was not about to let this opportunity slip through his fingers.

You sighed again. These two were going to be the death of you, you were sure.

“Fine, ready when you are,” you said as you began recording.

Levi started with his standard DevilTuber introduction, before introducing Mammon, and thanking you for assisting. At least the color was returning to Mammon’s face and he didn’t look quite so terrified now that everything had begun and he slipped into the same headspace he used when working his modeling gigs.

Just gotta put on a performance. It didn’t really matter how hot the peppers were, there was no way Levi was going to be able to handle them. All he had to do was outlast Levi, he thought, trying to reassure himself.

“Now for the rules! We will be starting with the mildest pepper here, rated at 2,000,000 SHU all the way up to the hottest variety at 16,000,000 SHU. First one to drink the milk, loses.

Ready?”

Mammon nodded.

“Go!”

And without any further ado, the loves of your life took massive bites out of the first peppers.

And you waited.

And you watched.

Levi was the first to start squirming, his face becoming progressively more red. He immediately regret his decision to wear his usual outfit and quickly removed his jacket, tossing it to the side.

Mammon on the other hand, was nibbling on what remained of his first pepper. He was relieved that this was the variety they started with, because it was the same one used to flavor his beloved Hell Sauce Noodles. And judging by the look on Levi’s face, he wasn’t going to be lasting much longer.

“What’s the matter, Levi? Too hot for ya?” he taunted.

“Shut up. I’m just getting started.”

It may have appeared that Levi had overlooked Mammon’s love of spicy things, but this was all part of his Master Plan to lull him into a false sense of security. At least that’s what he was telling himself. In reality, he had completely forgotten about it and hadn’t thought to check the ingredients for the cup noodles he knew Mammon was so fond of. But there was no way he was going to admit to that.

“Ready?” asked Levi, as he grabbed the next pepper in the lineup.

“Yup.”

This one wasn’t much hotter than the first, so Mammon quickly polished it off, licking any stray juices off his fingers. If things kept up at this rate, he was going to have this in the bag. He just had to hope that Levi gave up long before they reached the final pepper that Mammon knew for a fact was way too hot for something anyone had any business eating.

Levi kept stealing nervous glances at the nearby glass of milk, and you briefly considered offering it to him but decided that would only egg his competitive nature on and have the opposite intended effect. So instead, you continued on in your role as a silent observer and camera operator. At least Mammon was handling things well, so far, which allowed you to relax some.

“Next,” Levi choked out. This third variety was the one he personally had to stop at in his practice runs. He didn’t know what he was going to do if Mammon was able to take it as well as the previous two. “Ruri-chan help me,” he whispered under his breath.

Mammon confidently picked up the third pepper, taking a large bite from it as he had done with the others, flashing you a brilliant smile in the process. But after a few moments, you noticed the heat start to rise to his cheeks as he quickly shuffled off his jacket. It seemed this variety was a good leap up on the heat scale, one Mammon was absolutely not expecting.

Even though Levi was on the brink of tears, it did not escape his notice when Mammon had started showing a reaction. He fist pumped internally, sitting up a little bit taller, having regained some of his confidence from earlier. Just a bit more, he thought, one more was all he needed to break Mammon. He just had to tough it out a tiny bit longer.

“Next.”

This time Mammon was a bit more hesitant, but he wasn’t about to back down now. Not after he had come this far.

So he took his first bite, and the reaction was almost immediate. Tears welled up in his eyes, sweat started pouring down his face, and he could even feel his nose start to run. He sniffled, trying to maintain his composure, not wanting to let on just how badly he was being affected, and shot a sideways glance to Levi.

Levi was sobbing at this point, not even bothering to conceal the pain he was in as the tears streamed down his cheeks. He knew he needed to swallow, to get the pepper out of his mouth, but his body was fighting against him and refusing to let it happen. So instead he simply sat there, as more and more heat gathered on his tongue. He swore he could feel a hole starting to form in his mouth, the longer he kept the pepper there, but finally he managed to gag/cough in such a way he was able to choke it down.

Dumbasses. That’s what they are. Dumbasses.

“Ready to give up, Levi?” Mammon taunted.

“HA! As if. This is nothing,” but his tear stained face was telling quite a different story.

“Next pepper.”

“Right. Next pepper.”

“Yep.”

The boys stared at the next variety before them, neither eager to take another bite. They kept stealing glances at the other, daring one another to reach for the milk. Both were regretting their life choices at this point, and Mammon was saying a small prayer, to whoever listened to demons, that if they just let him win this challenge, he’d walk the straight and narrow and stop stealing from his brothers. Except Levi. Levi deserved everything he had coming to him.

“...are we stopping here…?” you asked. It had been a good five minutes now of them just staring at their peppers and occasionally looking at one another. They both jumped at the sound of your voice, having forgotten completely about you and the fact this was all being recorded.

“Nope!” was all Levi said as he grabbed the next pepper, and brought it to his lips, Mammon following suit. With one final glance at the other, they took a bite.

Mammon was crying now, his nose running, and his whole face and neck flushed. This had to be the worst decision he had ever made, and that included all the shit he had pulled that had resulted in him strung up by the rafters for days on end. Why? Why had he decided this was a good idea? It wasn’t like you didn’t go on enough dates with him already. You spent plenty of time together. He should have just been content with what he had. Now he was going to die for sure before he ever got to take you anywhere again.

At some point Levi had removed his shirt and was now sitting bare chested, bracing himself against the counter top. His upper body was so red he honestly looked more like a tomato than a demon. He was breathing heavily, as he struggled against every fiber of his being that was urging him to just admit defeat like the loser he was and chug the damn milk. But he couldn’t. It would be more humiliation than he could bare if you had to see him give up after he was the one that started this whole thing and had been so smug and confident about it.

Involuntarily, Mammon reached out and grabbed the glass of milk. It felt so cool on his palm. When he realized what he had done, he tried to let go, but his self preservation instincts had reached their limits and were not about to let that happen.

Levi noticed Mammon’s movements, and he couldn’t help but smile. Well, he tried to smile. It looked more like one of those “please pity me” smiles as he psychically begged Mammon to take the first sip. His eyes were blurry with tears, and before he even knew what he was doing, Levi had wiped the sweat and tears away from them.

The moments that followed were pure and absolute chaos.

Levi stared at his hand in absolute horror. What had he done?! Without hesitation, he grabbed the glass of milk and dumped it on his face.

“HA!” Mammon called out, before quickly chugging down his own glass of milk.

“I DIDNT DRINK IT!” Levi whined, scrambling to the freezer so he could start on the ice cream.

“LIKE HELL YOU DIDNT!”

“YOU LOST!”

“FUCK YOU!”

“THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT YOU STUPID IDIOT! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO STOP SOONER!”

“YOURE THE ONE WHO STARTED THIS, DUMBASS!”

You watched on as Mammon and Levi took turns crying and yelling, hurling insults at each other, through gulps of milk and mouthfuls of ice cream. There wasn’t much else you could do really besides sit there and make sure they didn’t fling anything on your DDD, wondering exactly how long they were going to keep this up for.

As their wailing continued, Lucifer popped his head in to see what all the fuss was about, ready to lay into Mammon. But when he saw him writhing in pain on the floor, shoving hunks of bread into his overstuffed mouth, he realized there wasn’t anything he could do to punish him more thoroughly than how he was suffering right now. He also caught sight of Levi, who was now laying on his stomach, cheek flushed to the floor while he spread out his limbs to get as much contact with the cool surface as possible.

Even though the pain in his mouth had subsided, (whether because he managed to clear out of all traces of the peppers, or because his nerve endings had simply been burnt away, he didn’t know) his body was impossibly hot and at some point he had also removed his pants, leaving him in nothing but his Azuki-tan boxers. He knew he should be embarrassed to be in such a state of undress not only in front of you, but in a public place like the kitchen, but he didn’t care. The only thing that kept him from jumping into Henry’s fish tank was the exhaustion that was weighing down his limbs, and the thought of how much work it would be to access the top of the tank.

A smug smile spread across Lucifer’s face, satisfied with his brother's joint misery. When he turned to look at you, he briefly felt something akin to pity, but you were as much to blame for this as they were, as far as he was concerned. You had chosen them, after all, for reasons that Lucifer couldn’t quite fathom, and you knew exactly what you had been getting yourself into when you had done so.

So, with a wave of his hand Lucifer wished you “Good luck” as he left the kitchen and headed towards his study to relax to one of his favorite records. One that he felt would harmonize perfectly with the sounds of their suffering.

#gn!mc #poly mc #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #obey me levi #mammon x mc x levi #levi x poly mc #mammon x poly mc #obey me fanfic #mammon fanfic #levi fanfic #obey me crack #levi crack #mammon crack

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free-pancakes · 3 years

Text

couldn’t sleep last night and decided to elaborate more on this prompt! thanks again for the ask, @agoldenheartedsnkfan! i ended up changing my original answer a bit as i kept writing

it’s a bunch of levihan fluff and banter and it’s not very exciting, so you are officially forewarned lol

Summary: Levi confronts his feelings about Hange after the Sawney/Bean incident

cross-posted to ao3

“Levi, do you mind holding these for me?” Hange shoved her papers into Levi’s hands and ran back into her office. “Moblit couldn’t carry all my stuff, so this is a huge help, thanks Levi!” “Oi, four-eyes, what’s all this shit for?”

Hange ran back out of her office holding more tools and notebooks. “I’m doing some more experiments on Sawney and Bean tomorrow and I’m setting it all up! Remember, I’ll be meeting up with your squad and Eren later!”

“Hmph. Well you might as well just move your entire office out towards those damn titans, then. Carrying this stuff back and forth is a waste of time.” Hange threw her head back and laughed. “It would take ages to move my entire office out here, shorty! And THAT would be a waste of time!”

Levi rolled his eyes at her comment, and they started walking together to the tents outside the compound where the titans were held captive.

“Thanks for your help, Levi!” Hange smiled widely, and dropped half the things she was holding just to hug him, causing him to do the same.

“Oi four-eyes, we just got here and you’re already making a mess,” he muttered as he immediately started tidying up all the papers strewn across the floor. “Wow Levi, you can’t let a mess sit for even a second before you have to clean it up!” As she bent down next to him gathering the notebooks on the floor, the sweet scent of lavender reached Levi’s nose. “Yeah well good thing you started using the shampoo I bought you, because then this shit wouldn’t be the only mess on the floor I’d have to clean up.” Hange let out a small giggle, “Aw Levi, stop being so uptight! That’s why you have that permanent, constipated look on your face all the time!”

Nifa looked at Moblit. “God you were right, their weird little banter and bickering really doesn’t end, does it?”

“SHHHH NIFA they might hear you! I’d be caught dead if Levi finds out I’ve been ranting to our squad about the two of them! I’m glad Hange’s happy when Levi’s around but honestly I’d like some peace and quiet sometimes,” Moblit sighed.

Nifa whispered, “Hm, well if we said something, maybe they’d finally realize they actually do like each other, maybe they’ll stop fighting all the time!”

“Oh Nifa, with my luck, their banter will never end no matter what happens. Come on, we have a lot of work to do.”

“Ughhh fine,” Nifa said, defeated.

--------------------

Levi stood with his arms crossed in front of Erwin’s desk. “Moblit said you wanted to see me?”

“Yes. I’m a bit, concerned about Hange. I haven’t seen her since we completed the ODM checks. I’m not entirely sure who really killed Sawney and Bean at this point, but I have some feeling that Hange is still blaming herself over it. I haven’t heard or seen her for the past couple days—I know it’s your day off, but do you think you could find her and see how she’s doing, Levi?”

“Sure.” Levi turned to walk out the door.

“And Levi?”“Yes?”

“I asked you because well…I know you’d be able to bring her spirits back up. It’s been awfully quiet without her around.”

Levi nodded, and left to find Hange.

--------------------

Levi searched all throughout the barracks—the lab, Hange’s office, the mess hall, and all her usual spots he’d find her sitting and scribbling notes. He checked with his squad and Hange’s squad, and no one knew where Hange was.

It was getting late, and the sun began to set lazily in sky. Levi was about to leave to look through their usual hangout places in town, when he heard Nifa jogging to catch up to him. “Hey Levi! I did notice one thing—Hange’s ODM gear is missing! She must have it with her!” Levi was grateful for how observant Hange’s squad members were, because now, he knew exactly where she was. He reached out to ruffle Nifa’s hair, and headed out.

Levi scaled the wall with his ODM gear, and started walking through the path of walkway around all the supply boxes and materials stored up by the center looking post. He wandered around for a few minutes until he turned around a tall pile of supplies and saw Hange, sitting with her legs dangling off the side of the wall, holding her face in her hands. He was entranced by her appearance, tears streaming into her hands, traveling slowly down her arms. He had seen Hange cry before, mourning over dead comrades and failed experiments, but this was different. Hange was sunshine personified—a fierce fire ever present in her eyes, a person radiating energy and self-confidence every minute Levi had known her. But in that moment, it was nowhere to be found, and it made Levi feel so cold that he shivered where he stood. He woke himself out of his trance, and stepped silently towards Hange. As he got closer, he heard Hange muttering to herself—

“God, Hange. It’s all your fault, you’re such an idiot. You just keep on letting everyone down don’t you? Why can’t you just stop being so goddamn useless?”

Levi stopped at hearing those words and felt nothing but anger—“How could she even think that?” he thought to himself. He was overwhelmed with fierce feelings to protect her and wanted nothing but for her to know how important she was to the survey corps, to those 104th brats, to his squad, to their friends, and more importantly—to him. His chest swelled with emotion, overwhelming his senses. He closed his eyes, took a moment to breathe and calm himself.

He avoided dwelling on these types of feelings, but to his annoyance, he was constantly pestered with comments and questions on the nature of his relationship was with Hange. However, the more Levi let himself simmer in these thoughts, the more he realized that he couldn’t just keep denying how he truly felt. Three years was long enough.

He walked towards her until he was standing directly behind her, looking down at the top of her head, mesmerized by the purple-orange glow of the sunset illuminating the tears on her face, and her flowing locks of hair draping softly over her shoulders—he rarely ever saw it out of a ponytail. “God, even when she's sad, everything about her is still beautiful,” Levi thought.

Hange didn’t notice Levi until she suddenly felt his hands gently cupping her cheeks, which then carefully pushed her chin upwards to look at him. She was startled at first, as she thought she was alone, but she recognized it to be Levi fairly quickly. She found herself staring into Levi’s face, his bangs barely brushing the tip of her nose. She was angry at first, upset that anyone would find the scout’s section commander crying and doubting her own abilities. But as she frowned and opened her mouth to yell and project her frustrations onto him, Levi wiped away the tears on her cheeks with his thumbs and sat down next to her, his actions calming her sudden surge of anger. They made eye contact, and Hange knew exactly what was on Levi’s mind—he didn’t need to say a word.

Hange laughed, and placed her hand on Levi’s shoulder. “You always know what to say… without even saying it, don’t you Levi?”

A few moments of silenced passed.

“Hm. Well, your eyesight might be trash, but other than that, you do know you’re not useless, right?”

Hange looked down with embarrassment, surprised he had heard her talking to herself. She opened her mouth to speak in protest, but Levi gently placed his hand on her head and pulled her into his gaze. “I don’t want to hear any of that nonsense ever again, Hange. Focus on what lies ahead, and I’ll be right here by your side to hold your shit, or whatever you need. Okay?”

Hange’s eyes widened. Levi might not be great with words, but Hange was always good at “translating” for him, or at least understanding what he really meant. “Levi, are you saying… what I think you’re saying?”

Levi was at a loss for words, and beads of sweat instantly started forming on the side of his brow. Hange noticed this immediately and laughed so hard that tears started welling up around her eyes. “Oi four-eyes, this isn’t funny!” Hange kept laughing and laid her head on his shoulder. It took all of Levi’s energy to suppress a smile—he hated to admit it, but her laughter was contagious. “Hange I’m serious, okay? I—“

“I love you too, yknow?” Hange whispered.

Levi’s expression softened at her response. Minutes passed before either of them could say anything. They sat, dwelling on the words they just exchanged, staring out to the vast land in front of them, the last rays of sun peaking over the horizon.

“…How long have you known?” Levi asked curiously.

“Well Nanaba really just pulled me aside the last time we all went drinking about a few months ago, and pushed me in the right direction, I guess. It’s funny, in retrospect, I think the moment I knew that you might be a little more than just my best friend was—“

“At the Sina military ball 3 years ago,” Levi and Hange echoed simultaneously.

“W-wait, you started having feelings for me the same night I did for you?” Hange exclaimed.

“Pfft, pulling those pranks on all those dumb military police morons with you wasn’t bad.” Hange smiled as she reminisced over the trouble they got into that night, the laughter they shared, and… their first dance together. “Hey Levi, the two of us make a pretty good team, don’t we?”

“Yeah, all 3 of us.”“Oi what do you mean by 3 of us? What are you talking about??”

“Yeah, 3. You, me, and your shitty glasses.”

Hange laughed heartily, and kissed Levi on the cheek. He immediately blushed and she giggled more at his embarrassment. She stood up, and said, “Hah, well I guess it’s time to head back. Erwin’s probably wondering where we are, and the debrief meeting is gonna start pretty soon.” She excitedly held her hand out towards Levi to help him up. He couldn’t help but smile at her goofy grin, and grabbed her hand.

#levihan #levihan fanfic #ao3

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intomymindspace · 4 years

Text

Are You Bored Yet? ✰ Sawamura Daichi

Are You Bored Yet? by Wallows (ft. Clairo)

sawamura daichi x gn reader

Through the Summer and the Fall // Haikyuu!! Songfic Series

a/n: Hello hello! I didn’t expect this big of a response for my series and Asahi songfic, but thank you all for the support 🥺 as promised, I have delivered a hopefully good dadchi fic featuring just deadass a scene from Monthly Girl’s Nozaki-Kun because I just want a second season 😌 I hope you all have been doing well!! The next insert I will be posting will be with Iwa-chan 🥰 I also try to make my fics as gender neutral as possible! But sometimes I slip without noticing it, so if you see a she or her in there, please just let me know kindly and I shall fix it!

Warnings: maybe like really light angst? and just Suga being his matchmaking self as per usual~

Daichi stared at you from the sidelines as the team took a small water break before their post-practice stretch. The boys had been practicing since the morning because school wasn’t in session for the summer. Not to mention, the Star Festival was tonight - so Coach Ukai decided to let them out earlier than usual in the afternoon so they could join the festivities before sunset hit. Daichi was too late to react as your eyes met his, and his cheeks reddened slightly as he was caught staring at you. Noticing how red he had gotten, you jogged over and handed him his water bottle.

“Dai-san, you’re looking a little red. Are you okay?” He heard genuine concern in your voice, and he couldn't help but smile at your kindness.

“Yeah, just a bit tired since it's so hot, that's all.” Grabbing the bottle from your hands, he thanked you as he rubbed the nape of his neck sheepishly.

“Is everything okay? You seemed a bit out of it today.” Daichi’s eyes widened at your question - but he wasn’t surprised by it. You could read him like an open book, but you were completely blind to his feelings for you.

“Everything’s fine! I’m fine. I guess I’ve just been thinking about tonight.” You smiled at him, taking the answer. You could tell something was bothering him, but you decided against pushing him for the actual answer for now.

"What's wrong?" you've been askin'

But I don't have an answer

While getting ready, you couldn’t help but think about Daichi - what was going on with him? You had been close friends with him since Suga introduced the two of you in your first year - and you knew almost everything about him. If Suga didn’t take first place in being your best friend, it would’ve been Daichi. Even though the both of you had only met almost three years ago, when you’re with him, it feels like you’ve known him forever. So why couldn’t you pinpoint why he was acting strange around you?

And why didn’t he want to tell you?

Sighing, you finished fixing your face and hair, giving yourself one last look in the mirror before putting on your yukata, your mom helping you perfect the obi across your waist. Promising her that you’d take lots of photos, you walked out your door and made your way to Suga’s house - you were neighbors and childhood friends after all. During the half-an-hour walk to the festival square, you took the initiative to ask Suga about Daichi’s mood - maybe he knew.

“Daichi-san has been acting weird? What makes you say that?” He asked, a light smile on his face.

“I don’t know. I didn’t really think of it as a big issue until today. The past week, I just thought that maybe he was more tired than usual… but now, I feel like he’s just trying to avoid me - or at least, avoid talking to me.” Suga hummed in response. He saw the way you tried to hide the hurt look from showing in your eyes, a frown still creeping onto your face. He smirked at the phone call he had with his friend while getting ready.

How come, I'm still thinkin'

Let's pretend to fall asleep now

“Suga-san, what do I do?” He could feel the panic in Daichi’s voice. Rolling his eyes playfully, Suga answered the captain’s question.

“Baka, we’ve been talking about this for a whole month, Daichi-san.”

“That’s not the point! What happens if they reject me? That's literally three years of friendship down the drain because of me.” If they had been having this conversation face-to-face, Suga would’ve chopped him in the side so hard.

“First of all, what makes you think they’ll reject you?”

“Well - ” Suga cut him off.

“And second of all, why are you assuming they’re going to stop being your friend even if they do reject you? I didn't know you thought they were that shallow, Dai-san.” Suga smirked after he finished talking - he knew he had Daichi in checkmate.

“I - I don’t think they’re shallow! I just… Ugh! I hate that you’re always right.” He could practically see the annoyed look on Daichi’s face, making him giggle.

“I know. So are you going to confess to them tonight?”

“I - I don’t know.” The setter’s eyes formed slits as he squinted.

“If you don’t, I will tell them.” Suga was definitely lying - he wasn’t the type person (or friend, for that matter) to do that. While he was invested in the romantic lives of his friends and teammates, his dream being the ultimate matchmaker, he hoped that Daichi wouldn’t call his bluff. Luckily, the captain didn’t.

When we get old will we regret this

Too young to think about all that shit

“Perhaps you should ask him about it tonight. It’s better to just ask instead of letting the situation fester for longer.” He advised.

“Hmm, you’re right. Thank you Suga-kun.” He nodded at you, his smile lifting your mood. Now only if that damn Daichi would take his advice -

“What has got you so worked up about Daichi’s mood anyhow, if I may ask?” Your eyes widened at his question, not expecting it.

“Well, I - to be honest, I’m not really sure why. I just don’t like that I feel like he’s avoiding me.” That idiot, Suga thought.

“Why don’t you like that?” Suga pushed, interested in questioning you further. He always had the inklings of a hunch that you returned Daichi’s feelings, but you had never expressed it. It made him wonder if you maybe just hadn’t realized it.

“I don’t really know. Wouldn’t you be a little upset if your best friend started avoiding you? I guess I just don’t want to lose him.” There it was.

“Why?”

“Why are you asking so many questions?”

And stallin' only goes so far

When you've got a head start

“Why are you avoiding answering them?” You rolled your eyes at the playful smirk on his lips.

“I hate when you do this.”

“I’m only trying to help ~ but why don’t you want to lose him? And don’t tell me it's just because he’s your best friend. Besides me, of course.” He sent you a wink.

“Well…” Suga brought up a good point. Why were you so upset by it? Usually when Daichi had bad weeks, he acted the same - but he always told you what was wrong. “I don’t want to lose him because I care about him.” The both of you were walking down the river, nearing your destination. Suga said nothing as you collected your thoughts, the both of you stopping for a short while to stare at the river.

“He’s always there for me, you know? Like I know that you’re always there for me, and I love you. But with Dai-san… I feel like I just can’t pinpoint it and it frustrates me so much! All I know is that I want to be by his side for as long as possible.” Much to your surprise, the setter laughed, making your eyebrows scrunch in response.

“What?”

“God, you are so blind. It’s rather endearing, really.” You just glared at the silver-haired boy. “You’re in love with him, idiot.” Suga saw the way your eyes widened, the way your cheeks reddened, and the way your jaw slacked. He took your silence as a realization, and continued.

“Why don’t you spend time with Daichi tonight?” Your wide eyes met his.

“Like… alone? But - what about you? And Azu-san? And Nishin - ” you were cut off as he flicked your forehead.

“Don’t worry about us, silly. Take your time tonight and see him in this new light - it’s not like you haven’t been alone with him before. I’m just surprised you didn’t realize it sooner.”

'Cause we could stay at home and watch the sunset

But I can't help from asking are you bored yet?

When the both of you met up with the other boys, you noticed the way your breath seemed to hitch in your chest when you laid eyes on Daichi - how long had you been blind to your own feelings? The captain was wearing a navy blue yukata, white outlines of waves, koi, and scales patterning the ends of his sleeves and at bottom half of the lower portion. He looked so handsome in the afternoon sun. The boys were preoccupied with one another, giving Daichi the opportunity to speak to you without the seemingly prying eyes of his nosey children teammates.

“How are you? I know I just saw you only a few hours ago, but - ”

“I’m doing good! I - how are you feeling, Dai-san?” He blushed at your question.

“I’m doing good too. Um - I think you look really good…” As the two of you trailed into an awkward conversation for the first time in the history of your friendship, Suga rolled his eyes as he eavesdropped on the two of you.

And if you're feelin' lonely you should tell me

Before this ends up as another memory

“Suga-san, is it just me, or are the two of them acting a bit weird?” While Asahi directed the question to his setter, the rest of the boys all thought it was a good idea to shut up and look at the two of you - to find both of you with blushes on your cheeks, Daichi with his hand rubbing the nape of his neck. Before Suga could answer, Nishinoya spoke up.

“Yeah, why aren’t they over here?” He began yelling. “Oi, Dai - ” Suga immediately chopped his kouhai on the head, shushing him. The vice-captain then glared at the rest of the second and first years.

“None of you will interrupt them, understand? And I mean the whole night. I’m trying to get them to confess to one another, and I don’t need any one of you idiots to ruin their chances!” Suga heard Tsukishima tsk.

“Lame. I thought they were already dating. Yamaguchi and I won’t be in your way.” On the other hand, Hinata had resorted to hitting Kageyama in shock, the blocker’s eyes wide and mouth on the floor. Asahi laughed as Suga folded his arms, making sure the others knew what to not do.

“I guess everything all makes a little more sense now.”

Will you tell the truth so I don't have to lie

While the majority of the team hung out as a group, the boys made sure to leave the two of you with as much space as possible. At an origami tent, the boys were fooling around, attempting to make impossible shapes out of the paper. While you were deeply focused on folding a crane that would be hung as decor, Daichi paid attention to a poster hanging from the tent that explained the different meanings of origami folds and the different colors.

He kept running various situations through his head - all of them ending badly. What if you just wanted to be his friend? Should he ask you how you felt first? If you said something about how reliable he was of a friend, then he could just lie about how you were just his good friend too. Then he could mope and move on. He just wished you could tell him.

As you finished your crane, you looked up to find Daichi slipping his folding into a pocket. As his eyes met yours, a blush grew on your face. Had his doe eyes always been so mesmerising?

Feels like I've known you my whole life

I can see right through your lies

“I’m still a little hungry, and the sun looks like it’s starting to set. Do you want to get something else to eat?” He asked you, standing up from his seat. Nodding your head in response, you stood up and followed in step with him, the two of you leaving the comfortability of the team, finding yourselves lined up to buy dango. As you ordered, you were about to hand the vendor the yen when Daichi interrupted.

“Make that two please. Thank you!” He handed the vendor the appropriate amount of money before turning to you, a blush on his cheeks. “My treat, okay?” Unable to form words, you nodded as you waited for the dessert to be ready.

“Thank you for the dango, Dai-san. You didn’t have to.” You couldn't help the pink tint that was staining your cheeks as the two of you began to walk away.

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s walk by the river before the fireworks, come on.” Daichi wasn’t sure if it was the sweetness in the dessert that gave him the confidence and energy, but he grabbed your hand and led you to the walkway.

You felt like your hand was on fire. You didn’t even know what to say! You were so taken aback by the way Daichi’s hand enveloped yours perfectly. You had almost forgotten about the dessert he bought you - you were too focused on admiring him. He looked so good in the light - the way the last golden rays hit his face and changed his eye color from a deep mocha to a honeyed gold. As his eyes suddenly met yours, Daichi couldn’t help but smile - there was something about holding your hand that made all his worries disappear. You returned his smile before quickly averting your gaze to watch the sun meet the horizon - you tried your best to distract yourself by eating the dango and staring into the landscape.

I don't know where we're goin'

But I'd like to be by your side

Daichi couldn’t help but stare at you as you watched the sunset. He felt like he was falling in love with you all over again as he watched the way your skin seemed to glow in the fading light. He blushed as he saw you take a bite out of your dessert - thinking about how he wished he could feel your just as sweet lips on his own. Finishing your last bite, you turned to find him still looking at you - not that you knew he never stopped.

“Daichi-san, what's wrong? Is there something on my face?” Immediately, Daichi’s eyes widened as he shook his head side to side rather adamantly.

“No, no! There’s nothing wrong.” There was an awkward silence as you two stared at one another, not really understanding what to do or what to say. But finally, he spoke up again. “The fireworks are going to start soon, should we find a better spot?” All you could do was nod as he tugged your hand and led you away.

Daichi weaved between the growing crowd until the two of you reached the children’s playground, which was seemingly empty. Motioning for you to climb onto the metal jungle gym, your eyes widened. Your mom had tied your obi rather tight - and your yukata was a lot more movement-restricting than his.

“Dai-san, I don’t think I’m going to be able to climb on it. We can get on the swings, though.” Shaking his head, Daichi replied. “Nonsense, I’ll help you.” The top of the metal bars just passed your head, so you were curious as to how he could help.

You weren’t expecting Daichi to grasp your waist with his hands, gripping your hips tightly and lifting you up with ease, allowing you to sit on the small platform the bars made. You were glad the sun was just about gone by this time - you knew your face was beet red, but you found yourself immediately missing the way his hands felt on you as you looked down at him. He climbed up easily, settling down next to you. It felt like such a long time before either of you talked.

If you could tell me how you're feelin'

Maybe we'd get through this undefeated

“Daichi-san,” you started, staring down at your hands as the brunette looked over at you, “What’s wrong?” You met his eyes, and his heart panged at the hurt look in your eyes.

“What do you mean? Nothing’s wr - ” you cut him off.

“Can you just tell the truth? I don’t want to lie and keep on pretending like everything’s okay.” Daichi sighed, his eyes flitting around your face before staring at the now dark sky. He wished he could wait for the fireworks, but he knew you were expecting an answer.

“Aren’t you bored yet? Of being friends?” Your eyes grew wide at his questions, and you felt your heart shatter as tears began to fill your eyes. Of course - that's why he was acting so weird. Daichi didn’t want to be your friend anymore. He wanted to spend one last happy memory with you before he shut you out of his life. You turned away immediately before he could see the tears stream down your face.

Holdin' on for so long, oh

“Oh, I see.” You tried your best to remain calm, but your voice betrayed you as it wavered. Daichi’s eyes widened - you were crying because of what he said. Gently grabbing your hand, he quickly tried to explain himself, saying your name over and over again.

“No, no, no, that's not what I meant to say - I mean, I did mean to say that, but not in that way! Not - ” you cut him off again, looking at him once again. His heart broke as he looked at the tears that slowly fell down your face.

“Then what did you mean to say?”

“I… I meant to say… Ugh!” Daichi’s hands flew up to run through his hair in frustration before he turned back to you. He had to tell you now or never.

“I’m trying to tell you that I - ” the night sky lit up with fireworks of all colors and sizes, their booms filling the air, cancelling out what he was telling you. You couldn't even understand what words his lips were forming. You stared at him in confusion, your eyebrows furrowing.

Daichi looked at you expectantly, but all you could do was ask a loud “what?” You hadn’t heard him. Sighing, a small smile coming to his lips - of course you didn’t hear him, the fireworks were so damn loud, and he couldn't help but chuckle at the irony of you not hearing him. You looked so cute when you were confused too.

Leaning down, Daichi moved his head right next to yours - you shivered and turned red as you felt his breath tickle your ear. You heard him this time almost loud and clear, even when he spoke your name at a normal volume right in your ear.

“I don’t want to be just your friend. I love you.” Daichi pulled away just enough to look at your face. Your lips were parted, a surprised look on your face.

'Cause we could stay at home and watch the sunset

But I can't help from asking are you bored yet?

“Dai-san…” You didn't even know what to say or what to do - his eyes were so mesmerizing, and you were so shocked by his confession that you couldn’t even tell him you felt the same way. Daichi smiled, knowing you like the back of his hand. He saw the way your pupils dilated and the heavy blush that rested on your cheeks. He definitely should’ve told you sooner.

Leaning in once again, his lips hovered just centimeters from yours - seeing if you would move way or not. When you didn’t move away after a few seconds, Daichi closed the gap between your lips, kissing you as gently yet as passionately as he could convey. It only took you a second to reciprocate, and your lips moved against his as the fireworks in the sky and in your heart exploded furiously. Pulling away so you both could catch your breaths, you made your confession.

And if you're feelin' lonely you should tell me

Before this ends up as another memory

“Daichi, I love you too.” His eyes widened at your confession and he cupped your face in both his hands, his thumbs tracing your jawline as he pulled you into a desperate kiss. One hand moved to pull your waist closer and your hands moved up to rest on his chest and at the nape of his neck. As his lips moulded with yours perfectly, Daichi wished the moment would last forever.

Will you tell the truth so I don't have to lie

Thank you for reading!!

~ Crystal 😌❤️

through the summer and the fall series masterlist

blog masterlist

buy me a ko-fi (but only if you can and want to)!

BONUS

The next day, the boys were surprised when you brought them freshly baked cookies as a treat for their lunch break. The excited first and second years eagerly thanked you as you each gave them two cookies. Daichi held a loving look in his eyes as he watched you from just a few meters away - and when your eyes met his, he gave you a smitten smile.

“I assume things worked out well? I never got a text from either of you last night.” Daichi turned to find Suga next to him, hand on his hip with a playful glare on his face. The captain’s smile only grew wider as his eyes wandered to look at you again.

“Yeah, they did.” But his mood immediately turned dark when Tanaka and Nishinoya started obsessing over you and the fact that you baked for them - their shouts and cries filling the gym.

“OI, TANAKA, NISHINOYA, BOKE! GET YOUR DIRTY HANDS OFF MY LOVE!”

The captain didn’t hesitate to pull you away from the rowdy second years, everyone’s eyes wide open as Daichi held his most intimidating face. However, he immediately softened up and lost the face completely when you placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

“WOOOOHHHHHH! Senpai, you should kiss Daichi-san at practice more often! He’s way less scary!”

#daichi x reader #daichi sawamura x reader #daichi imagine #Daichi Sawamura imagine #Daichi reader insert #Daichi Sawamura reader insert #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu reader insert #intomymindspace

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monstersdownthepath · 3 years

Text

Spiritual Spotlight: Zyphus, the Grim Harvestman

Neutral Evil God of Accidental Deaths, Graveyards, and Tragedies

Domains: Death, Destruction, Evil, Plant, War Subdomains: Blood, Catastrophe, Daemon, Decay, Murder, Thorns, Undead

Inner Sea Faiths, pg. 88~93

Obedience: Spend an hour sitting on the grave of someone who suffered an accidental death. You must reflect on how chance has wronged you and vocally reject the influence of any gods associated with these wrongs. If no suitable grave exists, spend an hour telling strangers how their religious beliefs and hopes for a just afterlife are folly and of no consequence. Alternatively, you can write this screed and post it in a public place within a settlement. If you’re away from civilization, you can instead spend an hour sabotaging a path, bridge, tool, or other device so that it’s dangerous for the next person who uses it. Benefit: You gain a +4 profane bonus on Craft (traps) or Disable Device checks, chosen when you complete the obedience.

i’m glad the grim harvestman covers his basis but also jesus

Anyway, Zyphus is one of the most petty and spiteful of the gods, and this is no better shown than in this Obedience. A typical adventurer wandering the countryside must actively make the world a worse place for everyone else involved, and the clause “next person who uses it” means that you have to either toss aside your party’s good will, or take up the dreaded spot at the back of the marching order. Should you find yourself in a public area, you become just as much of an obnoxious git as a follower of Groetus, except this time you’re personally spitting on their beliefs... However, if you wish to be significantly more tolerated by society, you should do as Zyphus encourages his followers to do and disguise yourself as a Pharasmin or the faithful of another god of order and afterlives and very carefully disguise your blasphemy as “misguided” teachings. At worst, you can feign ignorance and/or explain that you’re new to the faith and had no idea that what you’re saying is wrong. You can even blame other Zyphans for muddying your understanding of the truth, an act I’m sure the Harvestman finds extra ironic!

Telling someone that their practices don’t matter because Pharasma has already decided your fate is the easiest way to go, and the best part is it’s not even inaccurate! NPCs don’t have the spiritual freedom PCs do, so their path is already nearly impossible to change! Get pranked, idiots! Masquerading as one of Pharasma’s flock comes in especially handy when performing the first and ‘easiest’ ritual, as well, because tending to graves is something the Lady of Graves wants people to do in the first place. Make sure to be careful with how you word your vocal casting away of the god’s will, however, or you may arouse more suspicion than you soothe.

The benefit is subpar. Crafting traps is alright, but you’ve likely got better things to use your gold on--wait, there’s no restriction on the CR of traps you can craft, so long as you can beat the DC and have the gold? Well. Go crazy, go stupid, I guess! Here’s a list of everything you can make! The most cost-efficient and useful, however, is the CR 1 bear trap, which--make no mistake--will absolutely shred lower level encounters, but will lose a lot of its spark later on. At least it costs basically nothing to make! Traps are usually the domain of the DMs, but if you need to hold an area? They can come in very, very handy. Otherwise, you’re just leaving them behind you on lonely roads in the hopes some fool will step on them.

Disable Device is normally the way you want to go, shutting off traps that could be a potentially lethal danger for most of the party at most levels. And, of course, rearming them so some fool behind you can stumble into them later. Even if your adventure doesn’t contain many traps, you should never underestimate the strength there is in doing something as simple as popping a lock.

Boons are acquired slowly: the first once you reach 12 hit dice, the second at 16, and the third at 20. However, the Evangelist, Exalted, and Sentinel Prestige Classes can be entered as early as level 5; doing so grants you the Boons at levels 8, 11, and 14 instead. As Zyphus is a true deity and does not require Fiendish Obedience, you earn the right to enter the classes earlier than those who serve fiends!

-------- EVANGELIST --------

Boon 1: Champion of Cruel Chance. Gain Deathwatch 3/day, False Life 2/day, or Healing Thief 1/day.

Decent all around! And by “decent” I mean “they have niche uses, but shine in those uses.” Healing Thief is the most interesting one, establishing a link between you and a creature you touch that causes the victim to heal only half as much from magical or supernatural means, with you gaining the other half. Creatures who gain Fast Healing or Regeneration through supernatural circumstances can become a boon to you, while enemies relying on Channeled positive energy or in-combat healing will find themselves struggling. The best part is that it doesn’t even offer a saving throw!

Of course, it’s still a touch attack, and you have to remain within an extremely tight radius around the enemy (25ft + 5ft/level) to maintain the siphon. This is a little riskier than I’d like, not to mention it’s completely useless if your foe doesn’t use any in-combat healing. Also, at only 1/day, I’d probably settle for the significantly more boring False Life for a nice 1d10+8 (up to +10) temp HP that lasts for a million years. It’s not much, but you can use it twice and it might stop some scratch damage, and every point between you and 0 HP is nice.

Deathwatch lets you instantly know if you’re looking at an Undead or disguised Construct, which is its primary function in my book. With a duration of 10 min/level, it’s likely to last for entire dungeon floors and makes you an expert at calling out foes who’re on their last legs but otherwise looking healthy. It’s a decent spell if you’re unsure of what you’re going up against or want to be the pointman for your team, but otherwise False Life is the typical go-to.

Boon 2: Resiliency. 1/day, you can gain a number of temporary hit points equal to your Hit Dice, lasting for 1 minute. Activating this ability is an immediate action that can be performed only when you would be brought below 0 hit points, and can be used to prevent you from dying. If you have the Resiliency ability from another source, you can activate these abilities separately or as part of the same immediate action.

As far as I can tell, there is exactly one source for the Resiliency ability as it’s written here, and that’s a single Rogue Talent. It’s... eeeeeegh, not so good. It lets you stall death’s timer for a single minute, usually long enough to end the battle (or be ended) and get some real healing. It will likely save your life at least once in a campaign, but the goal here is to avoid being brought to 0 in the first place! Especially since this will, if obtained ASAP, only shield you for 11 HP, which is one--maybe two--attacks from a creature with a similar CR and basically nothing against spells being flung around at that level. This Boon is actually worse in many ways than just giving +1 HP per HD you have, especially since you technically already have access to the same amount of temp HP in False Life.

I suppose the most amusing use of this power is to fake being down and out until your foe turns away, but that carries risks of its own. If you’re brought to -20 or something and the temp HP only takes you to -5, you’re still knocked out but at least have some mercy time before you start dying for real. I’d advocate for combining this with Diehard if you want to get the most out of it, because otherwise this is an extremely subpar “Life Insurance” Boon that will really only impress the group maybe once or twice in a campaign and be boring or underwhelming in all other moments.

I’d want it to be at least 2 or even 3/day.

Boon 3: Tragic Minion. By spending 1 minute praying over the corpse of a Humanoid opponent or a Humanoid who has died a tragic death, you can summon an Allip to serve you. Unlike a normal Allip, this Allip is of an alignment that matches yours, and has a number of hit points equal to half your total. It receives a +4 bonus on Will saves to halve the damage from channeled positive energy, and it can’t be turned or commanded. This Allip serves as a companion to you and can communicate intelligibly with you despite its madness. You can dismiss it as a standard action. If the Allip is destroyed or dismissed, you can’t summon another for 7 days. This ability allows you to have only one Allip companion at a time.

Oh, that’s cute! You get a little insane friend! Unfortunately, as you can see here, it’s about 10 levels too late to actually be useful. At the level you can finally summon one, your Allips are extremely fragile, as even with their boosted HP they’re still only protected by an AC of 14 and no outstanding resistances aside from their incorporeality. Enemies with magic weapons are almost a certainty by level 14, and even enemies without magic weapons will rarely ever fail their save against the Allip’s Touch of Madness, whose save DC doesn’t scale past 15. You’d be relying wholly on it scoring critical hits, which make the Wisdom damage and drain irresistible, but that’s obviously not viable.

Really, all parts of Tragic Minion are ironically accurate. The Allip can’t even really serve as a scout, because they constantly Babble to themselves in a way that hypnotizes everyone within 60ft of them. Even with their +8 Stealth, a bunch of mooks suddenly stopping and standing still will alert enemies who can succeed the DC 15 Will save that something strange is going on. Adding in that Allips have no ability to hide or disguise themselves, just walking around with one is enough to turn heads. And don’t even think about just dismissing it and summoning another one, or using it in combat with any level-appropriate foe, or this is a blank Boon for an entire week!

Seriously, the 7 day ban on summoning another one is a serious kick in the teeth when the “only one at a time” limit was restrictive enough. You’d think Zyphus would be happy to grant his most powerful Evangelists more than one CR 3 minion at a time, but no! If you lose this extremely fragile minion, no more for 7 days! That’ll teach you to take good care of your toys! And that’s more or less the Allip is; a toy. An accessory.

-------- EXALTED --------

Boon 1: Catalyst of Destruction. Gain Break 3/day, Find Traps 2/day, or Spiked Pit 1/day.

Well I certainly hope there’s traps, given who you’re working for! But it’s good to have insurance that they’re not aimed at you. Find Traps lasts a decent time (1 min/level) and grants a monstrous Perception bonus to spotting them, automatically triggering a Perception check if you draw too close to a trap as well which--depending on how you interpret the spell--alerts you to the fact one is nearby even if you don’t see it. Then you can use Zyphus’ granted +4 to Disable Device to knock it out!

Break can have its uses, shattering enemy equipment even as they wield it. Just remember that targeting an attended object allows the wielder to make a saving throw in its place, while an unattended object gets no saving throw (provided it’s nonmagical). And since Break targets Fortitude, it’s not likely to affect the targets you’d really need it to (Fighters in heavy armor and Barbarians with big weapons), but if your teammates can knock their weapons from their hands, they’re free game. However, the use of Break in combat doesn’t nearly compare to what it can do out of combat; weakening doorways, crumbling containers, sabotaging enemy equipment they’d otherwise grab later, and cracking open items made of skymetal. Note that a second casting of Break outright destroys an item that’s already broken, and you have three each day! Personally, I’d save it for the times you need to sabotage something or bypass a small obstacle, rather than risk a high-Fort-save enemy succeeding in combat and wasting your turn.

And I’ve spoken about Spiked Pit before, here and here, but to reiterate: it’s a pseudo Save-or-Suck that seriously waste the time of anything without a decent Strength score or some Climb skill as they crawl back out of the pit, while you and your allies either deal with other foes, or rain destruction down on them from above. Even if the victim makes their initial save, the pit doesn’t go anywhere, letting you push your targets in one at a time if need be. Since it’s literally just a huge hole in the ground, you can even hurl multiple enemies inside! AND it’s filled with damaging spikes! The spikes don’t do much, but every little bit helps.

Boon 2: Ever Vigilant. You are protected by a constant Death Ward, The immunity to energy drain ends after the effect has prevented a number of negative levels equal to your Hit Dice*, which resets when you next perform your Obedience. In addition, you gain a +2 profane bonus on saving throws against effects that occur before your first turn in combat.

*it says “Exalted level” but that would mean that this could have zero effect if you don’t class into it, so it’s been changed to prevent it from being a dead Boon.

Huh, this is pretty g--wait. Hold on, let me read this a little closer

“The subject gains a +4 morale bonus on saves against all death spells and magical death effects. The subject is granted a save to negate such effects even if one is not normally allowed. The subject is immune to energy drain and any negative energy effects, including channeled negative energy.“

and what did Ever Vigilant say? “The immunity to energy drain ends--”? But that implies that the rest of Death Ward stays up, right? ... right :)

A lot of Boons grant you an everlasting spell effect for your trouble, but none of them are quite as potent as this one. Death Ward UTTERLY stops negative energy effects, crushing the entire school of Necromancy underfoot, crippling the offensive power of most forms of Undead, and ironically making the devotees of the God of Tragic Death some of the hardest sons of guns to actually tragically kill. Even if an incoming death effect offered no save (such as Power Word Kill), Death Ward forces one, and because you’re Ever Vigilant you don’t even have to know you’re going to face one to begin with!

Also, a universal +2 bonus to saves when out of combat, and for the first round in combat! A nice and cute addition, making it slightly harder for enemy casters or monsters relying on their powers to get the jump on you. Ever Vigilant makes you one of the best Undead hunters out there... Which is why it’s--ironically--tragic that Zyphus, an Evil god, gives it out. In an Evil vs Good campaign, you’re not likely to actually be combating enemies who use negative energy, death effects, or anything else Death Ward protects against. The real sauce in this ability comes from an Evil vs Evil campaign, or a campaign in which you’re pretending to be Good, or at least Neutral! Just... make sure it ends before level 14, because...

Boon 3: Visitor From Abaddon. 1/day as a standard action, you can summon a pair of Greater Ceustodaemons as if with Summon Monster II, and gain telepathy with them to a range of 100 feet. The Ceustodaemons follow your commands perfectly for 1 round per Hit Die you possess before vanishing back to their home on Abaddon. The Ceustodaemons don’t follow commands that would cause them to perform overly good acts or save mortal lives other than your own, and they immediately vanish if your orders contradict these restrictions.

...it’s going to be very difficult why a Pharasmin can summon two daemonic gorilla-men who breathe electricity. Ceustodaemons are bred to be the dumb muscle of Abaddon, but they’re still capable warriors in their own right with decently damaging claws (2d6+6) and a bite (1d6+6) and the ability to exhale 6d6 points worth of Electricity damage in a 30ft cone. There’s also their spell-likes, an at-will Dimension Door letting them infiltrate and scout for you, a 3/day Fly to make your party a nightmare to fight, and a 3/day Dispel Magic to crack enemy magic open.

However, they’re only CR 7, unlikely to stand up on their own against level-appropriate threats. So, the key here? Don’t use them against level-appropriate threats, as is normal with summons dramatically weaker than you are. They’re terrors that shine brightest against enemies hovering around the CR 10 or so range, their resilience and immunity against--and I’m not exaggerating--nearly every status effect in the game except petrification and their DR 10/Good or Silver letting them slug it out with mid-level foes and rip apart nearly anything else lower than that.

There’s also the fact that they can be summoned as a standard action with a range of Close, letting you teleport your gorilla fiends right at the enemy’s vulnerable backline or in front of their melee bruisers to tie them up while the rest of your team flanks. The standard action summoning is the biggest treat here, because being able to have two more beefy bodies available immediately shifts any battle in your favor... But know that if your campaign keeps going past level 14, your gorilla men are going to have a harder and harder time standing up to level-appropriate enemies, and it’ll eventually cause them to be summoned to fight against minibosses only or--eugh--being sent on scouting missions. They’re good at them, mind, but you know how it is.

At their absolute worst, though, they’re still six castings of both Fly and Dispel Magic. There’s worse things out there.

-------- SENTINEL --------

Boon 1: Walking Disaster. Gain Bungle 3/day, Spontaneous Immolation2/day, or Deadly Juggernaut 1/day.

Bungle is a fun spell, slapping a target with an insurmountable -20 penalty to their next attack roll or check requiring a d20 roll, but since the spell is only level 1 and takes your concentration to maintain, it’s not likely going to stick. Granted, it lingers for 2 rounds after you stop concentrating so you can focus elsewhere, so there’s certainly worse spells to use... but it only affects one attack roll or check at a level where most enemies have two or even three attacks, making it significantly less useful than it looks. It’s best if you use it out of combat to scramble a skill check a foe is trying to use, but it’s negated by a Will save entirely so it loses a lot of potential oomph. And I just read the spell even closer and it says it only works on Humanoid targets, so it’s even worse than I previously thought!

Spontaneous Immolation is infinitely funnier to use, anyway. Why make someone flub a speech or fail an Escape Artist check when you could have them suddenly burst into flames from within? With no component requirements, Spontaneous Immolation is TRULY spontaneous, the victim exploding into fire without having an idea of the source. You could potentially make people believe it’s the wrath of your god, the power of some curse you possess, or even the wrath of their god if you can spin it well enough. The damage is middling--3d6--and is halved on a successful save, but it’s got a range of Medium and sets its victim alight if they fail their save so you can create a single spark in a crowd that becomes a roaring inferno as the panicking victim grabs onto whatever they can to try and put themselves out.

As God of Sudden Death, it’s a perfect spell for both in and out of combat, slaying random citizens in bursts of horror and pain they’d have no chance to realize is coming, I’m sure Zyphus approves of using it to malice citizens just as much as he enjoys watching his faith’s foes burst into flames. This leaves Deadly Juggernaut, a spell that a martial character such as yourself would normally LOVE getting... if it weren’t for the final clause stating that the effect doesn’t trigger unless you slay a foe within 4 HD of yourself. While that prevents the effect from being exploited with a Sack Of Rats, it also makes it far less likely to activate if you’re fighting swarms of lower-level enemies. It DOES mean that battling creatures of roughly equal strength to your party has some pretty high snowball potential, but since you, personally, have to reduce the target to 0 HP, unless you’re the party’s DPS you may just end up missing out on most of the spell.

I’d personally just tuck Makes You Explode under your belt each day. If nothing else, it’s a funny prank to pull on the locals.

Boon 2: Tragic Accident. 1/day as part of a successful attack, you can target your opponent with either Inflict Critical Wounds or Poison as a free action. The DC for this ability is (10 + 1/2 your Hit Dice + your Cha mod). You don’t have to declare the use of this ability until you know the attack is successful.

More than almost any other god I think I’ve encountered, Zyphus encourages lying, subterfuge, and you looking as harmless as possible. Even the ostensible God of Secrets and Murder, Norbergorberburgerhurger, inspires less subtlety in me than Zyphus, because his domain is specifically accidental deaths. You gotta make your kills look like mistakes no one could have seen coming, which makes Tragic Accident yet another tool in inspiring fear and terror than actually being useful in a fight.

Give someone a playful slug on the shoulder and scream as they fall over, dead. Deck some guy who’s hitting on you in a bar in the chest and feign horror as he suffers an apparently fatal heart attack as Poison rips through his body. Hit someone with a blowdart or even just hurl a pebble at someone and strike them down with nearly no trace, since this ability can work with ranged attacks as well. Coming up with subtle ways to use this power out of combat is significantly more fun than thinking of ways to use it in battle, because as a 1/day negated (or halved, in Critical Wounds’ case) by a save is just asking to be disappointed.

Especially in the case of Poison, because if you want someone dead in combat, hitting them usually works better than slowly, slowly, slowly hoping and praying that their Con hits 0. Inflict Critical Wounds is a little more useful if you’re using it to speed up an opponent’s death in combat, dealing 4d8+11 (+1 per level) damage... or healing an Undead ally. Yes, you have to hit with an attack, but as I’ve already stated above, the attack doesn’t have to deal much--or ANY--real damage to trigger a Tragic Accident. I do appreciate that Zyphus assures your attack connects before you trigger this ability, a lot of other Boons are not so gracious. Like...

Boon 3: Unfairness of the World. 1/day, you may fill an attack with negative energy. You must declare your use of this ability before you roll the attack roll; on a hit, the target gains a number of negative levels equal to 3 + 1/2 your Hit Dice unless it succeeds at a Fortitude saving throw (the DC for this ability is the same as Tragic Accident’s DC). If you openly wear an unholy symbol of Zyphus, the saving throw DC to resist this effect increases by 2.

... This one!

Hah. Well. Whatever you hit with this is dead. Like, straight up dead. The name of this Boon is as accurate as can be. There is NO recovering from being slapped with ten negative levels (+1 for every 2 levels you have!), because even if your victim survives the initial onslaught of energy, that’s a -10 to every single roll they make and the loss of some or even all of their high-level spells and most potent abilities. This isn’t so much a Save-or-Suck as it is the mother of all signals for your entire party to unload every SoS they have on their person upon your victim.

IF it lands.

Because not only do you have to succeed an attack roll to use this ability or have it dissolve into the aether, but they also have to fail a Fortitude save. That’s two possible points of failure for this ability which seriously reins in its potential, but with just a LITTLE bit of setup you can cut your unfortunate victim in half. It’s definitely both a possible end to a fight AND something you can smite a random citizen with by using the same “things that count as an attack roll” exploits I listed Tragic Accident. By the time you get this power, you can also shamelessly reveal your faith in the Harvestman to make the DC 2 higher, but you may want to keep that to yourself if you’re still masquerading as something else, breaking it out only for boss fights.

Most gods in Inner Sea Faiths leave a lot to be desired, so it’s nice to see a god give so generously! It’s just too bad it has to be the God of Pettiness and Inconvenience.

You can read more about him here.

#Spiritual Spotlight #Sinister Spotlight #Pathfinder #Dungeons and Dragons

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forkanna · 3 years

Link

[AO3] [WATTPAD]

NOTE: Here we go. Little bit of a shift in this chapter... you'll see. Thanks for keeping up with this fic and all your comments!

------------

Everything was rather quiet for a couple of days. Rise threw herself into practicing her vocals with every spare moment, meeting with her manager and conferencing with her record label over the phone. She needed the distraction. Without any clear course of action with Ai, she had decided to let that matter fade into the background. Maybe something would come to her eventually.

On Sunday, she and the gang decided to go fishing, since that was one of Narukami's favourite activities and they were all missing him lately. For most of them, it simply meant getting to wave around poles and wade into the water, splashing each other. Kanji and Naoto resented this because they were much more serious about the matter, but the others didn't pay them too much mind.

"Hey, why didn't you invite Ai?" Chie suddenly asked as they re-baited their hooks. "She too snobby to get down here in the river with us?"

Rise laughed. "You're kidding, right?"

"Yeah," she responded, giggling right along. "No way would she be caught dead touching a fish that's not cooked."

"No… I meant that she wouldn't want to hang out with me anymore."

"Why not?" Yukiko asked. "I thought you were becoming sort of close with her."

Wow, how oblivious could they be? "Not anymore."

Once she had explained properly, which took the better part of half an hour, most of the joy had been sucked out of their springtime activity. Rise did feel a little bad about that, but it was as much their fault as hers, so she didn't spend too much mental energy on sympathy for her friends.

"Gosh, that is so sad," Teddie said with a pronounced pout. He really did seem genuinely disappointed not to have another friend. "I know you guys didn't really mean to hurt her feelings."

"Guess I thought he'd be over that by now," Chie confessed quietly.

"Yeah," Yosuke added. "Like, as long as he stays away from my butt, I don't really care what he does with his time. And man, he looks way better in drag than even Teddie did, so…"

While Teddie was harrumphing as if genuinely offended, Kanji chuckled harshly as he twitched his line in the water the tiniest bit. "What is it with you and that gay panic, bro? I'm surprised your Shadow didn't look more like mine."

"H-hey, I'm just a healthy, red-blooded Japanese male! I like girls who are actually girls! Is that a crime?"

"I'll buy you a butt-protector to keep all the dicks out," Chie cackled bemusedly. Yosuke just grimaced.

"I'm… starting to get why she didn't want this getting out," Rise sighed.

"Hm?" Yukiko said as she turned back in her direction. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

"No, that sounded important. I wouldn't want to hurt anyone's feelings…"

Which she appreciated. Even if the others were a little oblivious sometimes, Yukiko genuinely meant well all the time. Every minute of every day. "It's just… I'm no big expert on this subject, but you guys can see how much work she put into being taken seriously as a woman. Because she looks like one! Nobody could tell! And I think I haven't paid much attention to how hard that must have been for her… I'm… wow. And I really did almost ruin her life."

Not that she had been unaware of that before. She thought she understood, and she did — better than her friends did, for sure. But listening to them casually treat her like a drag act, a joke, a source of anxiety for Yosuke's extra-fragile masculinity, peeled back just enough of the curtain. Now she knew that she really didn't know anything at all.

"Don't be so dramatic," Chie sighed. "Like you said, he was able to play it off, and he's giving you a lot more shit now than is necessary compared to what you did on accident. Like, scales balanced. If he wants to keep being a dick then that's on him."

Rise shrugged helplessly as she tossed her fishing pole back onto the shore. "You're not wrong about that part. I'm not saying her trying to get revenge on me is right. I'm just saying I understand why she feels so betrayed. Didn't really get it before, but…"

"I still don't get it now," Yosuke grunted. "The whole thing makes me super uncomfortable. But it sounds like he already had the surgery, so… doesn't that mean he's a girl anyway?"

"What? No, it's… nevermind that part." She had been about to insist that Ai did not have "The Surgery" yet, even though she had probably undergone several other minor procedures. But that was the kind of detail that would get her even deeper in trouble than she already was, so she cut herself off.

"Well, I'm with Chie," Yukiko said cautiously. "You have apologized for hurting her, you didn't intend to in the first place. If she were a true friend, she would accept your apology."

"I'm not sure it's that simple."

They all turned to look at Naoto, not having expected her to speak. The girl was wearing a very thoughtful expression underneath her newsboy-casquette cap. "What isn't?" Teddie finally prompted when everybody had been quiet for a little too long.

"This situation with Ebihara-san. She's living her life as transgender, and you have jeopardized that life. Even if on accident, I can see how she would interpret that as an attack."

"Come on," Chie sighed. "Any idiot knows the difference between on accident and on purpose."

"Not necessarily. In law, there is such a thing as 'gross criminal negligence'. This means that even if it's an accident, even if you did nothing with the premeditated intent to do harm, you can still cause harm and be held accountable for it. At least, partially."

"So you're saying it's okay that this asshole is trying to frame our friend for cheating?!" Yosuke burst out.

"Hm? Oh, no, not at all," Naoto insisted, a slight crease in her brow. "But this is a matter of criminal pathology. Even if Ebihara-san is not a criminal, she is perpetrating criminal acts; understanding them requires the same skill set. Motive. Means. Opportunity. We already know the last two, more or less; security isn't especially tight at Yasogami High. I'm sure it was a simple matter for her to sneak into the classroom and pilfer the answer key, then sneak it into Rise's bag when no one was looking. So all that's left is… why?"

"Because he's a petty jerk," Chie provided immediately.

"It's not that simple."

"No, it really is. Maybe you guys get something about how serious us gossiping about him was that I don't, but I don't care. You don't treat a friend like that. Period! Even if he's really pissed at Rise, she did apologize, she's trying to make it right. He's not acting like a friend at all. So I say, screw him! Just let him self-destruct and be alone. And if he won't stop being a jerk to you, we will be jerks right back. I'm not going to sit around while he drags you down for something you didn't even do on purpose."

Rise felt a rush of affection toward Chie Satonaka. Even if she couldn't completely agree with everything she was saying, it was nice to know her friends had her back — that these were true blue friendships that had lasted beyond being part of the same Investigation Team. The passion with which she spoke, and the anger she clearly felt toward Ebihara because she was attacking her friend, made the existence of those bonds unmistakable.

However… she also couldn't ignore the way Naoto's brow furrowed further. Kanji also rested a hand on her shoulder. Was she simply upset about losing an argument, or was there more to that?

"I can't disagree with what you say. I was merely trying to point out that in Ebihara-san's estimation, Rise may deserve vengeance more than she does in any of our estimation. She is viewing the situation differently than we are."

"Well his 'estimation' sucks," Chie grumbled.

"Maybe," Rise finally cut in with a discomfited sigh. "But can you guys… can you promise me you won't do anything mean to her without asking me? At least that? I know she's being a jerk, but it's because I messed up. Huge. So this has to be between her and me."

None of them looked too thrilled with that. Yukiko nodded immediately, seemingly satisfied right away that she was doing what was asked of her by her friend. The others were a little slower to agree but they still all did at some point or another, dissatisfied as they were.

"Thanks. And I'm so happy you have my back, I can't express that enough. But I have to figure this out on my own."

"You got it," Kanji grunted as he started reeling in a fish. "Shit… it's a big one… but I'm not gonna forget how you looked when that old bag accused you of cheating. That ain't right. Ebihara better make it right eventually, or his ass is grass."

What an ominous threat. Well-meaning, but ominous. Rise knew she would have to sort this matter out post haste — before she had to find out just how far her friends were willing to go to come to her aid.

~ o ~

All of this gave birth to a very determined Rise Kujikawa, and this was the one who walked into school on a foggy Monday morning. Ai had done enough damage; she had to forge ahead as if everything was fine. Her new tactic had to be not to let the bullying get to her, because she better understood it was just her friend being hurt by her own actions. And if she wouldn't accept her apology… there was nothing more she could do.

But she didn't have it in her to give up. That option was stricken off the list. Rise was no quitter.

Everything was fine until her second-to-last class of the day. Rise had mostly focused on schoolwork and chatting with her other friends, taking her mind off more depressing matters. Gearing up for a promotional video she was supposed to shoot soon; that would be a first step toward reestablishing herself as an artist, even if she still didn't intend to go back to singing full-time until she graduated. And the class with Ms. Sofue was fine in and of itself… for the first ten minutes or so.

That was when she noticed the smell. At first, she was looking around the room to try and figure out who had lost control of their bowels in such close proximity to other students. Maybe it was something they had for lunch?

A brief investigation ten minutes later revealed the true culprit, once everyone was looking at her like she was being most unladylike. Deep in the recesses of her desk, which she never used to keep anything since she would just have to move it again after class, someone had stuffed an old sandwich. Unless she missed her guess, there was natto and egg on it, among other things. But there was too much mold growing inside the sandwich bag for her to be certain.

"Oh GOOD GOD!" cried one of the boys nearby, covering his face with his arm. "What's in that thing?!"

Waving at the air with her crooked heka, the teacher coughed and demanded, "Please dispose of your lunch in a proper manner from now on, Miss Kujikawa! Make no mistake, even I have no interest in mummified food!"

A few of them were able to wrap it in some paper and drag it to the trash can, amid Rise's protests that she had never seen it before. Nobody believed her, because the natto tended to make it seem obvious that it had come from Marukyu — even though their speciality was tofu, not other soybean offerings. A lot of bickering back and forth broke out until the teacher banged her cane on her desk.

"Enough! Miss Kujikawa has technically broken no rule, even if it was her sandwich. So we'll say no more about it. Please, open your books again and turn to page…"

But the entire class period, Rise couldn't stop thinking about the sandwich. She already knew who it was; only one person at that school was stupid enough to actively mess with a famous pop idol. The instant the bell rang, she pelted out of class so fast that quite a few students gasped. By now, she knew what class Ai was supposed to be in around this time… and where she could find her.

~ o ~

"Oh!" gasped one of the girls in the locker room when Rise barged past her. "Do you even have this class? What are you doing in the-"

"Ebihara?" she asked. Some girl with a towel wrapped around her hair pointed further into the room. Rise stormed over there to find a towel-clad Ai preening at the mirror hanging on the inside of her locker, running the brush through her hair over and over. "Thanks for your present."

Smirking a little, the girl didn't even glance over. "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yeah? You don't recognise it?"

Everyone gasped when she threw it onto the bench nearest Ebihara. That was nothing compared to the chorus of disgusted noises that followed once its foul stench began to pervade the air within the steamy room. Even still wrapped in the plastic bag, it was horrendous.

"Oh, GOD," Ai joined in, though she was chuckling just a little. "Why would you be carrying that thing around? Just to throw at me like that?"

"Why?" she demanded. "This has crossed the line from mean to just… weird! What's the point of stinking up the classroom?"

Full of false innocence, she pressed a hand to her chest as she said, "Why, I don't know. Sounds to me like someone just forgot to throw away her lunch. Maybe you should be a little less wasteful. Then again, as rich and famous as you are, I bet you don't care at all."

A ripple of murmurs spread throughout the room. Rise knew that they didn't really care about the sandwich, or about wastefulness, but they were highly concerned with this argument between two students playing out right in front of them. Gossip fodder. So she decided not to give them any more ammunition.

"Okay. We'll just throw it away." She snatched it off the bench and flashed Ai a poisonous smile. "Have a lovely day, Ebi-chan."

"Don't you mean Ebi-kun?"

Rise stopped dead in her tracks. She actually looked around for what assholes had said it, determined to give them a dressing down. Even if they were fighting, nobody got to talk about her friend like that. But she realized it had come from Ai herself. "What?"

"You were one of the people that started the rumour, right?" She looked so haughty, arms folded over her chest and hip cocked to one side. "So I'm surprised you let it go that easy."

Deciding to play along, she smirked and shot back, "I heard you showed off the goods to some other girls and it proved it was false."

"Yeah. But since when do people like you care about facts? You would much rather be right than the truth prevail."

"People like- okay. Whatever this is, whatever you want from me, I'm done with it. I thought we could try to be adults and move on, but all you want to do is start a war — one I'm not interested in fighting. Just leave me alone if you really can't stand me this bad, okay?"

Ai laughed and took a step forward. "Rise-Risette, the gossip-monger. And now, the cheater! What terrible thing are you going to do next?"

"I didn't do anything in the first place!"

"You know you did." The smile disappeared for a second, leaving her friend's features full of cold fury. But it was so brief that most of the other girls probably wouldn't have noticed; then she was smiling like rainbows were shooting out of her ass again. "And hey, if you want to try to blame me for all of it, go ahead. You might as well."

"No, that's not necessary. Maybe it's just a series of tragic coincidences."

"Uh huh. Or maybe you're just a self-destructive pop idol, a little brat who couldn't hack it in the entertainment industry, and now that you're stuck in boring old Inaba, you want attention again. Don't you see you're going about it all the wrong ways?"

So that was her game. Now Rise could see this for what it was: it wasn't just any one incident meant to slander her and give her a bad name. All of them together were supposed to paint a picture of a celebrity spiraling out of control. Rise was going to turn into the Japanese Britney Spears if Ai Ebihara had anything to do with it.

"You really want to destroy me that badly?" she hissed now that they were so close their noses were almost touching. All the girls around them were whispering and chattering, watching the drama intently. The rub was, they were gossiping so much about what they were saying that they couldn't even actually hear what they were saying.

"You can bet on it. I told you I was going to, unless you destroy me first. And I think you will. I think you are exactly the kind of person who will shoot in self-defense."

"That isn't me," she breathed, glancing down at Ai's body. It was so close to her own… she couldn't help looking, couldn't help feeling flustered even though they were fighting right now. "We both know that. You're just mad I messed up, and you won't let me apologize, and you won't leave it alone. There's nothing else I can do."

"Yes there is." Then she hiked an eyebrow slightly, lowering her voice to barely a whisper. "What? What are you looking at?"

"Nothing. Just… trying to figure out what to-"

"You were trying to figure out if you could see my dick. Weren't you?" As Rise felt her brow furrow, Ai chuckled and pressed on, "Do it. Go looking."

She could feel her temper flaring hotter. It was getting hard to control. "Stop being so gross. I wouldn't do that, I haven't done that, and I'm not going to do that."

"Why not? Come on… all you have to do is rip this towel off me. Show the world. Maybe I'm tucking again, maybe I'm not. But wouldn't that be great if you exposed a scandal in the women's locker room? Risette the Hero, saving all these poor girls from the freak."

"You know — you know I have never once in my life called you a freak, why do you want me to hurt you so badly? What do you get out of it? Are you some kind of psycho masochist?!"

"Sure! Go with that. Even more reason to save everyone. Do it." No movement. "Clock's ticking. The longer you wait, the weirder it's going to be that we're standing here whispering to each other."

But Rise's mind was racing. She still had no idea really why she was pushing so hard for her to attack, to be so vicious. She thought back to the revelation she had when walking home — about Ai, about what these attacks meant for their relationship. And when she thought of it that way…

Everything came together. Of course, nothing was for certain until she heard it straight from the horse's mouth, but now Rise thought she understood the reason her former friend was trying so hard to get her to treat her like vermin.

"No," she whispered with a small smile.

"No? Aww, I guess the games continue then," Ai said with a fake, exaggerated pout. "You're going to have to be a lot tougher than that to make it as a star."

"Actually… let's play a new game. Unless you want to give up now?" Her pleading face returned. "Please, please just stop. I'll leave you alone if that's what you want, or we can go back to being friends and… try to put this behind us. But I'm not giving up, not going away. So…? Maybe?"

Ai shook her head. "This isn't your game, you don't get to change the rules, princess. So nice try."

"Fine," she sighed… before sliding her arms tightly around Ai.

"H-hey!" she burst out. Then a little louder, "Oh my GOD, now Risette is trying to molest me!"

Before the gasps really had a chance to deepen, Rise sobbed, "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt you, I just… I just love you so much Ai, a-and when you… when you pulled away, I didn't know what to do! Can't you forgive me?"

Even the girls who weren't watching before were glued to this scene now. And even though she could tell Ai didn't like losing control of the situation — hated might have been more apropos — she still drew back to gape at her.

"What… did you just say?"

"I asked you to forgive-"

"Cut the bullSHIT!" she snapped loudly enough that one smaller girl yelped and fell back on her ass, scrabbling for the nearest bench. "You can't mean that. Not in front of all these people, you… they'll know you're- if you say how you feel, that's…"

"I don't care about them! I love you, Ai, I… I didn't mean for us to end up this way!" Her bottom lip wobbled hard as she took a shaky breath. "But if you really can't forgive me, I'll understand! I just… I can't go on with us hurting each other like this!"

"Oh, this is so not going to work," she scoffed… until she saw a few of the girls putting their hands on Rise's shoulders, comforting her as the big fat tears rolled down her cheeks. Offering tissues, petting her hair. "Are you- wow, you guys can't be buying this! It's an act!"

"Hey, don't be so mean!" said some girl with bobbed hair; Rise thought her name was Matsunaga, but she couldn't remember at the moment. The moment Ai's gaze was on her, she said much more quietly, "S-sorry."

"Oh my GOD. Fine. Whatever, I'm out of here."

But a wall of girls blocked her way. They were all glowering at her now, looking ready to throw down; they would never have challenged alone but there was safety in numbers. Ai's eyebrows shot up, unimpressed… but the more she looked at all of them, the more anxious she appeared. Not frightened, just uneasy from the attention. The constant attention, while wearing a towel… prospect of a fight… she backed into a corner and they started to advance on her. This would get seriously out of hand if someone didn't step in.

Someone stepped in.

"Please, just give me another chance," Rise provided smoothly as she slid forward through the throng of girls, taking up Ai's hand — which was immediately yanked out of reach. Her voice was taut with emotion as she pleaded, "That's all! I'll show you I can be a better friend, a-and those pranks? Forgotten! And I won't ever tell another lie about you again, I promise!"

Ai took another good look around at the student body standing in opposition against her. The wheels were turning behind her eyes. Then she glared down at Rise with a shake of her head. "You… conniving… snake," she muttered.

Some of the girls heard it, and looked more scandalised. And because now everyone else was behind her… Rise felt comfortable allowing a smug, triumphant smirk to take over her features. Just for an instant. She even mouthed a few choice words:

"You only have one way out."

Oh, she had never seen Ai look that angry before. This wasn't just annoyance or rage. She looked murderous. But it only lasted a second before she sighed, shut her eyes, took a breath.

"Rise… fine. I know… I went too far. Can you forgive me?"

"Wow, really sounds authentic," one of the others closest to the lockers scoffed.

"No, really." When Ai opened her eyes again, she was smiling weakly. "I have missed you. I just didn't know… I was so angry when you started that nasty rumour."

"I know. It was a stupid mistake! And I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you just… take me back! That's all you have to do." She took both of her hands, ignoring the way nails were digging into her own. Petty little revenges were par for the course now. "Just be with me."

One could hear a pin drop in that locker room. Ai pulled her close and whispered softly, "You want to play this game? We're playing it on a national level."

"Bring it on," she replied in kind, smirking again — even while her heart pounded in her throat from the closeness. "But c'mon, I beat you this round."

"Shut up."

Such a chorus of "WHOOOOO" went up when they kissed that it felt like they were shaking the foundation of Yasogami High. Probably because, metaphorically as well as literally, they were. Game-changer indeed.

To Be Continued…

#We'll Face Ourselves #saphir de lune #persona 4 fanfiction #forkanna writes #rise x ai #p4 fanfic #jess the writer

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ladyhaesoo · 4 years

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hotel blue moon | 6

“Are you going to secretly hide my body?"

"Of course. I can't let someone who's seen so much of me live."

part 1 | part 5 | part 7 | read on page (not for the mobile app, but prettier)

a/n: this post was brought to you by the “editing is for losers” club. also, i changed the place that family was from, that’s for plot reasons. also also, i REALLY loved writing this one, so i hope everyone enjoys reading it too!

She made them stop at a restaurant halfway en route to the Hwaseong, and Kangtae was glad to stop—if not entirely happy about their choices of restaurant. Still, food was food, and Moonyoung had announced that she was hungry once every five minutes in the last half hour; enough to make him hungry, too.

Moonyoung looked around the restaurant with distaste written on her face. "This is where you bring me to eat," she muttered, and Kangtae huffed out a laugh.

"At least it isn't a convenience store. Sit, I'll get menus." She took a seat, checking the top of the table for dust and grimacing at her fingers. Kangtae couldn't help laughing. Ko Moonyoung was inexplicably cute—maybe her attitude was frightening to some, but Kangtae ran a hotel for ghosts, which put Moonyoung's temper into perspective more than most things would. And besides—she was amusing in a way very, very few people were.

She hadn't been lying about wanting to know him; she'd spent the car ride so far questioning him. He might even go so far as to call it an interrogation.

"Where are we going?" she'd asked, first thing after he began driving. "Business trip, but where?"

"Hwaseong."

Of course, she couldn't accept anything for what it was, and so the next question came: "What business do you have? It can't be anything illegal, or you wouldn't have let me come with you. Or are you going to secretly hide my body?"

Kangtae had nodded, of course. "Of course. I can't let someone who's seen so much of me live." It wasn't even too far from the truth—though, he supposed, most people who knew him too well were simply already dead. The only exception would be the various hotel manager's he'd had over the last few decades of running a legitimate verifiable business. Apart from them, and Mago, whose position on the scale from "alive" to "dead" was fairly questionable anyway, Moonyoung was probably the only living person who he'd met and spoken to so much in the last—oh, five hundred years.

It wasn't a bad thing, he supposed.

"And the business... nothing illegal," he said. "It's more a favour than anything else." She had looked at him, and he had been compelled to elaborate: "It's part of our VIP guest service package."

"VIP? I'm a VIP," Moonyoung had said, lip curling. "I should visit your hotel. I don't mind paying extra for special attention from the CEO."

She was certainly... blunt. He liked that, though. She didn't hesitate to look him ankle to shoulder as he returned with two menus and took a seat opposite her. "So," she announced, leaning forward, chin on fist and glitter shining on her lower lashes. "I have a question."

"Really?" he asked, blowing his eyes wide in faux-innocence. "I didn't expect that."

"Are you married? Is that why the hotel is a no-go? Do you have a secret wife hidden in your hotel attic I can't meet?"

It wasn't in his attic, and it wasn't quite a woman, but—Kangtae forced the smile onto his lips to tug upward. "You could say that. I have a wife you can't meet." When Moonyoung's expression soured, he laughed. "It's Blue Moon. The hotel's been like a demading wife since I've owned it." Perhaps a little more possessive than any spouse ought to be, though. "I can't stay away for more than a day or two without it falling to pieces, so maybe it's more like... a child?"

Moonyoung smirked. "Good to know," she said, and wrapped her ankle around his.

"Now it's my turn with a question," he said, leaning forward, He leaned forward, sliding his leg up just so, enjoying the way her eyes darkened and mouth opened. He leaned closer, and then closer still, and then, just when her eyes dropped to his lips, he raised the menu between their faces. "What do you want to eat?"

The man in the car crossed and uncrossed his arms. Kangtae ignored him, and watched the transience of emotion on Moonyoung's face.

They pulled into the city to find the streets packed with people, streamers and flyers running through cramped alleys and central roads alike. Kangtae seemed to know precisely where to go, and drove with precision and control. It added nicely experience of the drive, being able to watch his hands and neck and certainty of movement even when she had nothing to say.

"Where are we?" she asked when he finally pulled into a parking lot. It was still light outside, but barely—she could see the sun setting on the horizon, colouring the sky orange and pink.

"At my meeting. I'll be back in five minutes, don't go anywhere," he announced. Moonyoung shrugged and followed him out of the car, grabbing a lighter from her bag. He shot her and then the no-smoking sign a look, but only smiled and shook his head before walking away. She quirked her lips up, and lit it up. In her bag, her phone rang again—twelfth missed called from Sangin.

She'd told him that she was on a trip to Hwaseong with Kangtae when he had called the first time—she wasn't scared of Kangtae, but she also wasn't an idiot—and then hung up when he began repeating variations of what the hell with nothing to actually add. She didn't know what the problem was; the promotional period for Zombie Kid was over, and she had no schedule for a few weeks, or at least until she was well into working on her next book.

Of course, it was possible Sangin's problem was just Kangtae. He didn't trust her around people—which, she supposed, was fair in this case. She had stabbed him. But Kangtae hadn't been the intended victim, and had shown no signs so far of wanting to sue her or of publicising her horrible misdeeds. So that couldn't be it.

And he was interesting.

Everyone she knew, everyone she met, fell into the same few categories. Boring. Dull. Frightened of her. Awed by her. Disgusting and contemptible. Tedious. Fun was—so very rare. Willing to answer her questions, even if she could tell he wasn't being perfectly honest. And—entertained as much by her as she was by him.

Smoke burned through her lungs and out into the air. It was a cold evening; colder than she would expect. She closed her eyes, imagining being in a different parking lot, one underground, without all this bright sunlight. Hand on hand on waist. Warmth under her palms. An arm around her in her bed. Soft fabric sliding against her leg, pressing just enough to give her a glimpse of the muscle underneath. Eyes dark and flickering to her mouth, lips this close...

She really, really, wanted him.

"I know, right? He's really handsome," a male voice said, and her eyes snapped open. She turned around on the spot, but there was no one there, only the chill in the air and empty cars.

"Who's there?" she asked, sliding a hand into her purse, closing it around a lovely pair of tailoring scissors with gilt handles that led to large curves cutting off in sharp points. It was meant for clothes, but it would definitely cut through more. "Who the hell said that?" she asked again, turning around on her heel. No one responded.

Footsteps. Moonyoung spun on her heel—but it was only Kangtae. "Who are you talking to?" he asked.

She let go of the scissors and turned back around. "I thought I heard someone," she said, rubbing at her arm.

Kangtae looked around. "There's no one here," he said. Moonyoung watched as his gaze paused just by the car, almost as though he was looking at someone, but—there was no one there. She shrugged, putting the smoke out.

"Probably an echo." It was a windy day. She knew she'd heard the words clearly, but—no one here. Maybe she was hearing ghosts now? "Is your business done?"

Kangtae shot a dark look back at the building he had just come from. "We'll need to make a few more stops."

Their last stop was apparently a campaigning spot, covered top to bottom in smiling, family friendly pictures of local assemblyman Kwon Mansu (or so they said) who hoped to be voted back into the position this election cycle. The politician and his family were taking pictures at the moment, walking from stall to stall and shaking hands, looking generally like a perfect candidate and his perfect family—barring the red eyes on his wife, that was.

As the assemblyman began to climb up the podium to make whatever obnoxious speech he was about to, Kangtae got out of the car. She followed, more than curious. It had become more than evident that his business had to do with this Kwon Mansu, but she didn't know what. The distaste was evident on his face, but here too the reason was beyond her.

She had a feeling, though, that she was about to find out.

"Are you ready?" he asked, just as he was being was introduced. She raised an eyebrow, and turned back to the stage, leaning back on the car to wait.

When he opened his mouth, a screech sounded, high and harsh enough to send gasps into the air and people ducking. Assemblyman Kwon ducked himself, but he was too professional to take the embarrassment. A smile fixed itself on his face, and his staff hurried to the mic, looking over it. "Technical difficulties," he laughed, just loud enough that he likely wouldn't even need the mic if it wasn't for his sense of self-importance.

He tried again—and yet again, the mic screeched. She looked at Kangtae, then back at the assemblyman. When he cleared his throat, the mic seemed fine, though, so he began to speak.

The words, she gathered, were not his.

"Everyone, this is a message from Kwon Gido! I'm Kwon Mansu's youngest son!"

Chaos erupted. Kwon Mansu's wife crumpled to the ground, her children gathering around her. The man himself began shouting near-miss obscenities and yelling at his staff as the mic kept going apparently without his help. The gathered media were undoubtedly having a frenzy—flashes began to go off, no doubt getting very good pictures of Kwon Mansu and some shocking audio recordings of Kwon Gido's last message to the public about why not to elect his father. Bodyguards in black and white looked left and right for a culprit, but the culprit was the speakers. And then, just as someone realised you could simply unplug speakers, a reporter found—

"These are Kwon Gido's hospital reports!"

She turned to Kangtae. "How did you get that audio recording?" Surely a recording made by Kwon Gido on his last days was unlikely to appear in just anyone's hands.

"He was a guest," Kangtae said. She opened her mouth, then shut it again as a man in bright purple marched over to them.

"You!" She leaned back onto the car just a little more, watching as Kangtae postured—hands in pockets, shoulders relaxed, one elbow leaning on his car, the picture of cool and uncaring. "Are you from the hospital?"

She answered first. "What hospital? I'm a writer, and he's my lifejacket."

Kangtae rolled his eyes, turning to her. "I told you, I have a job."

"I'm warning you both. I don't know where you got that recording, but if anything happens to Assemblyman Kwon because of what happened today—"

"Yes? What if something happens?" Irritation laced his voice.

The man raised one threatening finger. "You two better brace yourselves."

It was almost funny. "Really?" she asked, gasping. "You're so frightening, I'm so scared. What do I do?" Beside her, Kangtae was almost laughing, teeth out, lips curled up—but eyes hard. The man she was talking to, though, didn't seem particularly amused.

"You little—" He didn't get to finish his sentence, but she could imagine what came next. The step forward, the raised arm. She didn't even have time to brace herself for the hit when Kangtae was in the way, one hand on his palm.

"Didn't I warn you and Assemblyman Kwon?" he asked, twisting until the man was shouting. "Why didn't you brace yourself?" He let go suddenly enough that the man fell over, scrambling backwards. She watched as Kangtae turned to her, almost as though checking to see if she was alright. A woman ran over to them.

"Wait here," he said after a minute. Moonyoung watched him go, watched the man on the ground wring his hand, obviously in pain, watched the reporters shouting and flashes going off. In the back, Mrs. Kwon Mansu was sobbing into her hands. Same old story everywhere, it seemed.

Assemblyman Kwon said something. Kangtae's mouth twisted—he replied, something not quite a shout, not quite audible past the general chaos. Mrs. Kwon's face turned white, and Assemblyman Kwon looked like he would have hit Kangtae if there were simply less people. But Moon Kangtae—simply didn't care. His hands returned to his pockets, and if they were clenched into fists now instead of relaxed, she didn't know who else was watching to see. He took a slow saunter back to her, smiling when he reached her, and asked,

"Had fun?"

She really, really, really wanted him.

#kdramanetwork #psycho but it's okay #it's okay not to be okay #iontbo fanfic #pbio fanfic #mine #minefic #pbiofic #hotel blue moon #moonmoon #i just....love them so much #the tension is getting to me tho lmao

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frozenprocedural · 3 years

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TDOE... something. I’m way off

It’s “Scales” today, but I’m so far behind, I’m just posting even if it’s not related to the prompt. I actually was going to use this for Elsarik week 2020, but that clearly NEVER happened. So I get to post it now.

I mean, Alarik under anesthesia. What’s not to love? As always, he, and Neta belong to @patricia-von-arundel. I just air him out now and again.

@bepoets, can you find TWW reference? ;)

Rating: G

Flirt

Anna found Elsa, still wearing a paint-splattered shirt- it must have been craft day in the classroom- sitting in a folding chair, staring at the empty space where the room's hospital bed should have been. Anna pulled up another chair and sat down next to her.

"I'm going to kill him." Elsa gritted out.

"Please don't. It took long enough for the two of you to get together. Plus, I refuse to explain to Neta why her uncle isn't visiting her anymore."

That was enough to pull Elsa's gaze away from the wall. She gave Anna a weak smile, and accepted the embrace her sister offered.

"You okay?" Anna asked when they pulled apart.

"That really depends on your definition of 'okay'."

"Elsa."

"What do you want me to say, Anna? My idiot husband decides he's going to climb up a rock wall to collect a specimen without the proper climbing equipment, falls, and breaks his leg. But does he call 9-1-1? No! He gets one of his assistants to drive him an hour to the hospital. An hour. And do you know how I find out? He calls me, while in the car, and tells me he 'hurt himself' and is going to get his leg 'checked out'. Nevermind that it's swollen to twice it's normal size or that there's a bulge in the middle of his leg. But, it's fine, he doesn't need immediate medical attention for that!"

She slumped forward with a groan. "And this happens in the middle of the day, with my students elbow-deep in paint, and I have to leave them to come here. It's just…"

Elsa made a frustrated noise, and Anna placed an arm around her shoulder. Before anything could be said, they were interrupted by the sound of a bed being wheeled in.

"Mrs. Geatland?"

Elsa stood up so quickly the chair she'd been in nearly toppled over. On the bed, Alarik was almost lost in a cocoon of blankets, with only his head sticking out. His skin was extremely pale- even for him, and his face tense with pain. Nevertheless, he managed a weak smile and a soft "Hello, Darling".

Elsa shot him a glare before turning to the nurse and doctor flanking his bed. "What did he manage to do to himself?"

The doctor, a sturdy-looking woman with dark, curly hair, smiled sympathetically. "I'm Doctor Barlett," she extended her hand and Elsa took it briefly, "and unfortunately, based on the x-rays, Alarik has sustained fractures on his tibia and fibula- the long bones of the lower leg- that are going to require surgery to repair."

Dr. Barlett went over to the lightbox and flipped it on, placing an x-ray image on its surface. The X-ray showed a clear break in both bones, with part of the tibia pressing against the outside of the skin. "We are going to drill into the tibia to insert a rod for stabilization, and place a plate on the fibula. With that and physical therapy, Alarik's outlook for recovery is very good. I do need you to go over some forms with Leisel, Mrs. Geatland," she indicated to the nurse at her side, "and then we'll prep him for surgery. You can walk with him to the theater and we'll set you up in the waiting area."

Elsa looked almost as pale as Alarik did, but she nodded, leaned down to press her forehead against his before following Leseil to the computer. As soon as she was out of sight, Alarik motioned frantically towards Anna. She raised an eyebrow and came over to his side, leaning in close.

“Anna, I’m scared.”

She took his hand. "Hey, that's normal. Surgery is-"

"No, not the surgery. Okay, maybe a little bit, but I'm really scared of what happens afterwards."

"Do you mean not waking up? Alarik, you're perfectly healthy, and-"

"No, what if I wake up and the anesthesia messes with my brain? And I start…" he looked around fearfully before lowering his voice "flirting with a nurse or doctor?"

Anna squinted. "Wait, what? You're going into surgery after a major break, and you're worried about flirting with the hospital staff?"

"Not so loud! Yes! Elsa doesn't deserve that! I've already put her through so much- I can't have my mind thinking it's okay to sweet-talk with someone else! She's my wife! The woman I love!" Alarik threw his head back into the pillow.

"Right now, I'm going to guess whatever pain meds they have you on are already messing with you. But look, if that actually becomes a problem, I'll take care of it then. Not sure how, but I'll figure it out."

Alarik lifted his hand, extending his pinkie. "Promise?"

Anna gripped it with her own, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. "I promise, you dork."

………….

Several long hours later, Elsa and Anna were ushered back to a recovery room after being told Alarik's surgery was successful.

"He's still coming off of the anesthesia, so he may not make the most sense at the moment." Leisel explained as she led them back. "Here we go."

She pushed open the room door, revealing Alarik, sporting a bulky new cast, resting on the bed, his eyes closed. "I'll be back in a bit to check up on him." Leisel closed the door behind her, and they went over to the bed. Elsa picked up Alarik's hand.

"Hello, Alarik."

His face scrunched up, relaxed, and he slowly opened his eyes. He blinked, his gaze bleary, before looking over at Elsa and grinning widely.

"Hi."

"How are you feeling?"

"Gooooood." Alarik’s gaze flitted around the room, before landing back on Elsa. He squinted. "Hey, are you here to take care of me?"

She chuckled, brushing a stray curl away from his forehead. "Yes, of course."

She wasn't sure how he could grin any more, but he did. "Niiiiice. I like that. I like that a lot. You're really beautiful. I mean, I bet you already know that, but you're gorgeous. If you were my wife, I'd be telling you that every day. Why are you laughing? I like that laugh."

Elsa put her hand to her mouth, struggling to contain her growing mirth. "You goose, I am your wife." She brought their hands together so that he could see the rings. "See?"

His eyes went wide and he shot upright with his mouth hanging open. "Wait, we're married!? How!?"

Now there was no chance of holding back her laughter. "The usual way, of course. You proposed, I said yes, and we had a wedding." Behind her, Anna cackled.

"You forgot the part where he broke his wrist trying to propose to you." Anna added.

"I did?" Alarik lifted his hands, turning them over before dropping them and blinking at Anna. "Are you here to take care of me too?"

Anna grinned, making no attempt to hide the phone she was holding up to record him. "Sort of. I'm Anna. Elsa's sister. Your sister-in-law."

Alarik grinned. "You seem fun."

Anna bent double, her sides heaving as she howled with laughter. Alarik giggled along- a surprisingly high-pitched giggle, which only made Anna laugh all the harder.

"You two." Elsa sighed, but she couldn't suppress her own smile. Eventually Anna calmed down, and Alarik snapped his head back to Elsa, as if remembering something.

“Wait, do we have kids?”

Elsa's gaze took on a faraway look, and her hands twined together. Eventually, she answered him in a voice so soft it was barely audible.

"Not… not yet. But… soon."

"Soon?"

Elsa stood, turning sideways, and pulled her blouse tight, displaying the small swell in her middle. "About four months from now."

Alarik's face was euphoric. “We’re… we’re going to have a baby!? Oh, that’s… that’s just… Oh my God…” His eyes were wet. “Did you hear that, Anna? I get to have a baby with this incredible, amazing, darling woman, and…” He broke down, tears streaming down his face.

“Yup.” Anna responded over his growing sobs. “You did pretty much the same exact thing the first time Elsa told you.”

“Alright,” Elsa said, pressing Alarik back into the bed. Her own eyes were suspiciously wet as well. “I think this is your way of telling me you need some rest now. We can talk when you’re more lucid. Get some rest.”

Alarik’s eyes were already at half-mast, and he was clearly drained from crying. “Okay. Will you stay with me?”

She smiled, pushing away the curls from his forehead. “Of course. Now, get some rest. I’ll be right here.”

Alarik grinned, his eyelids slipping shut. “‘Niiiight.”

“Goodnight” Elsa and Anna chorused. Within moments, he was fast asleep, snoring gently.

Elsa looked over at her sister. “Please, for the love of all things good and holy, tell me you got that all on video.”

Anna grinned and flashed her a thumbs-up.

#tdoe 2020 #tdoe #elsarik

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trellanyx · 5 years

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Aim Your Arrow at the Sky

AO3 LINK

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

Time slowed to a crawl without any help from Crowley. Every bit of movement and sound heightened to match his growing panic: the crunch of wet sand under his boot; the waves rolling rhythmically against the shore; the unrhythmic, staccato beating of Crowley’s useless heart; and there, standing on the water, was Gabriel, his long, pristine coat flapping around his ankles like wings in the wind.

“Nice place,” Gabriel continued, unbothered by Crowley’s silence. Hell’s sake, he was probably enjoying it. Gabriel looked around the empty beach, taking in the expanse of shore and sea and sky that Crowley and Aziraphale had claimed as their own. “Open, quiet, private. Dull as shit, but then, you’ve never been one for taste. I mean.” Gabriel laughed like an old friend. “Just look at who you hang out with.”

Crowley turned to face Gabriel openly, stepping to the side until he blocked Gabriel’s line of sight. The cottage was still half a mile away, but Crowley would be blessed and damned if he was going to let Gabriel a single inch closer to the angel inside.

“You get one warning,” he snarled. His eyes flashed poison-gold, pupils thin as a virgin guillotine blade. “Fuck. Off.”

“Tsk. That’s not very nice.”

“We had an agreement.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows rose. “We did?” he asked, with all the shallow grandeur of a carnival conman. “That’s news to me. You sure you’re not thinking of…?” He nodded downward. “I know they’re too cowardly to come after you twice, but you and me? We haven’t spoken since the airfield. Am I right?”

Gabriel grinned, and a thin layer of his joviality slipped away with the tide. Crowley could see a thousand years of bloody crusades, swelling with corpse-rot and worship, living in the curve of Gabriel’s smile.

“Y’know, funny thing happened a few years ago, after you two betrayed the Almighty,” he continued. “We tried to execute Aziraphale, you know, and it didn’t take. Flames wouldn’t touch him. Very unsettling.”

Shut your stupid mouth and die already.

Crowley hissed hate through his sharpening teeth.

“Then we hear from Downstairs that they tried the same thing with you, and you survived holy water.” Gabriel shook his head. “And I’m thinking, nah, that can’t be right. Those two idiots?”

Heat began to boil in Crowley’s veins, blurring the air around him and causing the sand under his feet to steam as the water seeped inside began to evaporate.

Gabriel raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Not quite idiots, though, are you? I’ll give you credit—it was a clever trick.”

“Weird,” Crowley mused, like he was contemplating an unfamiliar menu item, not seething with hatred and panic. “I didn’t think your head was small enough to be pulled back outside your own arse. Is that why you’re here now?” Crowley tsked in fake sympathy. “Did it take that long, Gabe?”

Gabriel’s smile froze, and his stolen eyes became diamond-hard with barely controlled disgust.

“I imagine it’s difficult, being wretched longer than you’ve ever been divine.” Gabriel’s voice was soft, like feathers inside a pillow he was about to smother you with. “Your memory’s fuzzy—I get that. Still, though, I’d think this one would’ve stuck. Aziraphale at least had the decency to be properly afraid of it.”

“Is there a rest stop between now and the fucking point?” snapped Crowley. He jerked back in revulsion at the sound of Gabriel’s laughter.

“Surveillance, dumbass! Every second the earth has existed has a record. We didn’t have a reason to look before, but now, well.” Gabriel spread out his hands with a shrug. The warmth was back in his smile; a spray of blood from a mortal wound, cordiality and cruelty trickling down the grain of the cross.

Bless it, Crowley thought, but he was an idiot. Because he’d known. Gabriel, for all his inanity and pompousness, had never been stupid. No, worse than that—Gabriel was apathetic. He didn’t bother to learn or observe anything outside his own interests, and this made him appear bumbling, full of hot air and nothing substantive.

But when he did decide to pay attention…

Crowley’s wings shattered the barrier of their prison ad cracked the air like a shot. Gabriel watched placidly as they extended to their full height and wingspan. The air around Crowley was already distorting itself as reality broke down, unable to keep the demon’s true form from answering its master’s summons.

“I will kill you,” Crowley promised, his voice echoing with void and devastation. “I don’t care if I go down with you. You’ll face oblivion before you can even step in Aziraphale’s direction.”

“Oh…” Gabriel chuckled. “I know you will, A̸̧̼̦̭͇̞̰͎̙̮͎̒̃̌̚͝m̵͉̦̞̩̗͔̿̔̆̄͗̊̆̈́̀̓͂̀͊r̵̡̗̻͉̪͚̼̹͉̭̒̒̋͐̑̊̃͆̓͂̚̚ỉ̸̛̹͇͓̙͍͚̭̯͈̻̓̃̊̆͝ͅe̷̡̢̧̛̼͈̜̻͙̰̳̾̊͛͐͌̿̓̕͜ͅͅͅl̵̳̞̎̍̅͒̎͒͌͋́͌̾̔̕.”

Crowley screamed from the abrupt shock of divinity lancing through his chest, scattering light between his atoms like shrapnel. A high note, unbearably terrible and beautiful, rang in his ears and splintered his bones, sending Crowley to his knees in an acolyte’s post. He gasped as it passed through him and stared at Gabriel with mounting horror.

The first thing that was burned away from fallen angels was their name. It was the word She used to call them into existence, each letter encrusted like jewels in the crown of Her Glory. To lose their name was to lose themselves. Crowley couldn’t remember his holy name; sometimes, if he tried hard, he could see the shape of it in his mind’s eye, but it was smudged with pain. He’d always assumed the names of the Fallen were taken back into Her essence, no longer fit for creation or memory.

“Surprised?” Gabriel asked. “Oh, A̸̧̼̦̭͇̞̰͎̙̮͎̒̃̌̚͝m̵͉̦̞̩̗͔̿̔̆̄͗̊̆̈́̀̓͂̀͊r̵̡̗̻͉̪͚̼̹͉̭̒̒̋͐̑̊̃͆̓͂̚̚ỉ̸̛̹͇͓̙͍͚̭̯͈̻̓̃̊̆͝ͅe̷̡̢̧̛̼͈̜̻͙̰̳̾̊͛͐͌̿̓̕͜ͅͅͅl̵̳̞̎̍̅͒̎͒͌͋́͌̾̔̕—” Crowley gagged as blood filled his mouth. “—did you really think we’d forgotten you? When a demon’s former celestial name can cause this amount of damage, why the hell would we ever erase them?” Gabriel clucked his tongue. “Poor, stupid A̸̧̼̦̭͇̞̰͎̙̮͎̒̃̌̚͝m̵͉̦̞̩̗͔̿̔̆̄͗̊̆̈́̀̓͂̀͊r̵̡̗̻͉̪͚̼̹͉̭̒̒̋͐̑̊̃͆̓͂̚̚ỉ̸̛̹͇͓̙͍͚̭̯͈̻̓̃̊̆͝ͅe̷̡̢̧̛̼͈̜̻͙̰̳̾̊͛͐͌̿̓̕͜ͅͅͅl̵̳̞̎̍̅͒̎͒͌͋́͌̾̔̕.”

Crowley clutched his chest as the hole where Her Grace used to be was seared with divinity that was no longer his. Stupid indeed. Even the humans knew that names had power; why should the first names in all creation be any exception?

When he raised his head to hiss at Gabriel, black ichor dripped from Crowley’s eyes.

“Enjoying your little party trick? Go ahead.” Crowley staggered to his feet. “Say my name. Say it as much as you fucking want. I want you to.” He smile-snarled at the Archangel. “Let my name be the last thing you ever fucking say before I punt you into a black hole.”

“You still don’t get it.” Gabriel sighed. “Here’s the thing, A̸̧̼̦̭͇̞̰͎̙̮͎̒̃̌̚͝m̵͉̦̞̩̗͔̿̔̆̄͗̊̆̈́̀̓͂̀͊r̵̡̗̻͉̪͚̼̹͉̭̒̒̋͐̑̊̃͆̓͂̚̚ỉ̸̛̹͇͓̙͍͚̭̯͈̻̓̃̊̆͝ͅe̷̡̢̧̛̼͈̜̻͙̰̳̾̊͛͐͌̿̓̕͜ͅͅͅl̵̳̞̎̍̅͒̎͒͌͋́͌̾̔̕—” Crowley flipped his middle finger as he shook with a fresh wave of pain. “I didn’t actually come here to kill you.”

“Bullshit,” Crowley spat.

“It’s true! I just came for a chat.” Gabriel jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “He came to kill you.”

In the space between heartbeat and thought, Sandalphon slipped out from behind Gabriel like an oil spill. The churning waves died beneath his shoes, becoming glass-smooth to match the patch of ocean Gabriel stood on. His smile didn’t bother with the pretense of friendship that Gabriel’s did; it held only the horrifying truth of belief, the kind that made martyrs out of the unwilling and called it just.

Crowley reared like a hooded cobra, cornered but desperate, and furious enough to attack anything that so much as twitched in its direction.

“Can’t even handle killing a demon on your own, can you, you piece of shit?”

Gabriel hummed like he was actually giving it some thought. “I prefer to think of it as not getting my hands dirty.”

“Hello, Crawley,” Sandalphon simpered. His golden teeth reminded Crowley of long abandoned treasures in a skeleton’s graveyard. Awareness coiled sickly in his gut.

Crowley could take Gabriel, or even Sandalphon, on his own. Whether he’d win was up for debate—an angel’s powers were, by design, made to cancel out a demon’s—but Crowley knew that he could at least cause one of the archangels severe damage. But two of them?

He had to try. If he could stall them even a minute, Aziraphale could—

“But you know what, I’m a sporting angel.” Gabriel clapped his hand on Sandalphon’s shoulder, whose eyes were beginning to glow. “How about I give you a chance to prove me wrong?”

Sandalphon held his hands out in front of him like an offering, and the water immediately began to churn. When he breathed in, the tide drained away from the shore into a growing whirlpool blackening the water beneath his feet. Sandalphon raised his arms in a conductor’s stance, his eyes glowing lightning-bright and salt-white.

The flames under Crowley’s scales froze with horror as a wave grew behind Sandalphon. And grew…and grew…

And then it began to glow.

Gabriel whistled appreciatively at the literal tidal wave rising above their heads—every atom of which was vibrating with celestial blessing. Even the scent of seawater in the air was poisoned with divinity; Crowley felt his right eye start to twitch.

“Survive this, demon,” Gabriel intoned. He wasn’t smiling anymore. “Survive this, and I swear by the Grace inside me that I’ll leave you two alone.”

Fragments of ideas and plans rattled around Crowley’s mind like dice, and every one of them came up snake-eyes.

The wave had swelled too large to dodge. He could run, fly, crawl through the sand, but he wasn’t fast enough to get out of range before Sandalphon brought the flood down on his head. It would be the same if he attacked. No amount of hellfire would touch the angels so long as they were surrounded by their watery barrier. Even trying to stop time, as he did in Tadfield, would be useless to him. There was no reality-bending Antichrist to aid him, no angel…

Oh.

Aziraphale.

I’m…I’m about to die, aren’t I?

The roar of water dulled and muffled, suddenly far away, as if it was respecting Crowley’s privacy in his last moments. Realization skinned him raw; if Crowley was gone, who would protect Aziraphale? Who would listen to him read his favorite poetry aloud? Who would groom his wings? Who would take him to dinner, to the theater, to the stars and to bed and everywhere in between?

Who would love him?

I’m fucked. I’m fucked and I can’t stay and I’m going to hurt you, Aziraphale. I’m going to make you cry. I’m sorry. I only ever wanted to love you.

Gabriel waved. “So long!”

I know I said I’d be happy with whatever I could get, and I meant that, I did, I meant it because it was you. But angel, angel, I’m too fucking selfish. It’s not enough, it’ll never be enough, I want more, Aziraphale.

I want more time.

“Farewell,” sneered Sandalphon.

I want to talk with you more, drink with you more, I want more mornings where you’re the first thing I see when I wake up.

The tidal wave rose until it blocked the sun’s light, casting Crowley in a long tombstone-shadow. He should attack them. He should at least try, deny them the satisfaction of striking him down without resistance.

“Auf wiedersehen!”

But Crowley’s mind wasn’t on the beach anymore. It was back in their cottage, curled in Aziraphale’s lap with a deathbed confession.

I want more lunches, more dinners, more desserts, I want more walks and drives and I want to tease you more, kiss and hug and fuck and love you, I want to love you so much more Aziraphale, I want I want I WANT—!

“Goodbye.”

…I don’t want to go.

Sandalphon’s arms surged forward to bring down the wave, and several things happened at once.

A white-gold missile of light slammed into Sandalphon with enough force to send him barreling into Gabriel’s side and shoot them both away from Crowley like a torpedo.

The wave collapsed in on itself and flooded the beach.

Crowley threw his arms in front of his face, hissing as the holy spray connected like a thousand paper cuts in a salt bath.

He only had seconds to register the pain before something grabbed Crowley around the middle and rocketed him above the saturated sand.

Crowley panicked when he felt the heavenly aura surround him, instinctively squirming and kicking until he was flipped onto his back and saw his favorite shade of blue beseeching him to be still.

“It’s me!” Aziraphale shouted over the water. “Crowley, it’s me!”

A gallows moan pulled from Crowley’s chest.

“Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale crushed Crowley to his chest at the same time Crowley’s arms strangled the angel in a python’s grip. Aziraphale stroke-dragged shaking fingers through Crowley’s hair; his desperate whispers of darling darling darling kept rhythm with Crowley’s racing heart. He whined when Aziraphale pulled away to look him over.

“Are you hurt?” Aziraphale demanded. “Did it touch you?” His eyes followed Crowley’s down to the sizzling freckles on his arms, and Aziraphale growled.

“Monsters.”

Belatedly, Crowley registered that Aziraphale was holding him in a bridal carry. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, his vest was unbuttoned, and his bowtie was loose; he’d hadn’t even bothered to miracle his appearance, he’d been too much in a hurry to save Crowley from—

“We have to get out of here!” Crowley scrambled to fly on his own, holding Aziraphale’s hand the whole time. “Angel, we’ve gotta—”

“No.”

Crowley’s neck snapped back to Aziraphale fast enough to give a human a severe case of whiplash. “The fuck you mean no?!”

“They won’t stop,” said Aziraphale. “Not unless we make them.”

Now that he was sure of Crowley’s safety, the abrupt serenity settling around Aziraphale’s shoulders made Crowley bristle with terror.

“Aziraphale, they want to kill you!”

“Oh good.” Aziraphale turned to look over the horizon Gabriel and Sandalphon had been thrown beyond. “It’s always nice to be on the same page.”

His wrist twisted, and Crowley did a double take when he saw that Aziraphale was swinging a fucking umbrella like a broadsword. As it spun, the umbrella came alive with ice-blue fire, licking its way down to Aziraphale’s fingers and sparking like a blacksmith’s forge.

“Aziraphale, what—”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

A pillar of seawater erupted into the air. Crowley reeled back, but Aziraphale was already in front of him, the umbrella wide open and shield-wide, causing any stray drops of water to evaporate before the fire.

“Promise me something right now,” muttered Aziraphale.

“What is it?”

Aziraphale closed the umbrella and shifted into a combative posture.

“Do not interfere. Please.”

“Azira–”

“Promise me, Crowley.”

“No!” Crowley ripped his glasses off and threw them into the sand like a gauntlet. “You’re out of your blessed mind if you think I’m gonna let you—”

“My dear, in just a minute quite a lot of ethereal seawater is going to be slung around.” Aziraphale’s warrior eyes softened when they looked at Crowley’s incredulous face. “Please, love. I don’t want you in the crossfire.”

Unable to refute him, but unwilling to back down, Crowley jabbed his finger at Aziraphale’s flaming umbrella. “What are you even going to do with that, anyway?”

“Something I should have done long ago.” Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s cheek, and all protests shriveled in the demon’s throat. “I love you, Crowley. Wait for me.”

Aziraphale floated down to where Gabriel and Sandalphon reappeared on the water, enraged and sporting several extra sets of wings and eyes.

“Y’know what, I am sick of your shit,” Gabriel spat. “I was trying to be nice about this, show a little mercy by not making you watch Sandalphon kill your–”

A shower of water exploded in Gabriel’s face. He swore and sputtered, leaping back…and gaping at what he saw. As did Crowley.

Aziraphale had impaled his umbrella-sword through Sandalphon’s chest. He lifted Sandalphon until only the tips of his loafers skimmed the water. Sandalphon looked too stunned to try to retaliate, even when his wings fell slack and his extra eyes rolled back into nothingness.

Aziraphale radiated contempt as he unceremoniously yanked his weapon out of Sandalphon’s chest and stepped away.

With his face still frozen in a look of utter shock, Sandalphon’s knees splashed into the water. He pitched forward until he was face down in the ocean, bobbing listlessly as he bled out. Moments later, the rest of his mortal vessel sank with the finality of a suicide.

Discorporated.

Aziraphale’s fire was still burning through Sandalphon’s flesh; Crowley could see a pale blue glow under the waves as Aziraphale turned to fully face Gabriel.

“…So that’s how you want to do this, Aziraphale?” All emotion, satiric or sincere, abandoned Gabriel’s face in favor of cold-iron fury. “You cowered before the apocalypse, and now, now you choose to fight? For this infested world? For him?”

Gabriel jerked his chin upward, disgusted by the mere reference of Crowley on his lips.

“There didn’t have to be a war, Gabriel,” said Aziraphale. With his raised head and squared shoulders, he reminded Crowley of a well-fortified bulwark. “Not between Heaven and Hell, nor between us. Crowley and I have only ever asked for peace.”

Gabriel shook his head. “Without the flood, the olive branch has no meaning. You understood that once, Aziraphale.”

“No, I didn’t,” murmured Aziraphale. “I never did. I had only hope that one day, I would. No more.” Aziraphale glanced at Crowley. “I’m done blindly attacking whatever is put in front of me, and I’m done hiding like that’s something shameful.” He pointed his makeshift weapon at Gabriel; its calm, defensive blue a far cry from Aziraphale’s original sword—the weapon that fit so perfectly in the hands of War.

Gabriel spread his wings like he was baring his teeth. “You understand what will happen, don’t you? Attacking a superior?”

Aziraphale mimicked the action. “I answer to two voices in this universe, Gabriel, and yours isn’t one of them. None of you are. Not anymore.”

“You’ll Fall for this.”

Aziraphale’s form shimmered and bled until it was little more than sun and steel covered in a thousand glaring, resolute eyes.

“So be it.”

Aziraphale and Gabriel’s magic slammed against each other before their bodies did. The water crested from the shock waves and began to glow again, completely baptized by the unfiltered celestial energies rippling through its currents.

Crowley’s corporeal form tore from his body as he took off towards the fighting. He was never a soldier before he Fell—Crowley’s purpose was that of creation, of forming the precious galaxy that angels like Aziraphale fought to protect—but one didn’t roost in the bowels of hell for a couple millennia without learning how to fight dirty. Crowley swallowed what remained of earthly light into the hollow maw where Grace once shone, his fangs and claws dripping liquid nightmares. Even the broken shards of his halo were sharp enough to pierce an angel’s skin if Crowley just got close enough—

A geyser of holy water shot up and nearly took out one of his wings. Crowley reared back with a hateful shriek as more bless-bright jets rose around the warring angels like a cage. Crowley circled them agitatedly, trying to find Aziraphale in the fight. They were moving too fast and too bright; even Crowley’s supernatural gaze could only pick up afterimages, like a video with delayed audio. He pushed his consciousness out, seeking Aziraphale’s aura in the midst of the chaos.

All of Gabriel’s heads and wings were out, surging towards Aziraphale’s core to gouge him clean. Aziraphale met him blow for blow with his umbrella, the ludicrous sight at odds with how Gabriel snarled at it every time Aziraphale swung towards him.

What on earth had he done to it? It repelled Gabriel’s magic whenever Aziraphale opened it to use as a shield, and its blue flames greedily clung to Gabriel’s face and feathers whenever Aziraphale landed a hit. It didn’t cause the same amount of damage as hellfire might, but the force with which Aziraphale choreographed his blows was enough to knock Gabriel back, if only for a second.

Lightning shot down from above at Gabriel’s command, crackling through their watery battlefield like spiderweb veins. Aziraphale lost his footing as electricity surrounded his legs like barbed wire, and Gabriel struck, knocking Aziraphale backwards into the water. He reared back, teeth gleaming, and surged towards Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale threw up his umbrella with both hands and caught it inside Gabriel’s mouth, inches away from Aziraphale’s nose. The flames flared in Gabriel’s face, covering his head. Gabriel howled, and swung out with his claws.

Aziraphale screamed.

“ANGEL!” Crowley surged forward, water be damned, when—

“STAY BACK!”

Aziraphale staggered to his feet; half of his eyes were lidded or shut, dripping with golden blood. One of his wings was bent out of shape, claw marks breaking up the trail of snowy feathers.

Gabriel covered half of his face, his own lustrous blood spilling through his claws from the lashes Aziraphale’s magic scored across his Grace. Gabriel glanced at Crowley through the fire still licking his face, and Crowley could feel the archangel’s viciousness in the back of his throat, choking him like his tongue was swelling.

That feeling was all the warning Crowley had before the geyser bars exploded like a supernova. Aziraphale’s magic slammed Crowley backwards, burning like acid through Crowley’s teeth and rings, but with enough force to knock him almost entirely back to the other end of the beach, away from the water. Crowley writhed in the air, holding onto Aziraphale’s magic even as it burned, trying to get a sense of its strength from this small sample alone.

Up ahead the angels were clashing again. Starbursts of water rose and exploded like fireworks around them.

Aziraphale was strong, every inch of him exuding the strength and sharpness of an angel entrusted with an entire platoon of soldiers by the Almighty herself. He wielded the umbrella like it was truly steel, parrying and stabbing, smashing his good wings into Gabriel’s face and essence to knock him back. Streaks of golden blood splattered around them like paint, mixing with the shining water. Crowley couldn’t tell whose was whose anymore.

Crowley swelled and spun his rings in terror and tried to keep track of Aziraphale, to pick his essence apart from Gabriel’s own holy energy. It was almost impossible to lock onto thanks to the speed with which it was being thrown around, but after six thousand years and counting, Crowley was finely attuned to Aziraphale’s magic. The difference was faint; Aziraphale’s magic was warmer, shaded with gold. Gabriel, due to his higher rank, had a much brighter aura, a blinding white that hurt Crowley’s infernal eyes when he looked upon it for too long. It was much brighter than Aziraphale’s, pulled from a well of magic deeper and purer than any other angel—

With sickening clarity, Crowley realized what Gabriel was doing.

He was stalling.

By nature, Aziraphale was blessed with less endurance than Gabriel had. Despite how strong and determined his angel was, Crowley knew that Aziraphale’s pool of magic would run dry long before Gabriel’s did. And Gabriel knew that too, because he’d switched to a more defensive style, dodging and blocking, and timing his strikes with a luxury Aziraphale was never created for. Gabriel intended to wait Aziraphale out, to strike him down when Aziraphale’s magical strength abandoned him. Crowley had no doubt Aziraphale could still fight even then—he’d certainly try, anyway—using his muscle memory to attack Gabriel without ethereality, but a Principality with a sword was laughably outclassed by an Archangel with deep reserves of magic left. Aziraphale would lose.

Aziraphale saw it too. His attacks grew more vicious, more aggressive, as he tried to end Gabriel quickly, before his own form betrayed him. But despite the blows that did land against Gabriel, the archangel showed no signs of tiring.

Gabriel swung the clubbed tips of his wings at Aziraphale’s blind side. Aziraphale allowed himself to take the hit so that he could lure Gabriel close enough to smash the handle of his umbrella against Gabriel’s temple, hard enough that even Crowley could hear the sound of crunching bone. Light poured out of the gash on Gabriel’s head as he locked his magic around Aziraphale, beating at him with his expansive wings and causing a swirl of water to cyclone up and around them, obscuring Crowley’s view even further.

Crowley couldn’t stand it anymore; if being drowned in holy water meant the difference between Aziraphale’s victory and death, then it wasn’t even a choice worth thinking about. Crowley wrestled his magic back into his corporeal form and held it tight under his breast. His skin split, and scales flickered up and down his body as his magic frayed the edges of Crowley’s human-shaped form, not meant to be drawn so close and held back in such a way. Crowley grit his teeth with enough force to crack his fangs. He felt on the edge of a seizure, a destruction all his own, but there was nothing for it; Crowley would need to be small for this, lithe and nimble. They only had one shot.

Crowley drew back his hands as he flew towards the angels, and a growing ball of hellfire and dark energy formed between his palms. The fire had to be strong enough to pass through the holy water without losing its shape or power—power that would be needed to knock Gabriel back and give Aziraphale an opening.

Pain throbbed behind Crowley’s eyes; his pupils were disappeared, leaving behind a glowing sulfur-yellow stare. The water was overcharged with holiness, and there was enough of it flying around that it would take all of Crowley’s reserves to create something infernal enough to pass through it. If he was struck down before then...if he missed...if he hit Aziraphale instead...

It was impossible to avoid the spray; Crowley jerked in flight as hundreds of tiny burns connected with his body, like standing over a pan spitting hot grease. It hurt like Heaven, but not enough to keep him back.

Aziraphale’s magic was flagging under Gabriel’s, making it even harder to untangle from the threads of Gabriel’s power. But he was still there, Crowley’s brave, fierce angel, and it was enough. Wherever Aziraphale was, Crowley would come to him. Always.

Crowley weaved between the ribbons of water whipping through the sky, laser-focused on Aziraphale as he lined up his shot. This needed to be timed just right, or he would lose the element of surprise and Gabriel would destroy them both.

Thankfully, time and Crowley were on friendly terms.

He couldn’t spare the energy to pause time completely, but he could break off the barest sliver to slow the seconds around them. Just enough for him to see the forms previously hidden by light.

It would be up to Aziraphale to take advantage of the split-second Crowley was about to give him, because Crowley would be unable to dodge or block anything Gabriel might throw at him after he recovered. Even twist-sick with terror, he never feared that Aziraphale would miss his chance. Crowley trusted Aziraphale to save them both.

He trusted Aziraphale more than anything in creation.

As Gabriel twitched in his direction, Crowley poured everything he had and was into his attack and blasted the ball of hellfire and dark matter into Gabriel’s side. Gabriel stumbled off balance for a single second, and it was all Aziraphale needed.

With an almighty scream, Aziraphale stabbed Gabriel through the eye with the sharp tip of his umbrella.

The water instantly splashed down, leaving Aziraphale and Gabriel in a pool of luminescence. Gabriel dropped to one knee, then the other, and gripped the umbrella embedded in his skull with both hands. He snarled at Aziraphale who, without breaking eye contact, slowly pushed the umbrella, fire and all, through Gabriel’s eye socket.

“Traitor,” Gabriel spat.

“There are worse things to be,” said Aziraphale. “Deliver my message, Gabriel. To the angels, to the demons, to the Metatron and Beelzebub themselves. Tell them what happened to Sandalphon. Tell them what happened to you.”

Gabriel convulsed as Aziraphale deliberately pushed the umbrella deeper until it broke out the back of Gabriel’s skull.

“And tell them that if they ever threaten us again, I will make them wish for something so sweet as discorporation.”

Bleeding out at Aziraphale’s feet, Gabriel cursed Aziraphale in a language Crowley hadn’t heard since the Beginning. His grip began to slacken on the umbrella, and Crowley dared to relax.

Then, without warning, Gabriel’s left arm threw back in Crowley’s direction to hit him square in the chest with the last of Gabriel’s power. Caught off guard and too depleted to respond quickly enough, Crowley arched through the air and landed square on his back on the now consecrated beach.

Crowley screamed as the holy water soaked up by the sand seeped through his shirt and wings and skull. The last thing he saw before his eyes rolled back was Aziraphale’s horrified face.

The scent of clean linen pulled Crowley from unconsciousness with merciful gentleness. There was no more briny smell of wet sand and saltsea. Nothing of ozone or blood. Just clean cotton and an imprint of Aziraphale’s cologne. Crowley breathed in deep, searching for traces of his angel like an experienced perfumer: saffron and sandalwood, juniper berries and sage, and sometimes, if it was a good night, the warmth of cocoa that Crowley could still taste sweet as cream on Aziraphale’s tongue.

“Sssh.” Aziraphale brushed Crowley’s hair out of his eyes. “Not so sudden. I’ve done all I could, but you’re likely to be sore for a few more days.”

Crowley’s eyes snapped open, seized with desperation to confirm—and there he was.

“Angel,” Crowley breathed, trembling with relief and reverence. He took Aziraphale’s hand and turned it palm-up to run his lips over the lifeline.

“My love,” Aziraphale whispered, sounding as helpless as Crowley felt. He squeezed Crowley’s hand with a strength that would’ve broken mortal bones; Crowley only shuddered and held Aziraphale tighter, grounding himself in his angel’s touch. He kissed each of Aziraphale’s knuckles twice before he could drag his eyes back up.

“Are you okay?”

Aziraphale laughed wetly. “He asks, after half his backside melted away.”

“Hey, I saw a lot of eyes out of commission,” Crowley reminded him.

“You shouldn’t have been close enough to see in the first place!” Aziraphale snapped. His face twisted and broke down, and he bowed over their joined hands like he—Aziraphale!—was seeking penance. “You foolish, wretched—I told you to stay back!”

“You also tell me to drive slower and be nice to my plants.” Crowley’s voice was gentle, but he couldn’t make himself sound apologetic. “You needed the opening, angel. He would’ve worn you down eventually.”

“Don’t you dare spout logic at me, Anthony Crowley. You almost died.”

Every time you took a blow. Every time he came an inch closer to destroying you. Do you think I could ever separate my survival from yours, Aziraphale? Now? Still?

Crowley bit his split tongue and propped himself up on an elbow. He was on his stomach, his wings still out and brushing against the floor. Crowley couldn’t bring himself to look at them yet, to count lost feathers and new scars. He cleared his throat to dislodge the misery choking him with every hitch of Aziraphale’s breath.

“…And Gabriel?”

Aziraphale sniffled. “Gone. Discorporated, I think, or possibly dead.” He raised his head enough to half-heartedly glare at Crowley. “I was a bit too distracted to watch his exit at the time.”

“I’m sorry.” Crowley traced the curve of Aziraphale’s skull, down his neck and across his jaw. When Aziraphale closed his eyes to the touch, Crowley kissed both of his eyelids. What else was left to say? “I’m sorry, angel, I’m so, so sorry—”

“Hush,” whispered Aziraphale. He held Crowley’s palm to his cheek, and ran his thumb in circles atop Crowley’s pulse point. He looked thinner than he’d been before Crowley left him for a morning flight—

(how many mornings ago now? how long had Aziraphale sat in a vigil he was never meant to keep?)

—and bruise-dark circles hung below his eyes. Crowley’s gaze sidestepped reality to see the mantle of magic draped around Aziraphale’s shoulders. Its light was weak and watery, stretched thin as tracing paper over the angel’s essence.

“You look exhausted,” Crowley murmured.

“Battle will do that. Fear will do that.” Aziraphale opened his swimming eyes (Crowley was starting to hate the sight of water). “Crowley, you were so empty when I reached you. I thought—I thought you were—”

The dam broke and Aziraphale bit his free hand, trying to muffle his sobs as tears rolled down his cheeks. He never let go of Crowley, who felt his fingers become slick when Aziraphale nuzzled his palm and smeared tears across the half-scaled flesh.

“C’mere. Aziraphale, hey.” Crowley tugged at Aziraphale’s grip until he could once again see the sky blue of Aziraphale’s eyes. “Come lie beside me.”

Swiping at his tears, Aziraphale shed his clothes and climbed in nude beside Crowley, who immediately shifted until he could rest his ear over Aziraphale’s heart.

“You can’t possibly think I’d let you face any of them alone,” he murmured. “No more than you could abandon me.”

“But—”

“But nothing.” Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s chest, followed by his cheek and salt-tipped lips. “Angels don’t get the monopoly on protection, sweetheart.”

Aziraphale shakily laughed. “Well. That might become a moot point soon, anyway.”

Crowley’s heart plummeted in horror. “You haven’t—”

“No, not yet.” Aziraphale cast a bitter glance at the ceiling. “Gabriel’s always loved to pull rank, but even he doesn’t have the power to make those decisions.”

“They can’t.” Crowley reared backward, onto his knees. “You were defending yourself!”

Aziraphale gave him an odd look, but Crowley was too petrified at the thought of Aziraphale actually Falling for him to appreciate the absurdity of expecting Heaven to actually play fair.

“I was defending you,” Aziraphale corrected. “And there’s still the matter of Head Office finding out we defied them twice—”

“Aziraphale—”

“Vis a vis apocalypses and executions that weren’t, well, executed—”

“Stop sounding so calm about this!”

Crowley’s ears might’ve rung from the sound of his own scream, but he couldn’t hear anything over the drumbeat of his wild heart, panic twisting like a noose around its ventricles and chambers. Aziraphale only looked at him for a moment before shifting to sit upright. His wings were also out, and they wrapped around Crowley’s damaged back, mingling with his feathers.

“Crowley. I meant what I said when I challenged him.” Aziraphale took both of Crowley’s hands and brought them to his lips. “I’ve already disowned them in every way that counts, anyway.”

“You can’t Fall,” Crowley protested.

“I’m not afraid anymore, dearest.”

“I can’t be the reason you Fall, Aziraphale!” Crowley ripped his hands from Aziraphale’s in favor of dragging them across his scalp; his nails, still halfway stormblack and clawed, opened the way for blood to lose itself in his slaughterhouse hair.

“You, you don’t know what it’s like, you don’t know how agonizing it is, to have everything you were broken down and put back together in the wrong order. You don’t know how it feels to have that phantom pain follow you for the rest of eternity. You don’t know how it feels to be worth less than ash. Angel, angel…”

He reached for Aziraphale, aborted the movement, and curled in on himself, irrationally afraid that one more demonic touch would be enough to push Aziraphale over the edge. “I can’t condemn you to that. I could never so much as look you in the eye again.”

The clean scent was gone. All he could smell was burning flesh, burning feathers, burning hair and burning soul and Aziraphale, Aziraphale stinking of brimstone just as Crowley did, his wings turning black as disease and his halo shattering to form something twisted and ugly.

If You’d ever listen, listen to me now. Don’t put him through this. He’s the greatest thing You ever made.

Don’t drag him down to my level.

“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley shook his head. “I love you. I love you so much. Please.”

Aziraphale’s hands wrapped around Crowley, slowly tugging him back into his embrace; Crowley followed helplessly, but kept his shameful tears buried in the soft white curls across Aziraphale’s chest.

“Crowley. Crowley look at me.” Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s hair. “Please, dearest.”

A golden eye blinked miserably up at him. Aziraphale smiled.

“You’re right. You can’t be the reason I Fall. Because if I do, it will be because I chose to do so. Because I choose this life, here, with you. Because I have never felt so happy, or so good, than I feel when I’m by your side.”

Aziraphale tilted Crowley’s chin up; his kiss stung with gentleness and the miracle of being known. Their wings cocooned around each other, and when Crowley rested his brow against Aziraphale’s his thoughts fell silent, blanketed by the heat of their embrace and the whisper of Aziraphale’s breath against his lips.

“Earlier you said you answered to only two voices in the universe,” Crowley murmured.

“I did.”

“The first is Hers.” Crowley didn’t bother to mask it as a question, but Aziraphale heard one anyway.

“Hers,” he said softly. “Not Heaven’s.”

“And the second?”

Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s nose, giggling when Crowley playfully scrunched his face. “Oh, my love. Does it even need saying?”

This time, when Aziraphale shifted to lay on his back once more, he didn’t need to pull to get Crowley to follow him down.

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