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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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ive-tumbled-down-a-rabbit-hole · 3 years

Text

Claiming Ones Own

Ok so, sorry for such a slow update on this. I had an attack of brain worm ideas which distracted/refused to let me focus on the chapter for a while. Have destroyed/dealt with most of the new ideas and have finally finished the chapter 🎉

Masterlist

[Chapter 1] [Previous]

...................................................................................

Chapter 5 - Playtime Chaos

Cass was going to kill Jason. That is, if Marie didn’t do it first by accident. He needed to go back to Gotham ASAP and get out of her hair! He may have been helpful to begin with, but now he was a menace and needed to go!

Jason had created a ‘new game’, well he said it was one he and Alfred used to play when he first moved into the manor, but it was still new to Cass. Only Jason had not really thought through the consequences of said game. He hadn’t thought that this game was with Cass and him rather than with Alfred who had obviously thought the game through properly.

The game, of which Jason thought was an amazing idea, was to redirect Marie's pickpocketing habit. If she pickpocketed strangers chocolate rights were reduced. Marie figured this rule out quickly which resulted in one horrific drama due reduced chocolate for the day. It was painful with lots of tears for all involved. Then there was a chocolate reward/increase rule when she pickpocketed Cass or Jason.

Cass might have agreed with his logic. It was a good game to bond with her, ensure she felt her skills remained and reduce the thieving, but this… THIS… result should have been expected!

What they hadn't considered is that the pair often carried weapons on them ALL the time. In and out the house. The pair were paranoid. Marie had observed the pair and quickly worked out what and where they stored these weapons.

Marie was also good at being light fingered to begin with. They knew that. THEY HAD EXPERIENCED IT. This wasn't new territory for her.

Training Marie further was a bad idea.

Cass so wanted to kill Jason for this game.

Cass’s heart couldn’t cope with it anymore. When the knives were taken it was anxiety inducing. Watching her daughter dance around with a knife, playing with it and watching it slice through the air caused so much panic in Cass.

The positive of that event was that Cass had started to train her daughter in basic swordplay. She observed, much like Damian, that going through basic positions and movements grounded and calmed her daughters chaotic energy. Marie was picking the skill up quickly so official 'safe fencing lessons' will be added to the girls learning activities.

Jason though, Jason her ‘delightful brother’ (if he survived her wrath), carried guns. He had ‘hidden’ guns around her apartment. So coming home from shopping to find her precious, innocent, sticky fingered Marie, inspecting and playing a gun was petrifying.

And Jason who was meant to be watching her daughter was missing! It was the last straw for Cass.

…………………………………………..

Jason admits that this may have been a mistake. Thinking back with a more analytical perspective than fond memories. Alfred had set it up that Jason would nearly always win the game. Alfred knew where weapons were but didn’t carry them around on his person.

Marie was a natural. Jason was super proud of his niece, she was getting swifter and lighter at each attempt. Her playing with the finds aka knives was maybe a little oversight. Cass’s reaction to it all was even less fun. Her subtle disgruntledness was made known to him unpleasantly. Swapping the sugar for salt in his morning coffee was revolting! But it at least was just basic pranks Cass was retaliating with… not Wayne Manor declarations of war…. He hoped...

He had popped out the room briefly (ok maybe not briefly but not for a really long time) as Roy had rang and wanted his assistance for a mission. Coming back into the room he found Pixie with his latest new toy *cough* gun and an irrate Cass looking like she would murder with the batglare she throw at him.

"Hi Cass.... Pixie… Roy just called asking for my assistance. I'll," he gulped as his sister levelled him with a laser beam stare and his niece turned to him, pointing the gun in a way he was showing her earlier, with curiosity showing on her face. "I'll be leaving in a few days… umm Pixie could you be a sweetheart and aim the gun downwards please?"

His niece frowned at him looking at it and him "Chocolate?" Jason quickly glanced at Cass and could feel the icy waves wafting off her. "Errr... Yeah sure thing sweetie. But to get it you will need to put the gun down first please."

Marie broke into a grin and put the gun in the coffee table skipping over to Jason to grab his hand leading him to her treasure. "Your stance then was much better, Pixie, and I didn't even feel you take the gun this time. You've improved loads this week."

He felt Cass's anger pour off her. Maybe he should have asked if he could teach Pixie about guns....

When the pair returned to the living room, Cass handed Jason his suitcase. "Go! Be Roy's issue now"

…………………………………………..

With Jason gone Cass found that the apartment was much quieter with just the pair of them, especially as sign language seemed to be both of their preferred communication method. Cass turned to playing music in the background to remind her of her siblings back in Gotham (not Jason though), this caused her to dance absentmindedly. Marie was often caught trying to mimicking her dance moves with light footwork, her grace and form yet to be perfected.

Cass saw this as another class to sign her daughter up to along with fencing to burn the chaotic energy up. Especially now Jason wasn't around playing rough and tumble with her.

................................................................

It was one afternoon about a month after Jason had left that Cass had a break through. While Marie was setting up a tea ceremony (a post swordplay practice ritual she'd got into), Cass had stumbled on her first actual clue in finding out about Marie's past. Her search had finally unearthed similar symbols, used centuries ago by some Tibetan monks, to the ones that were on her back. What this meant Cass was unsure. To progress further she probably needed to talk to Babs or Tim, but if she did that she'd have to tell them why. Which everyone finding about Marie and she wasn't ready for that.

She still fretted over what Marie must have gone though and to unleash the Wayne's on her seemed daunting.

Cass was about to look further into what she had gathered when her phone went off. It Alfred calling which was unusual.

"Alfred"

"Hello Miss Cassandra. I hope you are well and have settled into motherhood comfortably."

Cass paled. Alfred knew!! Damn it Jason!!! He was dead meat when she saw him next.

"Adapting. Marie, your great granddaughter, is sweet. Both learning about being together"

"I see. I am assuming that that is going well. Master Jason has mentioned that you found her on the streets in a similar manner to how he was found."

Jason guns were going to go missing and be replaced with water pistols.

"Yes. Much better now. Learning sign to talk to each other. Eating better too."

"That is good news to hear Miss Cassandra."

It was a set up. Jason had triggered in and Alfred was waiting to pounce. There was no way to escape but to make it easier for her self.

"We visit you soon. Wanted Marie settled first."

"I'll arrange a flight for you in a fortnight's time. Is there anything young Miss Marie will require."

Completely trapped now she'd taken the bait. Alfred knew it, she knew it. And everyone will know about Marie in no time. Maybe she would be able to get Babs and Tims help after all.

"Thank you Alfred. Bunk bed, milk chocolate and chocolate spread please." Cass paused for a second as Marie looked over to her signing 'tea time Mama'

"Loose green tea leaves too, for tea ceremony, please."

Cass finally could hear a smile in Alfred's voice and relaxed slightly. She may have escaped some of Alfred's disappointment.

"I will ensure I meet those requirements Miss Cassandra. I will send you your flight details when I have finished arranging them. I look forward to seeing you again Miss Cassandra, and to meeting Miss Marie. I will now take my leave for you to spend time with you daughter."

Looks like she will be needing to prepare Maire for a flight and meeting the family. She would have to up her parenting game to ensure she completely beat Bruce.

Moments after she had hung up Alfred had sent flight details across. Complete evidence that the whole call as a ruse and he got what he wanted. Well played Alfred well played. Cass responded to Alfred, thanking him for his efficiency and to arrange some face time calls to occur in the next fortnight. Alfred deserved to get to know her precious Marie first so at least she had an ally in the Manor when they visited. Someone other than Jason. That reminded Cass to shoot a text to Jason

*You.are.dead.betrayer.*

He replied quickly to her message

*Adventure with Roy went sideways. Alfred wasn't happy. I needed something to soften the blow!!! I'm sorry!!! Don't kill me!!*

Pah! He sold her out that's what. He was in Alfred's book of disappointment and didn't want to be there alone so dragged her to hell too. Jokes on him, she'll work her and Marie magic to make it work for them. Her phone buzzed again as Jason messaged her again. Ignoring it she went to join Marie for tea and tell her the 'fun news'.

In her head she had a fortnight to prepare her revenge.

Tag List:

@boldlyanxious @laurcad123 @toodaloo-kangaroo

@too0bsessedformyowngood @lady-bee-fechin @solangelo252 @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @arty-shadow-morningstar @macncheesemonster @purplegeekypanda @corporeal-terrestrial @maribat-shenanigans

#maribat #maribat au #claiming ones own #marinette x cass #plantonic #found family #marinette x jason #ml x dc #dc x ml #mlb x dc #dc x mlb

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luminois · 3 years

Text

･:*✧ 𝗵𝘆𝘂𝗻𝗷𝗶𝗻;

𝟵𝟳𝟲 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀, 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿.

you huffed as you pulled your head through the collar of your crewneck, getting your wet hair out and making it fall against your back.

the bathroom’s mirror was fogged because of the warm shower you’d just taken but you didn’t bother cleaning it. the sunset had left its place to the purplish hues before nighttime and the many hours you’d spent studying during the day had you feeling lazy. besides, the steam was going to fix itself eventually.

you checked your phone after an almost full hour spent under the hot water, and turned the volume up in the process. a shower without music was nothing but boring, and the silence made your empty apartment feel scary.

you answered to your friends’ group chat, sharing their stress about exams and college in general, and chuckled at the instagram posts your best friend has sent you. your laugh simmered down to an affectionate smile as a text from your boyfriend popped up on the top of the screen, saying he was on his way home. between your classes and his job, you only saw him at the beginning and the end of the day, despite living together. on days like this, when you were done studying a little earlier than usual and his shift ended before dinner time, all you waited for the entire day was spending the evening with him.

you were about to reply when the next song started, completely taking your attention as you gasped and turned up the volume even more, until your bluetooth speaker was shaking with every beat. you’d made the playlist yourself which meant you loved every single track, but this song was the one you made the playlist for in the first place and you couldn’t help but dance to it.

you set your phone down and faced the now only half-fogged mirror, your reflection smiling and singing back at you. you liked yourself messy like this, your hair starting to dry by themselves and your cheeks flushed because of the heat. your lips were red and shiny thanks to your vanilla chapstick and the crewneck gave you sweater paws. you loved having music in the background because it made you feel like you were living in a tv show. taking a picture would’ve made the magic of the moment disappear so you just kept dancing, performing for your eyes only.

by the time the song was over your breath was short, droplets of water from your damp hair gracing the sides of your blushing face. you plugged in the hairdryer, but then the following song’s chorus came and how could you pass up the opportunity? the hairdryer was immediately forgotten, balanced on the towel rack, and your concert lasted for a couple more songs. it came to a halt only because the volume of the music suddenly decreased, and when you turned to look hyunjin was perched against the doorway, your phone in his hand and a soft smile on his face.

“what’s my baby doing?”

he knew what you were doing, this happened way more often than it should, but he still asked. maybe it was the sweater paws, or your red cheeks, or your shiny, rosy lips, but hyunjin felt the need to treat you even more gently than usual, and it made you feel shy.

hyunjin placed your phone down and took the step dividing you, his arms wrapping around you like second nature. you had to look up at him and you felt small, but in the best way possible.

“hi,” you said, and watched as his shoulder relaxed completely. “i took a shower.”

hyunjin leaned down until his forehead was touching yours, and he looked at peace. “hi, baby. you look so pretty.”

you smiled and rubbed the tip of your nose against his, in a kiss you shared often. hyunjin’s hand caressed your back as his lips met yours, your toes curling as your body trembled at the feeling. one of your hands came up to rest against his cheek as your lips moved against each other, and he leaned against your palm when you had to stop and breathe.

“i understand that the show must go on, but you need to dry your hair after you shower,” he said, like he’d done many times before. he was scared you’d catch a cold but you often forgot about it.

“i plugged it in this time,” you said meekly, referring to the hairdryer. hyunjin chuckled and pecked your lips again.

“that’s progress,” he agreed. then, one of his hands resting on your back traveled up to your hair and he curled a wavy strand around his finger. “the tips are still wet.”

“do you want to dry them for me?” you asked, hiding your blush against his chest.

there really wasn’t much to dry but you loved the feeling of his hand touching your hair. the steam was completely gone when you stood before the mirror again, hyunjin’s bigger frame now behind yours. he knew what to do, how you dried it to make it look just how you wanted, and you smiled as you realized he’d learnt just by watching you.

when hyunjin turned the hairdryer off the music was still playing, but it wasn’t loud enough to muffle your sigh as he hugged you close. sweet words were whispered in your hair, and when an ‘i missed you’ left hyunjin’s lips you believed tears were about to spill from your eyes.

you turned around to face him and whispered a wobbly ‘i missed you too’ before cupping his jaw raising on the tips of your toes, your lips grazing the soft skin of his cheek over and over again. you felt the corner of his lips curve up because of his smile and one, happy tear slid down your cheek.

———

do you want to read more?

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footballxposts · 3 years

Text

The Rest Of Our Lives - Mason Mount Series 🦋 (Chapter Three) Departure

Warnings: none but next chapter is smutty ;)

Recommended Listening: Forever by Labrinth (Slowed).

Taglist: @storyofavengers

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After releasing me from the hug I was immersed in, I quickly went to the bathroom whilst Mason waited patiently for me outside in the hallway. Once I had finished and came back out to meet him, the little smirk on his face made my heart so full. Maybe he really did miss me like he had said, but if so why didn’t he get in contact sooner? I guess he was afraid of the rejection but I really did wish he had still tried. At the end of the day, we only regret the chances we didn’t take. Of course I was still hurt by him, but I did want to give him his chance to explain everything, even if it meant we wouldn’t rekindle the friendship like it once was, and we would still go our separate ways again.

“You alright?,” he asked in a soft tone.

“Yeah..” I gave him a small smile before he nodded and took my hand leading me back upstairs to the nightclub’s centre-point. It was only at the top of the stairs that we were caught in our tracks by a stunning blonde-haired girl who had recognised my old best friend.

“Mase gorgeous, how are you? I haven’t heard from you or seen you in a while. I thought you might have fell of the face of the earth or something.” she piped up. His reaction was like a deer caught in headlights. Who the hell was this? I knew it wasn’t his girlfriend but she seemed to be someone who was at one stage more than just a friend like I was.

“Uh, hi Olivia, yeah..” he began to speak back to her. “I um, I’ve just been busy sorry, I’m good how are you?” he continued unconfidently, itching to get away from this current conversation.

“Too busy, huh?.” She raised her eyebrows and chuckled. I was standing there so awkwardly, not knowing what to do or where to look. She didn’t pay attention to me once, her eyes fixated on the brown-haired man beside me. “And here’s me thinking Mason Mount would never be too busy to reply or spend some time with me..” she gasped jokingly, but I knew she was being serious and I really didn’t like the vibe I was getting off her. My heart began shattering again out of jealousy. It’s amazing how you can go without seeing someone for years and even though they broke you, in an instant all the feelings and memories come rushing back. And that’s exactly what happened when I saw Mason on the street earlier this night. Even though it was /my/hand he was still holding, I still felt threatened.

“Awh no.. I mean.. I don’t know. I’m sorry as I said I’ve just been really busy,” was all he could come up with as a response, his palm becoming sweaty interlaced with my own. You know when you can feel your heart beating in another part of your body? I could feel his through his hand in my grasp.

“Hmm okay.” She said with barely any emotion behind it. “So who’s this little one then? Your new girl?” Her attention was now focused on me, now frozen with a tightness in my chest. I should have spoken up. I wanted to. But I was unable to. Thankfully, Mason covered for me.

“Uh, no she’s just a.. a friend..” he trailed off, so unsure of his answer and looking across at me, his eyes soliciting for an answer. Realistically, we were former friends. But within time, we both hoped we could drop the former. Slowly nodding as reassurance, I turned back to look at the the tall woman standing in front of me.

“Just friends?” her eyes widened with a smug look, pointing towards our intertwined fingers. I went to let go of Mason’s hand but his grip tightened, letting me know it was okay and he had the situation under control.

“Yeah this is my childhood best friend Sophie. I uh- I ran into her down outside the bathrooms and she wasn’t feeling the best so I said I’d bring her back upstairs and take her home. I just wanted to keep her close in case she fainted or anything.” he announced. Her eyes were now practically staring into my soul, but buying it, she just replied with an ‘oh’ and I signalled in agreement once again.

“Well, that was nice of you.” She smiled pompously. “Anyhoo, you have my number. Don’t be stranger.”

“Right.” Mason gulped and she winked walking away. Once gone, he turned to look at me again, apologising with his eyes. I bit my lip and shook my head to let him know that it was alright and that we didn’t have to talk about it. To be honest, I did want to talk about it. I wanted to know who she was. Was he sleeping with her? And if so was it going to progress any further? So many questions filled my mind but I tried to forget about them, telling myself that it was none of my business and it was before we had reconnected to night anyways.

Making our way over to Hollie, the look of disappointment across of her face said more than words ever could. She was relieved to see that I hadn’t gone missing, but she wasn’t too impressed that on my return I had brought back Mason with me. Giving me a moment to talk to her, Mason stepped away, resting his arm on the bar counter and facing the dance floor.

“What’s going on, are you okay? I went looking for you but I seen you talking to him from the top of the stairs and I didn’t want to interrupt.” She whispered sympathetically.

“Yeah I’m fine, thank you Hol. And I’m sorry I left you for so long.” I replied.

“No no, don’t be sorry. I was more than alright up here, I was talking to that bartender for ages anyways. I’m sorry Soph, I didn’t realise he would be here too. Is everything okay between you both?”

I wanted to say yes. But was everything okay between us both? I mean for now it was. I was giving him his opportunity to talk to me, but I hadn’t heard his side of the story yet nor had I forgiven him. Trying to find the right words to respond with, I took a deep breath.

“It’s not your fault Hollie, I was the one who said I wanted to come here in the first place. And I guess for now yeah. I’m giving him a chance to clear up everything and get some clarity on the whole thing. It doesn’t mean we’re going to go back to being how we were before but at least if we can be on civil terms.. I don’t know that’s got to be worth something right?” I asked, in hope of encouragement.

Hollie was the best friend a girl could ask for. She was more like a big sister despite me being older; a little dumb and clumsy at times, but no matter how many bad and possibly avoidable situations she put herself in, she would always make sure I didn’t do the same. She only wanted the best for me, as did I for her, so she basically made herself the crash test dummy and tried to advise me as much as possible. And she always made me laugh and smile without fail, after every heart break, every failure, basically anything terrible circumstance you can think of. She was always there.

“Well that’s your choice and I think it’s fair enough.” She gave me a fragile smile. “Just be smart and don’t let him hurt you again Soph. I seen how much pain and anguish you were in tonight and I never want to see you like that again. It’s alright that you want some light shed and some closure on the situation, but don’t let him blindside you and destroy your heart again, okay?” she raised her brows, placing both hands either side of my shoulders to make sure I was listening. Nodding to let her know I understood, she gave me a full warm smile back.

“Okay, so I think I’m going back to Dylan’s house once he’s finished his shift”. She added, referring to the bartender who was now waving at us. “But I don’t know what your plans are so I don’t have to if you don’t want me to and you need me.”

“No no, you go. I’ll find out what Mase and I are doing and once I’m back home and safe I’ll give you a text and let you know. If I need you at any stage I’ll call you.” I said before giving her a hug and getting ready to leave.

“Okay, I’ll do the same!” She mumbled, and with that I rejoined Mason who had finished informing his teammates and friends what was happening. Putting an arm around my waist, we had left the nightclub once again with crisp and fresh night air.

——————————————————————————-

Quick A/N: AHH I’m so excited for the next chapter you guys are gonna love it I hope! Also, the reason I put listening recommendations is to help you all imagine what I’m visualising when I right my stories and ideas! Music basically helps me set the scene. When you’re listening to the song attached to this post, I want y’all to try visualise yourself walking in slow-mo through a crowded nightclub holding hands with THE Mason Mount. Everyone looking at you both leaving, but he’s looking back every so often just to make sure you’re okay. Just imagine. That’s all :)

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kuroo-shitsurou · 3 years

Text

Auxilium (College!Xiao x College!Reader)

TW: mentions blood, depression, anxiety

note: it's my first time writing and posting something on tumblr so im sorry if it's bad!! reader is gn hehe.

Late February was never a good time for Xiao.

It was the second month of the year; People were starting to adjust and adapt to the ever-changing and progressing timeline. Although, he never really understood the concept of the "New year, new me!" shtick. Humans make decisions that eventually shape their personalities. What does a new year have anything to do with that? Does a change in the year automatically make you a good person? Does it make you less of an asshole than you might already be? He never really understood.

He found it rather silly, actually. Whenever a new year rolls around, Xiao would mutter silent curses to himself because he'd write the wrong year on his papers. Other than that, there wasn't any significant changes he made in his daily routine. He was still the same Xiao; The same anxious, mildly depressed, and coffee-high art major Xiao.

Now, Xiao was a respected figure in their college (or at least, that's what he was told). He was one of the most talented artists at Tokyo University, and professors have been eyeing him for a scholarship overseas (he, along with his brooding and mysterious senior, Diluc). His keen eye for details always produce great results as most of his portraits are featured in the university's gallery of students' greatest works. Not to mention, one of his larger canvas works were displayed at the Tokyo Museum, making him one of the youngest artists to have their art showcased there.

Admittedly, Xiao was aware of how people admired his talent. Unfortunately, due to a rough childhood where his parents barely showed him any love and affection, he had trouble reflecting his true emotions onto other people. That's why other art majors often labelled him as a self-absorbed, egotistical prick.

Xiao was the last person you'd want to compliment. It's not that he'd be a dick about it or that he'd scowl at you and act as if he was better than you in every way possible. It wasn't like that at all. It's simply because Xiao doesn't know how to handle compliments. He'll still keep his stoic face, lips pressed in a straight line, but deep inside, he'd be flustered to bits. He'd try to internalize his reply, stitching together the right words to express his gratitude, but it would always take him a few minutes. The person who complimented him would've already left after he finally constructed the sentence in his head. Not that he wasn't used to it

This led to Xiao earning his current reputation, as stated earlier. He was already expecting the rest of his college years to be spent alone in his studio, working on his artworks during the wee hours of the night, high on the fumes of his paint palette and his exhausted coffee machine.

Until you came.

Kaoru was... eccentric. You were loud, you were moody. He felt like you'd be the type of person he'd hate dealing with just because you was unpredictable. You were like the rain, and Xiao hated the rain.

He must have an Archon's cursed tongue, because he got paired up with you during the first semester of their second year in college. You were a familiar name to him, as you were in the same course since the first year, but he barely knew anything about you since you were in different classes.

"Hey, Xiao! I'm _____. I hope we can be good friends by the end of the semester!" His memory of your bright smile still remains vivid in his head. He wasn't really a brooding type like Diluc, but Xiao liked to believed that he presented himself as a silent person who had no intentions of interacting with other people. So, how were you so bubbly around him? Because she was forced to do so? You were to be his partner for the whole semester, after all. Maybe it was all formalities. Yeah, that's probably it.

"Hm." Xiao gave a nod in her direction, acknowledging your existence. you heard from your friends that the young artist didn't have a pleasing personality, but you weren't expecting to be shutdown from the get-go.

"Mind if I sit beside you?"

Again, a light nod.

You felt the awkward tension between you and Xiao, and you hated it. You were a person who hated it when people are uncomfortable in your presence. You didn't want to be a bother, and you did your best to make everyone like you. Not that you were a people pleaser, nor an attention hog, but you just wanted to get along with everyone.

The lecture was going to begin in twenty minutes, so the lecture hall was yet to be filled with people. You took the opportunity to strike up a conversation with the amber eyed man beside you, who was typing away on his laptop. Something about color theory and how it affects the perspective of people on different art types? You couldn't really see that well. He was a fast typer.

"So, Xiao, I heard that your painting was displayed in the Tokyo Museum last year. It must have been an honor. I was at the unveiling last year and I saw it up-close." You started off, testing the waters.

"And what did you think of it?" Xiao cringed internally. He meant to genuinely ask for your feedback regarding his art, but it sounded so harsh that he wanted to punch himself when he saw you wince (or maybe you shuddered because it was cold and you were wearing a sleeveless top? His nerves were getting the better of him at this point).

"Well, a lot of my friends told me that it wasn't anything special,"

Ouch.

"It was a large canvas. I can still remember how it looks. But, maybe that's because I'm at the museum every two weeks," You laughed. You noticed how Xiao's breathing noticeably changed after you started your sentence, and you have to admit that it sounded a bit too mean.

"You know, Xiao. My friends told me that your art was simple. Anyone could have done it. But honestly, they couldn't be more wrong. I love how your piece was painted. Auxilium. I'll never forget what you called it. That's... Help, right?"

At first, Xiao didn't want to listen to this person ramble about an art piece he made during one of the lowest points of his life.

His anti-depressants had run out during that one Christmas. It was 2:47 in the morning. He had morning classes the following day. He had a project to submit, but he was unable to continue working because of the unbearable pain in his chest. His head was throbbing. Voices were invading his mind. Flashbacks of his parents' negligence taunted him. He rushed to grab a glass of water, chugging it down in almost three chugs. He slammed the glass back onto the counter, smashing it into tiny little splinters and cutting himself in the process. His hand was bleeding, there were bits of glass on his counter and on his floor, but he couldn't care less. He was heaving, his breathing was unsteady, he wanted to die right then and there. His vision became blurry, but he rushed back to his studio.

With a bleeding hand, he picked up his brush and began to tear into his canvas. Not literally, but he started to create strokes onto the blank canvas. Different colors, different textures (he swore some of his blood got blended in with the area where he painted the sunrise, but it's fine. No one was going to notice, right?). He screamed and cried, wanting to throw the entire easel out his window.

It was Christmas. He was alone in his apartment. His anti-depressants ran out. He was having a panic attack.

That night led him to having one of the worst breakdowns he could remember, but he also ended up with a gorgeous painting that nabbed him a place in the Tokyo Museum.

"Help," Your voice echoed in his ears, snapping him out of his trance.

"People can tell me that it's nothing more than a simple painting, but the way that the sunrise was only showing in a segmented part of the canvas? The way that there were hints of red? It kind of reminded me how a new day can resemble hope but still contain hurt. Like, the promise of a fresh start isn't guaranteed a good one, right?"

Your words rang in his ears like a gong being hit continuously. He wanted to cry. People always complimented him and congratulated him about being recognized by art critics and national museums, but none of them ever really stopped to talk to him about his art. They were there for his recognition- not his work.

"I mean, you could begin with a fresh start, but wouldn't the remnants of yesterday still take a toll on your tomorrow?"

"Hm. Interesting take. To be honest, those specks could have been my blood." Xiao spoke up, to your surprise. A small smile formed on your face. Maybe this guy wasn't so bad after all.

"My hand was cut up when I was painting that," He added quietly, not mentioning why his hand was in that state. "I think I accidentally added too much concentrated red. I couldn't blend it out the way I originally planned."

"Oh? But that makes it all the more great, though!" You beamed, "Maybe it was an Archon guiding you? I don't really believe in that stuff, but acknowledging some divine intervention once in a while can't be all bad, no?" You laughed.

"I guess you're right." For the first time in a while, Xiao actually gave someone else a small smile. It wasn't really a smile per se, but his lips curved even the slightest bit upward, and you decided that it was a win for you.

Fast forward to the second semester of their third year.

Late February was never a good time for Xiao.

It had been years since he was clinically-diagnosed with mild depression. So, why was he still that way? Shouldn't new years help him be a better person? Or something like that. Why was he still like this?

Late February meant the end of one semester, and the start of another.

What else did that mean?

His semestral feedback report (he refused to call it a report card. What was he, high school?).

"Xiao? Are you here? I bought almond tofu from Xiangling's place. Sorry for barging in, you weren't answering my calls." He heard your voice from the kitchen and he glanced at the clock on his studio's wall.

1:37 AM.

You were at Xiangling's place because you were working on a report about the history of acrylic paints or whatever it was. You were supposed to go home, but you still dropped by his apartment. He checked his phone.

[ 14 missed calls. ]

Yikes.

"I'm here." He answered meekly, but loud enough for you to hear. He felt tired. Defeated, maybe. He was blankly staring at the canvas in front of him. He has sketched the base of your face and upper body. He was planning on painting a portrait of his beloved to decorate his room with, but he couldn't find the energy to continue.

He could hear the soft "thud"s of your feet walking from the kitchen towards the studio, but he tuned it out with an annoying static he could only hear in his head.

Fuck. Where are they?

He rushed to the drawer next to his easels and rummaged around in a panic.

Where the fuck are they?

He kept a few anti-depressants in his studio because he spends most of his time here and he didn't have time to rush to the kitchen to get them if he ever got a panic attack.

"Fuck!" He cursed loudly, throwing the contents of his desk onto the floor. Some of his paintbrushes scattered on the wooden floor of his studio, marking the wood various colors. Maybe they're going to stain, but he didn't really care.

Xiao heard the footsteps retreating until he couldn't hear anything else except the constant ringing in his ears. It was annoying. It was loud. It started to make him want to split his head open.

"_____," He whispered, feeling his chest hurt and his throat tighten. The passageways helping him breathe seemed to close themselves, giving him a hard time and mocking him. It was coming back again.

Tears started to flood his vision, and they rolled down his red cheeks. He took the ponytail out of his hair and used two hands to tug at his locks starting from the roots. His breathing patterns became more erratic, but he tried his best to stay calm.

His knees and legs felt like jelly. He had to lean against the desk to avoid from toppling over.

Why? Why again? Why now? Why when you were here?

He screamed. It was loud enough for the neighbors to hear, but his care for any external entities was out the window the moment his eyes became blurry with tears.

Even though he was leaning against the desk, his legs still couldn't hold the weight of his entire body. His knees dropped to the floor, and he swore he must've dented the wood below, but he paid no mind to it. His knees were also aching, but he could deal with that later. He bent down and pressed his forehead to the floor.

"_____," He whispered again, longing for his partner. "Auxilium."

"Xiao?" The voice was muffled. His eyes were glued to the floor in front of him, but he knew it was you.

"Xiao, stay with me, honey." There was a hint of panic evident in your voice, but he was glad that you didn't let that get the best of you. You was still somewhat calm.

You kneeled down beside him, helping him back to an upright position.

"Honey, you left these on the counter outside." You handed him two tablets of his anti-depressants, and he gladly placed them in his mouth. You also gave him a glass of water, and he downed it in two swift gulps. Afraid that he might underestimate his strength, he returned the glass back to you instead of setting it down himself, nodding at you in the process.

You got into a more comfortable position where you rested your back against the wall, and you guided Xiao to follow you. It was a difficult task; He was very sensitive during his panic attacks.

His semestral feedback reports always made him anxious. He didn't have to please his parents anymore since he moved out years ago, but Xiao had this nagging feeling inside of him to do better with his academics. Nobody was really pressuring him to be a straight-A student, but did he feel like he needed to be? Who was he trying to prove himself to anyway? You knew about his sever panic attacks and how they were more active if he had a big event coming up. The first time you had to deal with it, you were still stiff and trying to learn how you could help. Now, you takes pride in yourself for being able to handle him in the ways you know would help him the most.

"Here you go, I've got you." You cooed, assisting him with moving. You laid his head flat on her lap and she began stroking his beautiful, tousled forest green locks. The highlights he had under the first layer of his hair started to fade, and you made a mental note to take him to a salon so they could get their highlights redone.

"You know, I've been listening to a lot of Coldplay lately," You started speaking, as if Xiao wasn't about to have a full-on panic attack. "Yellow would have to be one of my favorite songs. I guess it's kinda cheesy, but can you blame me?"

You used your free hand to wipe the tears from his cheeks.

"Look at the stars, look how they shine for you." You began singing, voice just above a whisper.

"And everything you do. Yeah, they were all yellow."

Xiao was a reserved person who had a hard time dealing with other people because of his inferiority complex that sprouted when he was young.

"I came along, I wrote a song for you."

He didn't have love and affection growing up. He didn't know how to be the best person to talk to. He had poor communication skills. He was a mess, to be honest.

"And all the things you do. And it was called yellow."

You were the first person who looked past his rough and tough exterior. You were the person who showed interest not just in his name- but in him as a whole.

"So when I took my turn, what a thing to've done."

"Thank you," He murmured silently, noticing that the ringing in his ears vanished. His throat was beginning to open again, and he could finally feel the steady heartbeat he had in his chest.

"And it was all yellow."

Xiao curled himself into a ball, burying his face in your clothed stomach. You smelled a bit like smoke (maybe you ate yakiniku at Xiangling's?) and your faded cologne. It smelled like home. It washed a sense of relief over his entire being. He felt safe. He felt secure. He was being held like a child, but he didn't really mind. Maybe he needed this.

"Your skin. Oh yeah, your skin and bones,"

You craned your neck downwards to look at Xiao's figure. He finally looked peaceful. You knew about his rough past. You knew about the trauma he had to go through, but you chose to look past it because you knew that he was just afraid and... alone. He needed someone to be there for him, and you would rather the world die than leave him alone ever again.

"Turn into something beautiful."

You noticed how his chest started a rhythmic pattern of ups and downs. His breathing was finally steady. He looked at peace. He looked like he was right at home.

"Do you know? You know I love you so."

You couldn't help but chuckle as you watched him sleep in your lap. How could anyone think that this softie was an asshole?

"You know I love you so."

You barely whispered the last part of the song, but it was loud enough for his heart to hear it. Xiao hated when things were unpredictable; that's why he hated the rain. But now, maybe the idea of rain wasn't so bad. Especially since you were his rain.

"I love you, Xiao."

At that moment, you knew that the involuntary smile on Xiao's face was a response that contained more emotions than his words could ever bear.

"I love you too."

#genshin xiao #genshin impact xiao #xiao imagines #genshin impact #xiao x reader #genshin impact x reader #gi #genshin #xiao

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peterprkrsbtch · 3 years

Text

sapphire - part 2

Peter Parker x reader

A/n: Part 1 is up on my page! There’s a couple flashbacks in this one so I put the dates before so it doesn’t get confusing. If you enjoy this one, like or reblog to share! I already wrote part 3 and it’s my favorite one yet so that’ll def be up soon :)

tag- @juliannaamonroe

Warnings: swearing, make out, violence

(September 1)

We’re one minute away. Come out hoe!

You smile as you read the text, glancing at yourself in the mirror again, nerves and excitement ablaze in your stomach. You’d been planning for this day since last winter, and now it was finally here. You adjust your carefully styled hair and double check that the natural makeup you applied was sitting on your skin correctly.

Of course it was. That goddamn injection sometimes made you feel like a vampire out of twilight and sometimes you still got surprised when you saw your own face while passing a mirror or a particularly reflective window. You smooth down the ruffles of your short black skirt and tug the top of your tank top down so a bit more of your curves show.

You put on your white sneakers and tug your shirt back up to cover your chest again. We’ll have to work up to that, I guess. A long honk sounds from outside your apartment building and you curse as you scramble to grab your backpack and phone before running down and out the front steps.

“Awwww,” You say sweetly at the sight of the two girls who had become your best friends. “That’s the shirt you were wearing when we met, Ally.” You jokingly brush away a tear, pretending to be ultra touched.

“Best damn day of my life.” Ally says from her spot in the drivers seat, laughing at your dramatics. She may be joking around, but her sentiment makes your heart clench. This year really was going to be different.

***

(July 3)

You quickly realized you needed to find some Midtown friends if your plan for senior year was going to work. If you dared to show up looking, well, like you do, completely alone and friendless, you might become even more of an outcast than you were before. The first month of summer had been the least lonely time of your year so far, thanks to a certain Spiderman.

The two of you spent most of your nights together, flying through the city, fighting crime together, and talking. The “slow” nights that used to fill you with boredom quickly became your favorite when he was involved. The sound of his laugh and the jokes he makes during fights quickly became the highlight of your days.

But you couldn’t let yourself get too distracted by him. After all, neither of you knew what the other looked like. The only other boy you’d ever found remotely cute (other than celebrities) was nerdy Peter Parker from your high school. He wasn’t your usual type and he seemed to be just as shy as you were, so you had little (zero) hope that it would ever lead to anything more than a smile during the hallway if you accidentally made eye contact.

Sorry Spiderman, but no way in hell are you gonna make me lose my focus. The loneliness you had felt through the last three years of high school was too much. Your plan had to work. So that night as the two of you patrolled together, you softly mentioned that you were going to a pool party tomorrow and wouldn’t be able to meet.

He seemed a bit disappointed, but you brushed it off, trying to remember the names of the girls at your school who seemed nice. Peter, however, couldn’t focus on anything other than the fact that you had told him where you would be tomorrow. There was only so many pool parties in a city like New York.

You tried not to think about who was under the Spiderman mask out of respect and, to be honest, it seemed like a pointless endeavor. Peter was not the same. No matter how tired he was from patrol, he always had time to lay awake before he fell asleep and picture what you would look like under the mask.

There wasn’t very many people who understood Peter’s secret life. None, actually, until you. Maybe that was why he was so intrigued by you, because you were so similar, but in his heart he knew that wasn’t it. He liked you. And he hated himself for it. But once you mentioned the pool party, he made sure to take one long last glance at the color of your hair before you two said goodbye. Just in case he happened to see that same hair tomorrow.

(July 4)

You were so, so nervous. Your closet of exclusively sweats and hoodies was trashed as Part 1 of your plan, much to your mother’s happiness. She had always been honest about her hatred of your junior year clothes and was extremely excited to purchase everything you needed. As distant as she was, you had to give her a little credit.

Although you’d been wearing the new clothes for the past month, this was the first time you were doing it so publicly. Your denim shorts exposed miles of smooth leg, and you’d decided to wear a red tube top in honor of the holiday-not to mention it really showed off your curves. You’d meticulously done your hair and makeup like you’d been practicing the past month and prayed that somebody would talk to you today.

You’d seen the flyer for the Fourth of July party on Instagram, which had been step 2. Unfortunately, you had two followers. Your mom and her boyfriend. Step 2 is a work in progress.

One long walk later, and you’re in front of the address. You swear you could explode of nerves right there, but instead you take a deep breath and force your legs to carry you inside the house and towards the people out by the pool.

Your eyes are so focused on your destination, the glass sliding door, that you barely notice when you bump shoulders with someone, causing you to drop your phone.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” You say, reaching down to grab your phone.

“Oh my god, stop. That was totally my fault.” You stand back up to see the girl who was speaking, and you recognize her immediately. Her name is Ally, and she’s a part of the most popular group at school. Despite her long black hair and sweet smile, you haven’t heard many good things about her. Not the type of person you were looking for.

“Do you go to Midtown? I don’t think I’ve seen you around.” Ally says, making no move to walk away from the conversation.

“Yeah, actually. My name is Y/n?” You don’t miss the way her eyebrows raise and her eyes widen with confusion and shock. You’re embarrassed now, realizing maybe you weren’t as invisible as you’d thought. In an effort to explain away the last few years, “My dad left a couple years ago and it was pretty hard on me, but I’m all better now.” You flash the most dazzling smile you can manage and hope she accepts it.

“No way, mine did too!” She gasps as she grabs your hands. You feel a small pang of guilt at that. It was a lie, you had no idea who your dad was and frankly, you didn’t think your mom knew either.

The conversation starts to flow between you and Ally easily as you make your way out to the pool. “This is my best friend Betty.” Ally introduces you to the sweet-as-pie girl and the three of you quickly fall into a conversation like you’d known each other forever. A few of their guy friends tried to come up and talk to you, but she just waved them away. “Leave us alone, we just met our new best friend.”

You felt bad for judging Ally so harshly earlier, blindly trusting the stupid rumors you’d heard about her. Popular or not, the three of you got along better than any of the other friends you’d tried to make throughout your life. They do briefly make fun of your instagram before forcing you to take and post pictures with the two of them by the pool. They both tag your account.

Peter didn’t seem to share the good luck you did. He’d dragged Ned to 6 different pool parties across the city and saw no one who looked like Sapphire. Disappointed, he spent the night patrolling alone and dodging fireworks.

***

(September 1)

Since that day, you’d become a trio with Ally and Betty. The day after the pool party you’d woken up to nearly 1,000 followers on your instagram. Everyone from Midtown who never gave you a second look when you had your hood shoved over your head now wanted to be your friend.

The three of you spent the rest of your summer days together, and you fit into the popular friend group better than you could have imagined. Maybe you watched too many teen movies, but you expected them to be mean. The only mean one was Flash, and even he was basically harmless. You’d given up Saturday night patrols with Spiderman for a weekly girls night with your new best friends. You thought having new friends and a bustling social life would’ve made it easier to forget about Spiderman, but somehow he seeped into every area of your life.

That damn laugh. As Ally and Betty sing along to the radio loudly, you bite your lip to stop a dumb smile from rising to your lips. God, just thinking about him made you flustered. As Ally drives into the school parking lot, nerves bubble in your stomach.

As if you aren’t stressed enough, your brain decides this is the perfect moment to remind you of the one night this summer you and Spiderman haven’t talked about since.

*** (August 14)

The two of you were sprawled out on a gravel rooftop next to each other. Not the most comfortable of relaxing spots, but you’d both grown tired of flying around under the summer heat with no hint of trouble for miles.

“This sucks.” Spiderman huffs out.

“Rude.” You reply quickly, even though you know he isn’t talking about you.

“Oh, no,” He immediately sits up. “I didn’t mean you suck, I just meant, you know, because there’s not much going on right now and it’s hot and-” He sees your cheeky smile and stops himself with a laugh. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s cute.” You bite your lip. The fuck did I just say? Before you can begin to explain, he jumps to his feet.

“Spidey sense, let’s go!” You jump up too and follow after him as he jumps off the building. Thank god. I’ve never been so grateful that someone’s in trouble. The fight was tough, even with the both of you. These men had strange guns that keep firing at you and Spiderman even though you’d tried multiple times to crush them with your powers.

“The guns are magic-proof! I can’t destroy them!” You yell over to Spiderman as you take down one of the men in between punches.

Somehow, two men get ahold of their guns and corner you. Just as you start levitating to fly over them, a web shoots from somewhere behind them and the men and their guns are yanked away. Spiderman wastes no time and you swear he seems angry with the two men as he webs them to the wall next to their friends before picking up the guns and violently smashing them on the ground.

You’re still frozen in shock, watching him. When he seems to be satisfied with the broken pile of guns on the floor, he runs back over to you. “I’m so sorry, I know we promised-” You finally break out of whatever trance you were in to place a finger over his lips, casting a disgusted glance towards the men staring at you from their webbed cocoons.

“Not here.” You say quietly, and fly the two of you quickly up to the roof. He blinks for a second, his head spinning from the speed. You rarely use your full speed, especially with him, but you had to get out of there. “Okay, go ahead.” You say after a second of silence.

“I’m so sorry, I know we agreed not to get in each other’s way, and I know you can handle yourself, probably better than I can. Hold on, I didn’t mean I handle you. That sounded weird. Anyways, I just got so angry when I saw those men pointing their guns at you I had to-” He’s talking about the agreement you two had made when you first started working together. You both obviously were skilled, so you agreed that you wouldn’t interrupt each other’s fights unless asked.

“Spidey, I really don’t care you interrupted. It was hot.” JESUS CHRIST NOT AGAIN. You immediately winced and slap a hand over your mouth. “Oh my god I did NOT mean to say that I’m so sorry.”

Your rambling is cut off as Spiderman’s hand travels up to the bottom of his mask and you think your eyes might fall out of your head with how wide they become as he begins to pull it up, revealing the soft pale skin of his neck.

His jaw, chin, and then lips become visible as he lets the mask rest on his nose. The 0.5 seconds that have passed since you stopped talking feel like an eternity until he suddenly leans forward, crashing his lips into yours. Spiderman is an amazing kisser, you decide, as you gently kiss him back.

WHAT AM I DOING? Your mind is going haywire but instead of stopping, you deepen the kiss and nearly smile when he lets out a low moan. Everything you’ve told yourself about focus and distractions flies out the window when his gloved hands clutch your waist and pull you closer to him than you thought possible.

It feels like it’s only been a second when he pulls away, but your eyes flicker to his swollen lips and you know it must have been longer. You smile as you stare at his lips, only inches from yours, but as your gaze moves to the rest of his exposed skin the smile drops slowly.

Your rational mind comes back. It’s easy to forget when you’re with him that you’ve only known each other a couple months. How could you do this? Your first time making out with a boy, and he doesn’t even know your name.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” You whisper as he starts to say something. “Sorry, what were you going to say?” He blinks slowly and takes a deep breath before stepping away from you.

“Nevermind. See you tomorrow.” And he swings away from you. You silently curse yourself for being such a big mouth, wanting to know what he would have said. You can’t help the small voice in the back of your head, telling you that you made the wrong decision.

You raise your hand to run your fingers along your tingling lips before flying home as fast as you can.

***

(September 1)

You wince at the painful memory before reminding yourself everything was back to normal the next day and neither of you mentioned it again. You still weren’t sure if that was good or bad. You force all thoughts of Spiderman out of your brain and even give Ally an encouraging cheer when she successfully parks on her first try.

You don’t remember Midtown having so many fucking students last year, but maybe it was because they were all staring at you. Any confidence you’d had as you opened Ally’s car door had disappeared as everyone around you turned to gawk. The bright smile you’d pasted on a second ago quickly fell and you glanced at Ally nervously.

“Come on, girls!” She says enthusiastically, grabbing an arm from you and Betty as she breaks the brief moment of awkward silence. God bless you Ally. As the three of you hoist your bags over your shoulders and make your way into the school, you mouth a quick thank you her way, hoping she can see your genuine appreciation. She smiles at you. “I’m happy we’re going into this year as three instead of two.”

Betty leans forward to smile at you. “Me too, y/n. I’m really happy you’re here.” You smile back brightly. There really was no one as sweet as Betty.

“You won’t be so happy I’m here when I talk your ear off during class.” The three of you continue laughing and joking your way down the hall to stop at your lockers.

“Oh my god, is that Y/n?” Ned interrupts Peter’s latest ramble about his night with Sapphire. Usually, he really did listen. Ned was fully invested in the superhero love story, as he called it, unfolding. But the sight of a girl notorious for hiding in her own baggy clothes across the hall in a miniskirt and tank top was more important.

“Y/n?” Peter asks, confused why Ned wasn’t paying attention. But when he turned around to see what Ned was staring at, he understood. He’d seen you around school the past three years, but never like this.

You looked like a fucking model. And everyone in the hall couldn’t help but stare. “Holy shit.”

“Right, dude?” Ned breathes out, the two of them shamelessly staring. “Why didn’t that happen to me over summer? Oh my god, of course she’s friends with Betty.”

Peter laughs as his best friend goes on about “two pretty best friends” but he can’t take his eyes off of you. The light in your eyes as you joke with your friends, making them double over in laughter, feels strangely familiar. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking on his part because you’re extremely pretty.

He watches in surprise as you and Ally walk up to the AP Chem classroom, waving goodbye to Betty sadly as she heads off to English. You turn to walk into the classroom after Ally, but you pause and look back down the hallway-right at him. Instead of yelling at him for being a creep like he expected, you smile at him widely before heading into the class. He exhales deeply and glances down at his schedule quickly, a smile appearing. AP Chem.

Of course his thoughts are still consumed by Sapphire, but it was hard to ignore you especially after seeing his name on the seating chart next to yours in the back row. Plus, Sapphire was the one who’d shot him down after he finally tried to make a move after catching onto the hints he thought she’d been dropping.

He felt bad for thinking that about her, he didn’t blame her at all. He knew there was a million reasons they shouldn’t be together-and he didn’t want to know specifics on why he wasn’t good enough. Sapphire hadn’t brought up that night since, and he was fine to pretend it never happened.

You were already in your seat at the lab table, but Ally was still standing next to you waving her hands wildly as you two spoke. He doesn’t want to interrupt so he freezes in place, unsure of whether or not to go sit down. He’d thought you were cute, and a little shy like him in freshman and sophomore year and he remembered the many times he would look at you from across the room like he is now.

His eyes had been quick to find you whenever you two were in the same room ever since the first day of school freshman year when you smiled at him in the hall. Even last year, when all he saw of you was a curled up lump at your desk or a sliver of hair peeking out from behind your hood he still noticed you.

Luckily for him, the bell rings and he slides into his seat just as the teacher begins speaking. “Hi, Peter.” You lean over to him, your shoulders nearly touching, and whisper so the teacher doesn’t hear. “I’m y/n.” You smile warmly as his cheeks and ears turn light pink.

“You don’t have to introduce yourself. We’ve gone to school together since we were 6?” Now it’s your turn to be embarrassed and you purse your lips together.

“No, I know, just-” Peter notices you seem a bit frustrated as you glance around the room and then lean even closer to him. “Everybody thinks I’m new.” You nervously mess with your bracelet.

“You do look a bit different.” He points out and you raise your eyebrows before sighing slowly and shrugging.

“I was just sick of feeling invisible, you know. Not because I care what anyone here thinks. Last year was just, really, really lonely.” Peter watches you intently as you speak, hanging onto your every word.

Your confession made him sad. If only he’d been brave enough to ask if you were okay. You pause for a second and meet his eyes. Any other guy in this school would’ve laughed at you by now. You gesture to your outfit and nervously adjust your skirt. “I’m also not a superficial person. It wasn’t about changing how I looked, I just needed the confidence to put myself out there.” You pause and nod towards Ally with a smile. Peter glances over to Ally and sees her blow you a kiss, which you catch across the room with a giggle.

I miss you! She mouths with a dramatic frown and this time Peter laughs quietly with you. “I thought she was a bitch before I met her.” He looks at you with surprise to find you smiling at him. “But,” you hold up a finger for dramatic effect, “because I put myself out there, I met my best friends. A lot of people around here judge on appearances. I’m not like that anymore.” You say with confidence.

“That’s really cool of you.” Peter whispers back, and the sound sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. He’s so close to you and the feelings you thought you left behind two years ago don’t seem so left behind as you stare into his warm eyes. “For the record, I’d be your friend no matter what you look like.”

Peter has only been this nervous a couple times before in his life, and he can’t help but feel like he’s betraying Sapphire with the way he’s thinking about you. He watches as you smile warmly at his words and extend your hand towards his.

“Friends? Even though I'm so much uglier now?” You pout your bottom lip out, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He nearly laughs out loud and has to remind himself you’re still in class. “I know guys go wild for the homeless man sweatpants look.” You’re both trying to hold back your laughter, shaking silently in the back of the class as he raises his hand and grabs yours.

“Friends.” Peter isn’t sure why he keeps going, but he does. “And just so you know, you were never ugly. I don’t know why you tried so hard to hide yourself last year, but even then,” the words leaving his mouth sound confident but Peter takes a deep breath before looking up from his lap to meet your eyes. Your wide eyes and surprised smile give him just the confidence he needs to finish. “You could never be ugly.” Peter can hear his heart beating.

You blink at him. This boy could not be real. Here he was, basically implying that the one thing you had wanted all along, for somebody to notice you, was true. Not only was it true, but it was Peter fucking Parker telling you this. Despite everything that had changed you in the past year, the giddy feeling in your bones brought you back to sophomore year and pining over Peter.

“Really?” Your smile spreads and he seems to let out a deep breath of relief.

“Yeah.” He smiles back at you until your sweet moment is interrupted by a fat ass syllabus dropping onto the lab table in front of you.

“Fuck,” you whisper. “This class is gonna be so much homework.” You turn the page so Peter can briefly see the list of projects alone, and it’s enough to make him cringe.

Something about the way the whispers travel back and forth between you all class makes you realize you hadn’t fallen into a friendship this easily, even with Ally. Even with Spiderman, your brain points out.

A red and blue suit swings into your mind and you are hit with a wave of guilt. Not two hours ago I was thinking about my make out with Spiderman, and now I’m comparing him to Peter?

You have all but one class together, and you can’t help but glance in Peter’s direction any chance you get. The only time you don’t see him is at lunch, even though you look all around the lunch room for him or the boy he’d been standing with this morning. You thought it would be too creepy to ask him where he’d been.

Finally, the last bell of the day rang, and you were sure if you didn’t have superpowers you would’ve been exhausted. School is kinda draining when you actually acknowledge people. Ally and Betty share your complaints about being tired on your drive home, all three of you agreeing you need naps. You kiss them both on the cheek and wave goodbye before heading up to your room.

Forget what I said about having superpowers. I’m fucking tired. You lay down on your bed, groaning into the pillow at the thought of having to patrol tonight. You sat up abruptly. You’d never dreaded patrol, it was always the thing you looked forward to. You glance towards the suit in your closet and sigh.

It’s not patrol I’m nervous about. It’s him. You feel incredibly guilty about today. I’m not a two timer. If I want to like Peter, I have to talk to Spiderman about that kiss first. You start to make your way over to the closet before another wave of exhaustion hits, sending you straight back to your bed.

After a nap. Then we’ll talk.

#peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker angst #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #avengers #marvel #spiderman #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland angst #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut

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puppyluver256 · 2 years

Photo

[Image Description: A fan-made Pokemon made up of an amalgamation of technological bits and bobs. Its body consists of a large metal rod passing through five large silver gears. Its head is a yellow mask-like object with a red X and blue circle for eyes, a long white line down the center resembling a nose, and a dark yellow diamond shape resembling a mouth, and long red and blue wires extending from the back in a manner akin to tentacles. A large metal gear floats above its head, with blue, red, yellow, and white ring designs around the center. Six metallic spheres float around it. Yellow text outlined in silver to the right of the image reads "Progurrent". End ID.]

-----

Progurrent - Innovation Pokemon - electric/steel People who had seen Progurrent in even the recent past would be hard pressed to recognize its appearance today. It is drawn to technology and models its appearance and abilities based on what is available. / Also known as the Spirit of Progress. Its appearance seems to have changed considerably even between individual years, let alone the eons. Even its typing may have changed, as some accounts state that it once had fire and rock traits.

More Cantessy Fakemon, and here's the other of the "box Legendaries"! Progurrent is the box legend of Pokemon Circuit (and as such is exclusive to that version), obviously meant to represent technology but it is also representative of Cantessy's intellectual advancement as a whole. It is constantly changing alongside the development of all kinds of technology, and has been ever since humanity first set foot in the region, to the point where a grandparent and grandchild who both see it will disagree over what it looks like depending on when either one saw it. It holds all kinds of data and information in itself, both significant and mundane, but its memory for significant or even day-to-day events is rather poor. Like the difference between knowing how to code a whole program within a couple days and remembering what exactly you ate for meals during those couple days, if that makes sense. As such, I wanna make this distinct point: despite their vast differences, or perhaps because of them, Antiquitree and Progurrent would get along very well in the lore! If there was a third version to complement Plow and Circuit (which there isn't, sorry), it would involve them teaming up to solve that game's problem in some way. I imagine their relationship is kind of like a wise grandparent with lots of stories of the past to tell and a hyperactive grandchild who's always super-excited to tell their grandparent All The Cool Things They Learned and show them the neat toys they just got.

The main inspiration here design-wise was bits and bobs of electronics and machinery all thrown together haphazardly. I wanted it to look like its appearance is completely modular based on the materials that are available, but also remain cohesive as a whole entity. I think I did a decent job of that? And the weird ball things, I have to clarify what those are so they're not just random floating steel balls. In Progurrent's current form, those are clusters of nanomachines! Of course nanomachines weren't always around, so in an earlier form they prolly woulda been...flaming lumps of coal or something XD But yeah, this mechanical hodgepodge is gonna be a pretty big part of Pokemon Circuit's plot, as all box legendaries are of course.

And just like with Antiquitree and Team Fields, there is a villain team that wants to use Progurrent as the means to their end as well...

Reminder that if anyone wants to suggest moves for any Cantessy Fakemon to learn and some physical stats where I haven’t yet figured them out, feel free to throw ‘em at me :3 Links to their info pages will be provided in the replies!

💖🐶 Check out my pinned post for ways to support my artwork, among other things! 🐶💖

~If you like, please reblog to show your friends! Likes are appreciated, but reblogs let more people see my content! If you have something to say, feel free to give feedback in tags/comments/replies as well!~

Pokemon and related concepts © Nintendo/GameFreak Progurrent, the Cantessy region, and artwork © PuppyLuver Studios

#pokemon #fakemon #cantessy region #progurrent #jess drew the thing #sfw #image description #.......yeah yeah get your pog face jokes outta the way right now hehe

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

Text

Love... and a soft place to land.

Request: Hey! can I request a Harry x reader where the reader finds out she's pregnant and going through the pregnancy with Harry? It can even be when they're still at Hogwarts if you want!

A/N: Thank you for the request!! I’ve written this post!Hogwarts as I don’t feel comfortable writing teen pregnancy (I hope you understand!) but nevertheless I hope you enjoy! The title is a quote from A Discovery of Witches, I use the full quote in the fic and I have put that in bold so you’re all aware. There’s loads of cute moments in this; I wrote it in one sitting and made myself cry at one point.

Pairing: Harry Potter x Fem!Reader

Warnings: pregnancy, odd cravings, she/her pronouns, FLUFF - ALL THE FLUFF.

Word count: 2.3k

The two lines staring back you confirmed your suspicions.

The nausea being the main symptom that had you counting back the days to your last cycle. Realising the lateness had you leaving Harry in bed while your rushed to a muggle chemist, buying three tests. The chemist gave you soft smile as she rang them up, asking whether you’d be paying by cash or card. You tried to return the smile, but knew it was a watery one.

It wasn’t as if you and Harry were actively trying to avoid pregnancy, you just hoped you’d have a little more time to have him to yourself before sharing him with a son or daughter.

Rushing home, you find Harry still in bed, snoring away and utterly oblivious to the world.

You shut the door to the bathroom quietly in the hopes of not waking your husband. You’d have woken him sooner, but the idea of getting his hopes up for something he had wanted since he slid the golden ring onto your finger, only spurred you on to make sure you were pregnant.

Your heart soared and your stomach dropped as the two lines appeared on each test.

A knock on the bathroom door has you dropping the test still held in your hands.

“Love, you’ve been in there a while, is everything okay?”

You clear your throat, swallowing around the lump there, “I’m fine, love. I didn’t wake you did I?”

Harry chuckles, “No, I woke up when I rolled onto an empty side of bed. Are you sure you’re okay?”

You pick up the dropped test, placing it next to the others. Unlocking the door, you say, “You better come in.”

Harry wastes no time entering the bathroom. He scans the room quickly, checking for whatever the problem could be.

He does a double take at the sight of the pregnancy tests laid next to the sink.

His eyes do a circuit; the pregnancy tests, your face, then dropping to your stomach.

His eyes do this three times before he whispers, “Are you pregnant?”

You grin, handing him one of the tests, “It seems I am.”

“You’re really pregnant?” He asks again; disbelief lacing his voice.

“Yes Harry. I’m pregnant – you’re going to be a father.”

“How far along are you?”

“I’m not sure, I need to make an appointment with a Healer to make sure.”

Harry nods; the smile never leaving his face. He drops the test into the sink; his arms circling around you. “You make me unbelievably happy; you know that?”

You laugh, letting some tears fall. Harry kisses them away, “I think you’ve made me the happiest man in the world. I thought nothing could rival what I felt when I saw you walking down the aisle to marry me, but this. This is something else.”

“Harry Potter, you are a sap.”

He kisses you; long and languid – his happiness pouring into it. He pulls away; the both of you breathless. He drops to his knees before you, pressing kiss after kiss to your stomach. The sight of it has you crying again. Harry stands back up, pecking your lips once more before rushing out of the bathroom, “I’m going to make you an appointment at St. Mungo’s, I’ll be right back.”

You laugh to yourself; your hand dropping to curl around your lower abdomen where in nine months, a bump will be sitting.

You grin as you hear Harry’s excited chatter on the phone; ever grateful that St. Mungo’s installed phones a few years ago to make the booking of appointments easier.

You pass by him on your way to the kitchen to begin breakfast. Your hand runs across his shoulder, and the smile he gives you in reply is breathtaking.

Your earlier worry about this being too early in your marriage has now dissipated.

Now, you couldn’t wait to begin this journey.

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

Two months after you tell Harry your news and the elation has worn off, the panic begins to set in. You work through it logically; borrowing book after book from your local library, setting up appointments at St. Mungo’s with the help of Draco who offered as much advice as he could give – he’d had his son almost a year ago now; he was happy to help in any way he could.

Harry took it in his stride; coming to every appointment, following the progress of his unborn son or daughter. From the moment you told him, his heart had stretched wider to be able to fit the love he already felt for his unborn child. Harry thought it would burst the moment he heard his child’s heartbeat on the ultrasound. However, he couldn’t help but feel panicked. This baby was going to be loved, there was no doubt about it – it would have enough aunts, uncles, and cousins to never be bored and Harry already adored the baby with his whole being.

But he couldn’t ignore the nagging doubt stemming from the little voice in the back of his head. The voice had him doubting his abilities to be a father; after all, his own had died when he was fifteen months old and then Sirius was ripped from him at the Department of Mysteries – he had never gotten to truly know his godfather who was supposed to guide him through life in the absence of his own father. Every chance to have a father figure was ripped away by death, and it led Harry to question his abilities and his readiness.

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

It comes to ahead on blustery night in March, four months into your pregnancy. Harry lays beside you in bed; propping himself up on his elbow as he watches you eat your latest craving – cheese and onion crisps with a bar of Cadbury’s chocolate. His nose crinkles as he continues to watch you eat, but he’d make sure it was always available at a moment’s notice.

The room is quiet save for the rustling of the crisp packet. Harry runs a hand over his face; he hadn’t been sleeping well these past few night – his doubts keeping him awake until the early hours of the morning.

It’s hard to miss the panic settling in his blue eyes. You run a hand through his hair, asking, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Harry blinks away the tears forming, whispering, “What if I’m not a good father? I’ve never had a father figure to guide me.”

Your hand falls from his hair to his chin, where you grasp it, keeping his eyes on you. “You’re going to be a wonderful father, I know it in my bones,” You hum, “All children need is love, a grown-up to take responsibility for them, and a soft place to land. I know for a fact you can offer all three.”

He buries his face in your stomach, where a small bump has started to form, “I can’t be sure though,” he mumbles.

“Well, I’ll be sure enough for the both of us.”

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“If I remember correctly, you tripped me up in the corridor. Sent me flying into a statue.”

Harry snorts, thinking of the memory, “It was love at first sight.”

“More like I wanted to throttle you.”

“But you soon fell for my charms,” He flirts.

“How could I not? You were so apologetic, and you carried my books for the rest of the day – meeting me outside my classrooms. I’d fallen in love with you by the end of the day.”

“I could tell. I felt like the king of the world.”

“I bet,” You chuckle, “I knew Ron took the mick though didn’t he?”

“Of course, but I shut him up when I told him to make a move on ‘Mione.”

You laugh again; lapsing back into silence as you both return to thinking of the same memory.

“Are you feeling any better?” You murmur after the bout of silence, referring to his earlier panic.

He nods, shifting his position from laying on his side to sitting up against the headboard next to you. “We have each other through this.”

You take is hand, tangling your fingers together. “We have each other through this.”

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

Arthur Weasley is the one who takes Harry aside on a random Sunday in June.

At this point, you’re seven months along in your pregnancy and your son is making every effort to squeeze your bladder to the point it bursts. Harry isn’t ashamed to admit that he shed a few tears when told he was going to have a boy; it meant that he could take the reins his father and Sirius had left behind.

As you’re waddling to the bathroom at the Burrow, you overhear the conversation between Harry and Arthur.

“How are you feeling, Harry? How is (Y/N)?” Arthur asks. From your spot on the stairs, you can see through the railing that Arthur has his hand on Harry’s shoulder and a caring expression on his face.

“(Y/N) is great; taking it all gracefully.”

“And you?”

Harry sighs, “I don’t know how I feel. The closer we get to the due date, the more nervous I become.”

Arthur chuckles lightly, “I felt the same way with Bill… I felt the same with all of them.”

“Does it ever go away?”

Arthur shakes his head at your husband, “No, it doesn’t. You find new things to be worried about. But Harry, I’m here to help you. I know I’m not your father or your godfather, but I’ll help you in any way I can.”

Harry pulls Arthur into a long hug; surprising the patriarch of the Weasley family. When Harry pulls away, you can see the tell-tale signs of tears.

Harry sniffles, “You’re as good as, Mr. Weasley.”

Arthur sniffles too, “You’ve become a great man, Harry. You’re going to be a great father too. Molly is beside herself with excitement to meet the little one.”

You wipe the tears running down your own face, taking the final few steps to the bathroom where you blow your nose on some tissue.

Harry was going to be just fine.

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

The labour is long and intense, and for a while, there’s the worry that you’ll need to have an emergency c-section. Harry is by your side through it all; he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. He wipes your forehead with a cool cloth after each contraction; he holds your through each push – bones be damned if they break.

With a loud cry, your son enters the world just after midnight on a quiet night in August.

There are no words to accurately describe the feelings that coursed through his body when the midwife asked him to cut the cord. It was the first look at his son, and then and there, Harry made a silent vow to never let his son question his talents and abilities whatever they may be.

Wrapped in a pale blue blanket, he’s placed onto your chest with a cry. Immediately, the tears begin to fall down Harry’s face. Nine long months and his son has arrived; and you, you took it all so gracefully, sniffling slightly as you welcomed him into the world.

You hand Harry his son; being careful to make sure that the head is stable before letting yourself relax slightly into the hospital bed. The midwife hands you a cup of tea and a slice of toast, and you thank her gratefully for all that she has done for your new family. She pats you on the head before leaving, letting the new family have time to themselves.

You watch Harry with a tender expression on your face. He had been so worried for so long, but as you watch him walk his son around the room, murmuring to him absentmindedly, you know that he’s going to make a wonderful father. You never had any doubt about it.

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

A few hours later, there’s a small knock on the door and Hermione’s voice rings out, “Harry, (Y/N), it’s us. Do you mind if we come in?”

You nod at Harry, adjusting the babe at your chest. He opens to the door, being pulled into a hug immediately by Ron. Hermione enters the room with a bouquet of pale pink roses; your favourites. She sits the vase down on the other side of the room so as to not disturb the baby too much with the new smell.

Hermione tiptoes over to you, “I’m sorry we didn’t send an owl.”

You shake your head, “I wouldn’t want you stay away anyway.”

Tears line her eyes as Ron and Harry join you at your bedside. Your son gurgles, shifting in your arms, aware of the visitors here to see him. Hermione holds a hand to her mouth, eyes flickering to Harry, “He’s got your eyes, Harry.”

Harry nods, “I know. But he has his mother’s hair, and her mouth and nose.”

You hush your husband, “He’ll be the carbon copy of you, I know it.”

Silence falls in the room as the four adults continue to watch the new life slumber in his mother’s arms. He shuffles for a minute, finding a comfier position before settling back into his dreams.

You shift your gaze to Hermione, silent tears falling down her face. “Would you like to hold your godson?”

“Godson?” She whisper-asks, “Me?”

Harry places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing, “We want you and Ron to be godparents.”

Ron sniffles, reaching a hand up to wipe at his eyes. “Harry, mate, we’d be honoured.”

At those words, you hand your new-born son to his godmother who holds him like a pro. She dips her head down to sniff at his head; smiling at the new-born smell.

Hermione lets her tears continue to fall as she stares down at her new godson in awe. Ron’s arm is tight around her waist as he asks, “What name did you decide on?”

Harry’s voice breaks as he replies, “James Sirius Arthur Potter.”

*******

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @dreamer821 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @summer-writes @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04

#harry potter x reader #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #harry potter imagines #harry potter reader insert #harry potter one shot #harry potter drabble #harry x reader #harry potter x female reader #harry potter x y/n #harry potter x you #harry x y/n #harry x you #fluff #harry potter fluff #cute #hp imagines #hp fanfiction

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soramel · 3 years

Text

Chained to you (Part 3)

genre: angst, romance, unconventional relationship warning: eventual smut A/N: cross-posted from wattpad; updates are uploaded there first

1 2 3 4

Part 3 teaser: Looking around, Taehyung was nowhere to be seen. Although this was just a casual dinner, he could at least have the courtesy to come with you in a family gathering.

Part 3 words: 3.9k

"I can't believe you ditched me for two weeks," Sunmi complained as she finished the coffee in her cup.

She went on a surprise visit in your office as you were preparing to get off your duty.

To distract her from her rampage, you told how your mom has been doing after the accident. Then you went on how your wedding with Taehyung will push through regardless. However, you didn't tell her the full story on how that one unfolded. It was a long story to tell and you don't have time for it.

You let out a tired sigh. "I'm caught up with a lot of stuff, Sunmi," you simply uttered.

She then replied, "A text won't hurt. But I get it, fine. You're always this cold anyway," she said as she rolled her eyes.

Glancing at your watch, it's already 7 pm. "Look, I have to visit my mom before going home," you told her, sending a signal that you really have now to go.

Your mother hasn't woken up yet but the doctor said that her reflexes are getting better. The other day, when her finger moved, relief washed through you. It's a little progress but it meant a lot. It gave you hope.

"And when are we going out again?" Sunmi asked, with a glint of hope in her eyes. You cleared your throat as you contemplated whether you should join her in one of her parties or not. The last time, she got you in deep trouble.

Sunmi wore her puppy eyes as she stalked towards you, "Please? I'm stressed because of my boss. I want to go out again with you!"

"Sunmi, I can't party all the time," you retorted.

"You speak as if you go to parties with me so often! It was just that night when I managed to get you that drunk," she complained. You laughed at her reasoning.

She then pouted, "You're a fun drunk... or I think you're really fun if you just let loose without alcohol."

"Being drunk is not fun. I'll think about it. If I'm free, I'll go with you," you resigned just to get her off your back.

You both headed out of your office then your bodyguard muttered something silently as he held his earpiece. Sunmi was taken aback by his presence.

"You have a bodyguard now?" she asked as you both headed towards the lift. You were used to having Saeho follow you around and learned to ignore him. Now that Sunmi pointed it out, you became conscious as you conversed with your friend.

Nodding back at her, you said, "For safety, according to Taehyung."

She chuckled back at that, "More like for him to keep track of you."

"I have to meet him someday, you know," she added, "If he looks as bad as you were saying, I could do something about it."

You bit your lip at her rambling.

She turned to you excitedly, "Oh, I have this model friend of mine, I can hook you up with him,"

"Sunmi..." you uttered, giving her a warning to shut up.

She raised her brow, "What? I can't let you get hooked by some rich SOB. I'll disown you."

"Or is he a DOM?" she asked boldly as she took your left hand near her face, observing the ring again.

Her question made you scrunch your forehead in confusion.

"Dom?" you asked.

She nodded back as she lets go of your hand, "Dom. Dirty old man."

The elevator doors opened at the lobby floor. You slowly walked out with her by your side and with your security behind you.

"A lot of them are driving in a fancy sports car. He exactly fits the description you gave me. Plus that kind of ring?" she took a deep breath and shivered.

At that, you purse your lips. You're sure the man behind you heard that, you just hope that this won't get to Taehyung's knowledge.

"I didn't tell you he's old. We're of the same age," you defended, trying to save yourself.

"Oh,"

"Are you coming with me? I can drop you off somewhere," you offered as you come out of the revolving door.

"Nah, I have my car down the street. I'll see you soon, okay?" she said, with threat in her eyes.

Just in time, a familiar black Benz rolled off in front of you.

Shortly after, Taehyung emerged from the driver's side. Surprise was evident in your eyes as you watched him walk his way towards you. He was casually dressed in a dark green sweater and brown trousers.

"Too bad, you're taken huh?" Sunmi whispered beside you. She was also ogling at him. For some reason, a blush crept up in your cheeks.

You were flustered as to how to handle the situation at hand, but firstly, you wonder what he's doing here.

"Let's go?" he casually asked as he stopped in front of you.

Sunmi is now watching you two with disbelief in her eyes. She looked at you then at Taehyung's hand which he nonchalantly reached out to yours, taking your hand in his. Sunmi noticed the rings you both were sporting.

You gulped as you watched her dumbfounded reaction.

"You liar," she muttered accusingly.

Taehyung turned his head to your friend, "Pardon?" he said, his voice sounded distant.

Before the situation gets out of hand, you decide to come clean. "Sunmi, this is Taehyung. Taehyung, she's my friend, Sunmi."

He looked like he didn't care, so you proceeded, "I have to go now, Sunmi."

She nodded back but it looked like she's out of it.

Taehyung then ushered you to the passenger side.

Once you were both inside the car, he shifted gear after glancing at the rearview mirror. You saw Saeho getting in your SUV as they pulled in a convoy.

"I'm meeting your father in the hospital," Taehyung simply told you while navigating through the bustling city.

"And I have to talk to you about the wedding,"

What? Is he backing out for real?

Your pride was crushed again at the thought of him abhorring being with you.

"My secretary booked a venue already. We can accommodate up to a hundred guests," you told him.

His forehead scrunched at the information, "Make it 300."

You were relieved at what he said but more so it made you scoff. You already think that a hundred was too much but given that you also have to invite some of your dad's colleagues, you and Jae settled on a hundred guests.

Also, you don't want a grand wedding that will be difficult to top off once you have your real one.

"300 is too much," you muttered, holding your tongue in your cheek.

"Aren't we having it in Waldorf? Your hotel? We can hold more guests if that's the case."

"Send me your list and I'll take a look at it," he added.

He made it clear that he's not into details. Why is he making a fuss about it now? But knowing the reason behind that was beyond you.

At the stoplight, he fumbled with the dashboard and browsed through his contacts. He stopped at one particular name and pressed call.

The person picked up after a few rings.

"Mr. Kim!" a voice of a man which sounded too girly for a baritone one was heard from the other line.

Taehyung smiled and greeted, "Charles, I have something for you."

"What is it? A yacht party? or do you want it on a ferry like the last one? I heard you're getting married!" the man named Charles rambled on the phone, his voice sounded more excited than before.

You watched Taehyung in disbelief.

"It might be too late to inform the guests about that. We're having it at Waldorf," he replied.

"Oh," Charles' voice sounded a bit disappointed, but he quickly recovered.

"In Incheon! That will be fine. What's your target date?"

"The soonest,"

Charles didn't even falter as he quickly asked, "Number of guests?"

"Three hundred?"

"A grand one! Make it a thousand!" your jaw dropped at where this conversation is going. You glared at Taehyung beside you who were having too much fun.

The traffic moved forward and you huffed in your seat.

"Make this event worthwhile for your portfolio. My wife is pretty chill with the details," you heard him say, his tone sounding mockful at the last sentence.

"Oh, thank you! Let me work my magic!"

"Alright, I'll give your number to her secretary. He's handling these kinds of things for her."

"Sure sure! Do that! Best wishes on your marriage!"

When the call ended, you threw him an irritated glance. "We already arranged things. Jae will be very disappointed," you glumly told him. He just threw your secretary's hardwork out of the window!

"I'm just making sure," he shrugged. There are times when Taehyung is bearable but this bossy and arrogant side of him ticks you off in all places.

"Then you should have volunteered earlier so I didn't have to go through all that fuss!"

"Your secretary is doing it all for you anyway and how sure are you that he can pull this thing off?"

"He's working with a wedding planner,"

"Charles is much more experienced. He hosts my mom's parties."

He then threw you a quick glance before letting out a chuckle. "You're so cute when you're mad," he uttered before biting his lower lip.

The remark only irritated you more. You badly want to strangle him using his seatbelt. If it were not for your dear life. It was a bad call. You cannot live with this man with this kind of attitude.

Taehyung rubbed you off the wrong way that night. You were pissed off that you ended up giving him a silent treatment. After arriving in your mom's suite, he and your dad went outside for a talk. For what is that all about, you didn't care.

"Mom..." you blurted out with longing in your voice. You blinked rapidly to stop your tears from falling. She looked frail lying on the hospital bed. Your mother was always radiant and looked best. Seeing her getting thinner as time goes by breaks your heart.

"Everything's fine. I'm handling things well with the board," you ran your hand on her head, gently giving her comforting pats. At least, the machines attached to her lessened.

"But you should wake up soon, okay?"

After some time, the two gentlemen walked back into the room. You stood up to face your father. He's been so busy that you barely had time to see each other despite him living in the same house.

"We can go home together if you'd like," you offered him.

He shook his head in response, "I still have a lot of paperwork to do."

This one made you frown, "Dad, please don't neglect your health," you told him, irritation laced in your voice. He might have been overwhelmed now that your mother is not there to help him. On your end, you're doing everything you can to keep your company afloat.

"We don't have enough time before the campaign starts. I'm making sure everything is well-prepared,"

You let out a sigh, "Alright. If I can do anything for you, let me know."

He let out a tired smile as he told you, "You're doing more than enough, Y/n."

Then your dad turned to Taehyung and said, "Drive her home, please. It will make me more at ease."

Taehyung nodded gently but you protested, "Dad, I have Saeho so you don't have to worry."

"It's fine. We'll get going now, sir," Taehyung retaliated, you sent him a glare but he just ignored it. Fine, he's the one getting tired anyway.

You then turned to your mother and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, "I love you, mom. I'll see you tomorrow," you whispered.

The whole car ride was silent. You chose to sleep on the way home instead of keeping him company. When the car turned into a halt, you woke up just in time to see that you'd arrived. The porch is dimly lit and the mansion looked sad.

Without a word, you simply unbuckled your seatbelt, grabbed your bag, then climbed out of the car. Taehyung climbed out too as your door slam shut.

"Y/n," the stern in his voice made you look back at him. He quickly sauntered to your side.

With furrowed brows he asked, "What's wrong with you?"

You purse your lips as you answered, "Nothing."

He clicked his tongue before answering, "You're acting like a bitch."

Your mouth fell agape at his statement. It painted your face red and you're now fuming mad at him. You pushed his shoulder back harshly but he stood in place. "Asshole. Get lost," you told him, irritation filled your tone.

He quickly grabbed your wrist before you could walk away, sending you stumbling into his chest.

"I won't tolerate this kind of behavior so you tell me what's wrong," his words dripped off like acid, almost scaring you.

You gulped then averted your eyes from his piercing gaze.

He tilted his head to the side, chasing your eyes but you couldn't bear to look at him.

He threw your secretary's hardwork off the window. That means he also threw your work away. Every output that Jae and the wedding planner has, it went through your approval. You would extend outside working hours choosing the catering, flowers, theme colors. You're also about to meet your designer for your wedding gown. Almost everything is settled according to your taste and Jae helped out in filtering down the list you can choose from.

But you would burrow your own hole first before Taehyung would know that you became pretty much hands-on in this affair.

You're not supposed to care, but at the end of the day, it's still your wedding.

"Y/n," he called out for the second time, his voice much more irritated than before.

You let out a resigned sigh, "I'm just tired," you told him dismissively.

You pulled your hand back out of his grip but Taehyung won't let go.

"Tae," you whined.

Your eyes grew a fraction when his eyes darkened in response. You didn't mean to call him that. You wet your lips before uttering, "It's getting late, you should go ahead."

But he didn't understand what you said. His whole attention was focused on your inviting lips, he hated to admit it but he still thought of that night he had with you, under his sheets.

Taehyung held your chin in between his forefinger and thumb, tilting your head up a bit. Before you could even react, he placed a chaste kiss on your lips.

Your eyes widened out of surprise, but you were still deep rooted to the ground.

He bit his lip as he watched for your reaction. "I'm sorry, I just missed you," he muttered. "Are we okay now?" he asked after. Taehyung then casually placed both his hands on your sides.

"I don't like that you're interfering with the preparations," you started,

"You should have taken the task before I handed it to Jae so he doesn't have to work extra for it."

Taehyung nodded in understanding.

"And he knows what I like, that's why I trusted him with that," you added.

Irritation flashed in his eyes but it was gone before you knew it. He let out a sigh, "Just have him work with Charles instead. Charles will make it better."

You purse your lips while contemplating on the compromise he offered.

"I don't want a grand wedding. Make sure he doesn't overstep, my preference will be followed according to what Jae picks. "

There was hesitance in his eyes before replying, "Your taste. Noted. But having it grand..."

"Taehyung," you called sternly. You cannot believe you're arguing with this kind of stuff with him. "Grand is not my taste," you retaliated.

He threw a smirk at your statement, "Coming from you, princess," he said looking at you from head to toe. He smiled at his own realization so he nodded, "Okay. I'll tell Charles about it."

You furrowed your brows at him, adjusting your gaze on his face as he seemed closer, "And don't call me princess. I hate it."

His smile grew which confused you. Is there something funny at what I said?

"I'm serious."

Taehyung nodded as he closed his eyes and let out a shuddered breath. You failed to notice that throughout the argument, he managed to pull you close to him. His hands were now encircling your waist.

Placing your hands on his chest, you took a step back, pushing him away.

"I'll go now," you finally said before turning your back on him and climbing up the porch.

After a shower, you dialed up Hoseok, your private investigator.

"Any leads?" you asked the man on the other side of the line. He made you use another phone just to make sure no one will rat you out when you're investigating everything on your own.

"The man knew the route he's taking. He managed to hide his face from the cctv cameras until he disappeared in the crowd in Myeongdong," he reported. It made you feel frustrated and cornered.

"So what now?"

"On the other hand, I found something interesting, Ms. Y/n."

"The cops are playing russian roulette with your father's potential opponents," he started.

Your brows furrowed at the stupidity of their action, "That will be a long list and how will they know?"

"I'm curious myself, here's more,"

"The Kims are doing things on their own. I just can't identify the path they're taking but from what I gathered they're looking at a different angle in this case. I have a hunch they're misleading the police with information while they figure things out."

That's impossible, you thought to yourself. With an inhale, you told Hoseok, "That's too far off, don't you think? They're the closest family friend we have, I doubt they'll do that."

"I'm not saying they're doing a bad thing, Ms. Y/n. It could be that or there's a beneficial reason for your end for them to mislead the police. I don't know if your dad knows about this. If he knows then your family is safe, if he doesn't..."

Then the worst thing happened. The situation piqued your curiosity, but you couldn't afford to talk to your father yet. There's a ceasefire, but you're not yet at ease to have a serious talk with him regarding the Kims.

"With that, I'm asking for your cooperation. You have to find it out yourself, Ms. Y/n. While I'll try to infiltrate the Kims to get my hands on this one. But that won't be easy,"

Hoseok's right. They own the most trusted security system company in Korea, how long will that take for Hoseok?

"I'm getting married soon, Hoseok, can you at least dig something out before that?"

The man laughed at the question. "I hate to admit this, but your marriage may help you infiltrate to get some info. You know how the Kims are," he replied, dropping the formalities.

You don't like the unspoken idea of Hoseok. Getting in too deep might-- you held on that thought and quickly erased it off your head. You'll just make sure everything falls into its rightful place.

The wedding was a grand affair. You hated it. You sent death glares to your secretary when you saw the filled banquet hall. The look in your eyes made Jae pull you aside and explain. According to him, this was the best he could do, he already made a lot of compromise with Charles. Your initially approved designs, everything, went through in exchange of making it a three-day event.

It kicked off with a laid-back welcome party on a Friday night.

"I thought it's just a family dinner," you muttered under your breath.

Jae pursed his lips. Suddenly nervous at the hysteric in your voice trying to lash out.

"Well, the country is a family to your father," he whispered in an attempt to reason his way out.

"You could have at least told me. You know I hate being surprised like this. I'm..." the sentence trailed off with a sigh from your mouth.

"I know, but I couldn't bother you with things like this. You were occupied enough with the board. Just pull yourself together for the night. Let tomorrow deal with itself,"

He's right. You thought to yourself. Looking around, Taehyung was nowhere to be seen. Although this was just a casual dinner, he could have the courtesy to at least make an effort to come with you in a family gathering.

You walked to your father with all of the composure you've gathered. Seeing him socialize nonchalantly with his colleagues, you tried gaining his attention by intently looking at him. You sent him a grim smile when he caught you walking up to their group.

"Y/n!"

A three-day wedding. Tonight is just a welcome party. Tomorrow will be the main event with all the ceremony and two receptions. Then a farewell brunch on the third to top off your misery.

"Dad," you greeted once reaching the group. As if on cue, you leaned towards him to kiss him on the cheek. Then turned to his colleagues afterwards for a curt bow.

The gentlemen said their congratulations followed by an inquiry where your fiance at. In which you smoothly replied, "He'd be here soon, I just went ahead to talk to my father. So, if you'll excuse us,"

The old man followed your steps after giving his colleagues a glance.

"What's the matter?" he asked once out of their earshot.

He didn't miss the hesitation that flashed in your eyes as you tried to come up with an excuse. You just used him to save yourself earlier. His lips pursed into a grim line.

Putting a hand on your arm, he told you, "Why don't you go up your room first and call him? His parents are somewhere in this crowd already. I was with them earlier."

You then nodded in resignation. Then silently waded your way out of the crowd, ignoring the casual glances being thrown at you.

Once out of the banquet hall, you took a right turn without much paying attention. To your surprise, you saw Taehyung talking to a woman. This made you step back and hide yourself against the wall, clutching your purse close to your chest.

Then a thought came to mind, why am I hiding?

"I'd call you. Don't show up like this," your fiance uttered in a low voice you've never heard before.

That's why. Because they looked like star-crossed lovers hiding from the villains. And you were one of them. In their story, you are. Even though it was just a blink, their closeness made you tread back.

The situation made you smirk.

The raging thoughts disabled you from hearing what his lover was saying but you caught on, "- are you kidding me?" the lady asked in a sarcastic voice.

"I have a lot of things on my plate right now, Lana. Please..."

Their exchange made you sick. It felt like you shouldn't be there right now, so you turned away.

But you didn't want to go back to the party. Heck, you don't even like the situation you're in right now.

With the fire exit to the opposite end of the hall, you harshly pushed on the door and went down the stairs. Until you found yourself in the basement parking.

#bts fanfic #bts series #bts smut #kim taehyung #hoseok #yandere #jungkook #namjoon #bts angst

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ruby-whistler · 3 years

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@justalads hi, hello! made a new post because didn't want to clog up everything with a suuper long string of reblogs, so i hope you don't mind!

also, i'm sorry to ask you this, but i have trouble focusing - in your next reply, would you maybe mind cutting up the big paragraphs into smaller ones? i'm nd and it's extremely difficult to concentrate at long strings of text like that, which is why i usually cut up everything i say into chunks :]

(actually had to have my friend cut up your last reply because he's a v fast reader, shoutout ani lmao)

anyways, let's continue the debate i say because there's a lot to still talk about in my opinion as well

/dsmp /rp, and of course all /lh

as for the whole was manipulated / wasn't manipulated thing, there's pretty much a divide amongst most people i know whether or not to call it that - but since that word's been misused a lot in this fandom, here is the instance most people are referring to, for you to judge for yourself, in this very (in my opinion) well-written analysis!

since i myself am very confused about the subject but i think it'd be better for you to read that first, i'll just move past that for now i think.

i attached a lot more resources this time because i remembered that a lot of people who agree with me on these things are smarter than me so, sorry for the links you'll have to click through this time but i think it could help me articulate what i actually want to say better.

i don't think i entirely get your point about it "making sense for him to progress like this". i don't know what you mean by 'make sense'. it comes off as 'he was always going to become this way because of the kind of person he was in the beginning' which, i don't agree with in general? because no, you don't just become a bad person, and especially with c!dream i find that this ignores a lot of the things that he went through.

also, i wouldn't say everyone had equal hand in what happened. "a product of his environment" means everything sort of mixed together; the way the world works; a cycle of violence, eye for an eye, and no therapy or communication.

dream's spiral isn't a result of any one character's actions. c!wilbur started the whole big wars and animosity thing, but that's only about 50% of what i'd call "the environment". there's also a lot of personal mistakes and miscommunication mixed in.

so no, i'm not saying it was entirely "other characters"' fault, what i mean is more that they contributed by you know, treating him as the incarnation of all evil, breaking his personal boundaries, overall just no one treating him like they should a person (this is overall their attitude over multiple seasons), etc..

and also another thing i meant to say was that he didn't deserve the abandonment. no one deserves to lose half their friends once (l'manberg when they turned against him for literally no good reason in his eyes), and then watch the ones who were the last remaining and the closest ones he had, leave him one by one because of an image of himself he had no control over, which was started by one and then perpetuated until he became a literal hate magnet. people did hurt c!dream, and he didn't deserve that.

all i'm saying is that i see where he is coming from, and that his spiral wasn't a result of powerhungriness, or cruelty, or any other personal flaw, but it was literally someone who cared about people too much getting driven too far by the circumstances he was put into.

and i think that is my overall statement for now.

you said i was "brushing it off as george being a drama queen" for the whole dethronement scene. i read what you said about it, and i'd like to ask you to once again watch the actual stream.

george literally tried to steal the l'mantree and got assassinated by techno beforehand. i don't see why he would be in any way in the wrong for dream taking away his kingship, and i don't think it is reminiscent of a power dynamic or dream having "higher authority".

dream thinking george can't handle himself is completely justified considering what he did and how he didn't even attempt to stay neutral. he was supposed to be a diplomatic figure who would make sure the dream smp doesn't get into wars, that was the point of pretending to be a monarchy (because the dsmp really just isn't, it's anarchy with a diplomatic representative and an army general).

here's a thread which besides other things mentions things dream did for the two of them, and besides fighting with him in one (george) or two (sapnap) wars they really weren't "loyal to him for a long while" compared to the amount of times he sacrificed things for them.

"have an equal say in things" doesn't apply when one of the three is trying to keep peace and the other two instigate conflict left and right. like i'm sorry but i don't see why dream would owe them a say in the faction he's trying to protect.

dream doesn't think of them as lower. that actually just sounds like guilt-tripping your friend to let you take care of a pet you've poisoned before and he had to rush to the hospital. peace is fragile and these two weren't responsible enough to be given the power to break it.

to say "george didn't want" it was an overstatement. he literally did nothing as a king and he had no control in the first place (because the dream smp doesn't have a government in the first place).

the whole thing about him being sad was for show because c!george is a manipulative prick who takes advantage of his friends for fun. and i don't mean this in a bad way, he's not a bad person for it, he's actually a really fun character more than anything, and he doesn't hurt anyone on purpose - but he's a jerk! he's done it before and now he's doing it again, and he continues to do it (dreamxdcoughcough-)

so no dream was. absolutely not in the wrong here, it wasn't even supposed to be public, george just made a big deal out of it.

the last thread i mentioned also talks about the whole "spirit speech" thing and, answer me a question - would you consider it justified for all of tommy's friends (even tubbo who he's been close with for so long) to abandon him just because he's said basically the same thing about the discs - like three times?

that's just the double standards though. phil and techno are still being hated on for "abandoning" a kid they barely know - and meanwhile dream's been given up on by everyone he's ever cared about before being given a chance, but people try to find ways it's his fault, like it matters.

it doesn't matter, because abandonment hurts you, no matter if the people have good reasons for it or not, and in this case they didn't. the point i'm making is this character has been hurt and has been actively hurting and it's been ignored for bias' sake.

i'm not saying they're bad people for it, or responsible for his actions. some of them are bad people independently (/hj). but they still affected him.

“if respect is the only thing protecting you from a knife in the back, then respect is nothing, right?” yeah? i don't see the point in this either. interesting to point out that dream learned this the hard way with you know, no one having respect for him as a person and only being able to fight for what he cares about via 'an axe and a shield'.

and no, dream didn't have an arising god complex. he was becoming more desperate for control because of his circumstances over the course of s2, but the god complex only happened in the prison because he had all control of everything (who he gets to talk to, what and when he gets to eat) taken away for months before being shown a smidge of power again. that's just a natural reaction to very messed up circumstances that had no buildup other than that.

the no-remorse thing - he could be remorseful and we wouldn't know. that's not even speculation, that's just saying that pretending to know whether or not he regrets things is a weak argument because we have no evidence for or against; we don't see his pov. that he doesn't show it doesn't say anything, it's a vital part of his character that he doesn't show what he's thinking.

"friends support each other" yes, and none of c!dream's "friends" ever did. it's a contrast with how much support for example tommy, tubbo, or wilbur got. not saying they weren't all abandoned as well, but no one has been alone to the point c!dream was or completely emotionally isolated for so long. his experience in this way is unique, and hence it's formed him in a way it hasn't anyone else.

dream didn't hurt george. he did create a place in the vault for his fish (that would be mars, not beckerson though), and he did do bad things to other people. he had reasons to be upset at someone who he didn't expect to do bad things doing them. it doesn't justify the things he said. it's a lot of explanation vs. justification when it comes to this server, and this is an example of this.

it wasn't a reaction to him being directly hurt by him, which is what you had implied (if i remember correctly) in the last post, and it wasn't right of him to do. also i agree he wasn't betraying him with what he said in prison, he'd done that a long time ago anyways.

"puffy does not dismiss people’s trauma just because they are adults, or if she does i haven’t seen strong evidence of it." jack, nikki and in a way the eggpire. dream is not far behind, but not the main example.

"you point out that she’s a guardian figure but from what i remember that lasted for a couple streams and after that wasn’t really mentioned in canon. if she really saw him like that, then maybe she would have checked up on him earlier and maybe would have told him off."

i'm pretty sure it was canonized by cc!puffy saying c!puffy isn't his biological mom, but that she sees herself as his guardian figure. so yes, she really saw him like that, and yeah, she "would've" checked up on him earlier; or rather "should've", but she didn't, and that's precisely what i'm talking about. that's not how you treat someone you allegedly see as being a guardian of. not saying c!puffy's a bad person, but she's another one c!dream was attached to and who failed to ever reach out to him before deeming him deserving of what he's (was, because admittedly it's gotten worse since) going through.

"she said at one point that he didn’t deserve to see her but she still cared about him."

this is what i mean when i say she has a moral superiority problem. like she's doing something extra by being a decent person. i know this might come across as cynical, and i swear i don't hate the character, but that sentence is very hypocritical, you must admit.

"she did try."

nope! she said she was going to try. that's the problem. i'm not talking about intentions here in the slightest, i'm talking about the actual consequences and effect it had on him as a character and why it's just very sad in my opinion that none of the people he thought were close to him stood by his side or even attempted to help him.

the entire original post was very clearly stated as not blaming most of these characters for acting in the way they did. it was "critical" of a lot of them in a way, but i never said anything negative about them other than describing things they did that had a negative effect.

i stand by that, because i truly believe they did all those things, and them having good intentions or personal feelings doesn't change that. it contextualizes them, but doesn't take away from the harm.

saying "it's not her fault" about puffy for example or that "it was just a reaction" is excusing those things, which is what i disagree with.

here is a thread as to why people like puffy or sapnap saying certain things is understandable but still very messed up, please read since it details parts of what i've said here in an arguably better way.

you also phrased the whole "she didn't abandon him either" part like he was the one who cut the ties which is not true. she wasn't there for him, is the point. another person he cared about who didn't prove to care about him enough to stop him from spiralling or try help at all.

if "they don't owe him anything" is your base argument against someone being hurt via being left by people they care about over and over again until they're utterly alone with no support system and unhealthy mindsets, we might have to agree to disagree :) /nm

please clarify if that wasn't the intention, because it sounds like it.

"i think that how people feel about it depends a lot on when they started watching, and who they were watching. the thing you have to take into consideration is that at the start of l’manburg, a lot of the roleplay was not very serious. the sides were messier than they are today. that doesn’t work or make sense for people who want to see it as only one thing, and are fixed in their ways so much that they’ll ignore canon to prove their point."

i've been watching since august and yeah, i agree. i've always seen c!dream as in the right at that point, so it's definitely different for the people who haven't seen that happen.

"you seem to have a very fixed view of wilbur: that he only wanted power, that he enjoyed tearing people apart, that he lied all the time, and that he was attempting to paint dream as something he wasn’t."

to be fair, you seem to have a very fixated view of wilbur too. i do think he wanted power, but also just to revolt for the sake of it - i don't think he straight up enjoyed it but it was a means to his ends, i don't think he lied all the time but he lied much more than people realize, and i don't think he just attempted, i dare to say he was extremely successful.

"you also see him as conscious of what he was doing the entire time, and sort of treating the war like a game."

i'd say a story or narrative is a much more fitting metaphor. also yeah he's so much smarter than people give him credit for, but i guess covering it up was intentional as well, because manipulation ain't meant to be obvious at first sight now is it? like for example c!dream, that man was awful at it. he's just. so bad. unironically. he did cause a lot of harm, not diminishing that, but man. his manipulation is the clumsiest thing i've ever seen, people calling him a puppeteer is such an overstatement, it's really funny to me.

now c!wilbur? he was really good at it. that's what i mean by "you need more than intelligence", because emotions are stronger than critical thinking and can be exploited easier. all the sentimentality around l'manberg is a great example.

"wilbur didn’t go around trying to recruit people by saying “dream is bad”." yeah no he started by straight up lying to fundy when they first met (if you rewatch the hot dog van video, there's really no denying that), then he lied some more to tubbo while praising him every time he followed his orders, i don't completely remember eret's recruitment, and tommy looked up to him since the beginning, and it's very easy to see that c!wil took advantage of that.

he did tell people they needed to revolt against tyranny though, that's precisely what he did and how he got them to side with him in the war. by tyranny he meant everyone in the server who wasn't european, picking dream as the scapegoat since he had the most power (not by establishing it in any way, but simply by being skilled) and it was smart to do that, not gonna lie!

"weak businessman" is just not true. he was planning to "use the tommyinnits of the world" aka, the "young and naive" (his words, not mine) ones whom he could "mold", in order to establish a capitalist empire based on stealing from people while lying to them about saving them from being sick.

this man was planning to take power from the start and he was going to use lies to get what he needed. from the beginning i have no reason to believe why he would change his goals when he proceeded to do that very thing and achieve it, just put "revolution" instead of "business" as a guise of what he was actually doing.

"you quoted revivedbur’s stream as proof it was, which is funny because despite saying wilbur is someone who lies you missed a kind of big one." yeah, as someone who mentioned people ignoring canon earlier you missed kind of a big one.

the only reason people disbelieve this is not because it doesn't align with canon, but because they assume he's lying for the sole reason that it doesn't align with the way they see canon.

the reason i believe it is not because i believe a word c!wilbur says (i never have and never will), but because it aligns with what actual evidence has been saying from the start, as well as the way cc!wilbur talks about the character. it's simply further confirmation of what many people already knew; an extension even, if you will.

people tend to take things characters say at face value and then use it as their only evidence; "if you want to hear why l’manburg was created, you have to listen to wilbur when he created it."

what they actually ignore is you know, the actions, not the words. according to his actions and all known laws of logic, he was lying since the beginning, and that is the point. and it makes sense for him to lie, unlike in alivebur's case.

"i say he cared about l’manburg because it drove him to death."

yeah he did care! cc!wilbur said so! he also said he cared about it in a twisted way and that he had an unhealthy view of possessions. he thought l'manberg his and no one else's, a weapon of power for him to use however he pleases.

unlike dream who destroyed himself bit by bit trying to take back what he cares about, because it was not power, but people - wilbur saw no more worth in it and destroyed it instead. his own death and spiral was a collateral, because that isn't a healthy mindset either.

interesting foils, actually, i didn't notice that before.

"the whole time wilbur was attempting to portray a character who was a chronic liar and manipulator, and it was all planned out from the start. purely because of the chaos of season one i don’t think this is possible."

i reckon you're underestimating cc!wilbur here. that man could play a convincing, complex, morally messed up character while roleplaying with kindergarteners.

"and, you know, if he’s saying “dream is not our enemy” that hardly sounds like forcing a narrative onto him?" i mean i don't think i need to give evidence as to wilbur calling him a tyrant right after. i was just talking about how hypocritical and downright ridiculous his later accusations are, which you didn't address.

"because what he’s saying is that dream’s actions are tyrannical, his rule is tyrannical, not him." no actually, he said right after; 'big words, that's what we use in war', about calling him that, so i don't reckon that is the case. he was calling him that for the sake of it, and later on everyone ended up believing him about that despite there being no evidence. i must admit, the man's very good at what he does. he constantly changes the narrative to whatever benefits him and somehow gets away unnoticed. that was my point.

dream didn't tell sapnap it was a bad idea because it wasn't...? wilbur was going around stealing from people while lying to them. wil was framing himself to be the victim. like the whole "drugs" bit was funny but wilbur was only making drugs to estabilish, once again, a capitalistic empire he would be in charge of, on dream's land, and he was also doing it via dishonest means.

the intentions never changed, it was simply the way it was achieved that did, which switched from just lying to straight up propaganda when people managed to stop him at first.

so yes, wilbur's definition of tyranny very much was being stopped from stealing.

so yeah, even if dream would've done the same to them, he a hundred percent would be in the right, but he didn't even do that much, which makes wil's accusations all the more ridiculous.

just because sapnap was fighting against being stolen from - and others being stolen from - doesn't make him tyrannical or a government. your teacher in school isn't a government just because she has authority of some kind?

"wilbur’s problem was that sapnap could do that and get away with it." well then that's his problem, because people should be able to get away with protecting themselves and others from people trying to rob everyone on the server of a specific item and then gain power from selling rare supplies.

also it was sapnap and tubbo, they both did the same thing, and wilbur didn't seem to have that much of a problem with tubbo, now did he? he accepted him right after he gave them supplies, then rejected sapnap when he did the same. the people he was accusing of being tyrannical were very selective, and he seemed to be also selectively choosing whoever he was "protecting" from said "tyranny". though i guess "using the tommyinnits of the server" also included using tubbo, now didn't it?

"i highly, highly doubt that was what it was written as at the time."

yeah, dream did quote the lion king, but that doesn't change the way that it was anarchy. dream's "no factions" thing he had going on also included no government by default, showcased by him having problems with people starting countries. if it wasn't anarchy, what was it then? because that's literally the only thing that fits. there was no government and even dream described it as a "family" rather than any form of hierarchy, so i don't get your point. some people are going to have better things than others, and they'll be able to protect themselves and others better, but there is no system in place, that's literally how anarchy works. their mock court with no actual laws enforced by no one doesn't count i don't think.

the fact they thought they had a reason to attack her doesn't change the fact that they attacked first, so dream had all the reasons to believe they were aggressive and was fully justified in declaring war. this makes the statement "dream attacked first" untrue as well.

wilbur knew what he was doing, he knew he was going to scam people for power. if he thought he was being mistreated he could just stop trying to mistreat others.

i do agree it became a lot of other things for other people. i think that's one of the reasons wilbur destroyed it though; it was supposed to be his l'manberg.

if the power was supposed to "let him do what he wanted" then that's quite ironic considering what he wanted was power (you know, the reason he started the drug empire in the first place), not because he wanted to "make drugs undisturbed". that is quite literally an obvious lie he used when they first started and somehow people have totally forgotten that was not the truth.

"he didn't want power over others" cc!wilbur said he wanted to have power over l'manberg because he thought it was something worth having power over. if you consider l'manberg the people, then your statement would be untrue. then again, maybe he simply wanted to have something be fully his because of his possessive nature.

"he would lie about his past actions out of a place of self hatred." is just. reaching, with all due respect. this man might be mentally unstable, but that makes literally no sense when the day before he was saying how he had "plans to make". he thinks ahead, always.

"what if one person wants the “freedom” to attack another? it’s still technically allowed, but obviously it’s morally wrong." yeah that's what i mean by not infringing on the rights of others. in that case they shouldn't have that freedom, just like wilbur shouldn't have the freedom to restrict others' freedom.

also i see the whole "words" schtick as manipulation because it was. they said they "fought with words", like that doesn't sound like a peaceful solution, more like a different approach, and it was because that is what they did.

other people believed in the ideals of l'manberg and they protected it for good reasons, but that doesn't change the fact it was build on lies by a liar and it did exactly what it was meant to do - it divided people.

i actually talk about it in this post here!

"wilbur was saying that he wanted to create something important." nope, the quote continues something like "make them think it's important because you want to have power over it, when it's not." here's the link to the whole clip.

"wilbur showed in the first war that that wasn’t his main motive" i've already said why i find this misinformation. he said it, he didn't show it, and that is because it isn't true.

the "something worth" part is just. taking things out of context to the point they're something completely different. yes, it was worth something to wilbur, and that worth was power. that's literally what that means.

the greater smp did represent anarchy and peace. that were the ideals c!dream was fighting for, and still was later on, that much was obvious if you look deeper into his character, so i'm not going to argue, other than that based on the information i have, it's incorrect.

"someone who wanted peace at the start and someone who tried to protect the thing and people he loved." see you tell me you didn't fall for propaganda and then say this. the thing he loved was his own personal power, and that was the end of it. if he wanted peace he wouldn't be starting factions and accusing people of being tyrannical while he himself was trying to estabilish an empire. i'm not saying he's an awful person, they're all morally grey, but that's just what all the actual evidence points to.

"your view shows him as lying about practically everything to everyone all the time, never caring about the citizens, and striving for conflict."

again, i don't believe he liked conflict for its own sake, but he did create division for his own benefit the way i see it.

yeah wilbur said it genuinely to tubbo when he first brought him armor; when the rule was first established. here's the post where i found it.

wilbur was never a dictator because people didn't listen to him, which is why he did the whole election thing, with his other plan than a democratic election with no democracy being this:

Wilbur: “We can either, Tommy, right – we can either become a dictatorship, okay…we can just suddenly decide, ‘right, we’re in charge,’ and we just start – we start asserting our dominance. Now the key thing to being a dictator, is we need to control the center of power…so we get an army going –”

Tommy: “What is the center of power? Is it like some cube, or like an orb?”

Wilbur: “The army! The army! The banks, you know? We take control of those, and then people will do exactly as we say, right? That’s the dictatorship route, right. The other route is the democracy route. Now, this route’s gonna be slightly harder, but I have a plan. So I was thinking…what better way of making people believe that you’re in charge than by having them vote for you, right?”

so uh, i wouldn't be so quick to say he didn't plan on being oppressive to his people. he was literally planning to start an army and take total control of the economy to "assert dominance" over his own people -because he didn't think they respected his authority enough and was irritated by it - but instead defaulted to lies and manipulation of the crowd. you see a pattern already?

"the feelings of l’manburg were more like friends than a hierarchy even though he was technically in charge." this is the thing with dream though, except there was. actually no hierarchy. the original dream smp was this but actually true instead of just being a front. no one actually needed l'manberg, wilbur made them think they did. tubbo and sapnap used to be friends before this. the friendships inside of it could've existed without, and would've probably been better off without being stained by war.

wilbur didn't fear for anyone's safety, and i don't get where you would get that conclusion. the dream smp was already safe, people like dream and sapnap were making it safe.

"people that were already in l’manburg had been affected firsthand by dream. they knew what he was capable of and so were fighting for l’manburg and each other, not because wilbur told them to." i don't find this true at all, please elaborate because i have reasons to believe this is incorrect.

the quote you’ve listed is very interesting to me, because it first of all shows dream’s “ends justify the means” mentality (that is also shown in an explanation of his motives during moments like this, which happened after the war), as well as trying to end the war as soon as he could.

the dream smp was freedom. the freedom wilbur was asking for was the freedom to take the land, take the people dream considered his friends, divide them and create a government.

wilbur was verbally aggressive with dream since the beginning, back when he was cocky. this only shows that dream was one of the few people who didn’t fall for his words. his main point in his motivation during the war was not wanting to give them independence, which would be, well, giving wilbur power over the land *and* the people. so i think from his position this is extremely understandable.

but back to the topic at hand, wilbur’s speech here means literally nothing, because it’s as untrue as everything he’s said before - in both intention and meaning - as well as being a last attempt at turning the situation in his favor using words. he said he was a peaceful businessman back when he was robbing people, and not like that meant anything when his actions said otherwise. both sides had their losses and were ready to harm the other, neither was the victim, no matter how good wil is at playing one.

dream was giving them chances over and over again. you can literally see he wasn’t hurting them because he wanted to, even despite it being war he was willing to step away at any moment should the other side surrender. and, well, of course dream’s perspective wouldn’t mean anything to wilbur, because he had his own, and he knew no one was going to believe dream anyways; he made sure of it.

i’m not saying he wanted violence, but that doesn’t mean he was good or pacifistic. he was *ready* to be violent if needed (see the armor quote again as well as the fact they literally fought), but i too would be happy if i was able to to colonize someone’s land without any resistance or conflict if you know what i mean. guess wilbur realized rather quickly words wouldn’t work on dream, which is why he got verbally violent and didn’t seem opposed to fighting him later on (during the actual war).

reminds me of exile, in a way. can’t get them to listen to you and give you what you want? get them out of the way in a different manner.

either way, point is; i’m sure wilbur didn’t want to fight, i don’t think him a fan of violence *at all* but he was the instigator and was ready to perpetuate war to get what he wanted. (see him also being willing to make an army to control his citizens, but using underhanded tactics instead to make people think they were voting for him.)

the whole “dream attacked the child soldiers and was always the one to start it” is quickly negated by the way dream constantly asked them to give up instead of fighting. it was literally wilbur who pushed them to go on and risk (and lose) their lives. dream’s said later on that he “had to” do what he did (he was being genuine here), which means he, in a way, felt responsible for stopping wilbur & l’manberg. he didn’t want to be violent, but unlike wilbur, he wasn’t going to be able to talk them out of it. it makes sense he would turn to threats and intimidation to try and get them to surrender first, i mean, what other choice was there?

l’manberg weren’t the ones forced to fight, is what i’m getting at.

dream wasn’t any more violent than wilbur, it’s just wil was better at non-violent, but still morally reprehensible, ways of getting his way, and he used them to his full advantage. neither of them wanted violence for the sake of it, and i never said that; i just said wilbur’s “pacifist” schtick was a total ruse, and never meant anything about his actual “peacefulness”, which i still find true.

as for the whole “manipulated or didn’t manipulate” thing with the vassal scene, the first link i sent here i think describes my stance quite well. but it’s very interesting to note that there’s a theory wilbur legitimately thinks dream selfish, which is why he said that - either way, the effect remains, dream was essentially shut down after trying to gain back people’s trust and help out who he considered the “good side”.

dream was very obviously making efforts, giving tommy and techno as well as the pogtopia cause as a whole a whole lot of supplies, including his crossbow which he had a personal attachment to. he expressed outwardly that he was on their side, to the point where he refused to call l’manberg “manberg” and then was caught off-guard when wilbur called it that during the vassal conversation.

dream was attached to tommy, as shown by fighting for him during the eiffel tower conflict, and also helping him overall. their relationship was always very interesting, but after the l’manberg war, their friendship never really changed - tommy scammed the discs back, that had at that point legally belonged to dream, but he didn’t seem to hold even that against him as he tried to help get back l’manberg with him. they were the sort of friends who would tease each other to hell an back and fight on the battlefield each other but still have friendly vibes… you know what i mean?

i think this is why exile hurt so much, to me. that i believe they had genuinely been friends once, before it went downhill at a hella steep inclide. but enough me rambling about what had once been my comfort duo and is now utterly unsalvageable.

either way, he was attached to the people involved, because a lot of the character strongly indicates he has a sense of responsibility (not control) over the people on his smp. it’s the reason he’d always get involved in conflicts other people started, like pogtopia.

his fatal flaw has always been caring too much after all - and not being cared about back, because sometimes, that’s just how life works. that’s what destroyed him. that’s literally the character, so saying he “could’ve just walked away” is dismissing pretty much his entire personality, but hey, i don’t blame you, just pointing it out.

the thing is wilbur did force him to make a terribly hard decision. dream could either give him the tnt, ally with the self-proclaimed bad guys, or let wilbur get back his power and go mad with ambition - not saying it would happen, but it’s what wilbur threatened to do. keep in mind dream’s main concerns about this whole conflict was schlatt going to war with the dream smp, as expressed by himself, and so wilbur saying he would genuinely do the same if he became president again was literally backing dream up into a corner.

“if dream thought wilbur was being a villain”

Wilbur: How much would you say that me and Tommy are kind of the bad guys here? We… We… I mean, we-

Dream: I don’t think you guys are the bad guys.

i… don’t know where you got that from, maybe you misunderstood something i said, but no, he definitely didn’t. until wilbur convinced him, that is.

“i’m also going to say that “villainization” and “calling out someone for hurting you” are not the same thing.”

yeah, they are. and dream was villainized.

so uh, first of all, wilbur literally said he was going to “use the tommyinnits of the world” in order to establish his capitalistic empire, then he called tommy “young”, “naïve”, and said that he likes him because he can build a foundation upon him, after which tommy questioned him and he said not to worry about it.

wilbur proceeded to lie to everyone including tommy about dream, the country he was establishing, to the point where tommy is seen confused in both the vassal scene and the revivedbur scene - asking why he would ally himself with dream both times, because he genuinely thought he was a bad person, a “dictator” they were fighting against.

wilbur didn’t reply either time, because he knew very well what he had done and he intended for tommy to think that.

during the entirely establishment he was exploiting the clingyduo not knowing anything about politics in order to enforce unhealthy patriotism onto them. he forced tommy to give up his hill-house and turn it into an embassy, guilt-tripping him by saying he doesn’t care about the cause (which was a lie) and that he can just leave if he doesn’t intend on being loyal.

and then there’s this scene:

Tommy: “Look at me in the eyes when I’m talking to you – There’s been some proper tyranny.”

[Wilbur pushes Tommy off the wall]

Wilbur: “Don’t tell me what to do, alright? You’re getting out of your comfort zone. Who’s the President? Tommy, who’s the President?”

Tommy: “How dare you, how dare you, you must respect manners, Wilbur! There are manners! There is a common etiquette that everyone must follow, my friend!”

Wilbur: “Tommy, who’s the President?”

Tommy: “…You’re the President.”

Wilbur: “Good lad, now come back.”

Tommy: “I – you’re gonna have to drop down a ladder, I’m not sure how we’re gonna –”

Wilbur: “Walk ‘round, walk ‘round, Mr. Vice President.”

and this is just before pogtopia. after this, wilbur proceeded to continue this kind of behaviour on tommy, with the whole “you’re never gonna be president” schtick - here we can see it actually didn’t start in pogtopia. wilbur had been pushing tommy down before in order to estabilish his own power and demand respect.

basically, tommy has been used by every adult figure he’s ever trusted and looked up to. which is part of why wilbur’s behaviour being ignored irks me so much, besides other things.

“when he was faced with a problem, he went for someone’s attachments as an attempt to get things back, and at this point hadn’t been called a villain. i see this as another precursor to the vault, again, the signs were there. the initial conflict of the disk war ended in general peace, it was the fact that dream never gave up those disks and continued to try and use them against tommy that hurt him.”

i disagree with this analysis of dream. he went for the discs because they were physically valuable at the time - tommy had only two, and he grinded hours for them, much like dream for his tools and armor. tommy formed an attachment to them as a result of the disc war, not the other way around.

he continued to use them for their attachment to get back l’manberg and then forcibly getting them back when the chance was provided.

dream didn’t use them once against c!tommy before he himself multiple times showcased how much he cared about them despite there being other discs at that point. dream only used them as placebo tokens to skeppy in order to get back something he was actually attached to, if i remember correctly.

dream fell deeper into using attachment because it became the only way to control his surroundings. no one had ever actually listened to him, and groups of people that had formed were too powerful for him to simply take on without reprocussions.

not only that, he became to lose control of everything - his friend’s house got burnt down and he wanted the person who did it to be held accountable? the leather of his dead horse got used to blackmail him! he was taught this from experience, not because he was “high on the power” or whatever your are implying was the reason.

“when he had then seen that dream would willingly hurt him, he began to call dream that and mean it.” he was taught dream to call dream a tyrant by wilbur, that’s literally what happened in canon. he did genuinely think he was a villain before the war, because that’s what wilbur told him and he trusted wilbur.

i am not taking everything wilbur says as truth. that man lies his mouth off every time he appears on screen. it’s just a character acknowledging what people who looked deeper into the narrative already knew. i’m not going to assume someone is lying when i logically know what he’s saying matches up with what i know to be true.

either way, here’s some more analyses on the subject you might wanna read to understand my points better and be able to more thoroughly rebut them: (1, 2, 3)

“with the sam thing, i am fairly certain that intentional withholding of food would be considered direct torture, and if that has not been retconned i would be surprised, but i don’t know.”

i… am genuinely sort of baffled at why you would think that? the prison arc is literally made to be about c!sam’s corruption, the mistreatment of dream (including mental and physical abuse) and c!quackity’s manipulation of the situation of his own gain. there is no reason to retcon the torture they put in on purpose? the prison arc is supposed to parallel exile and humanize dream. the people who have been analysing it all agree on that.

here’s a shorter (and outdated) list of the ways in which pandora’s is inhumane and here’s a longer one including things implied and more in-depth about c!sam and c!dream.

“the conditions are harsh and it’s interesting to remember that dream was the one who commissioned them in the first place (not meaning he deserves them, just food for thought)”

no, take your food back, i have heard this as a genuine excuse too many times by now. c!dream didn’t tell c!sam to physically and mentally abuse him. in fact he said that people would only be put in the main cell for 14 days max (the maximum amount of days before it becomes classified as torture by the united nations - man’s did his research), and they would have free reign of the prison. there have even been changes to the way the cell works since he’s been put in. he wasn’t going to subject anyone to the sort of thing he’s going through.

the only reason it’s happening to him is because people hate him and want him to suffer. the people of the server put him there because they thought they could use him later on, it’s a literal vault for a human being to be stored for later use, and it’s disgusting. people didn’t want him in the prison. they didn’t put him there to protect themselves. they were fully willing to kill him, and the only reason he is still alive is that they thought of him as an item and wanted to use his capabilities. (dream also buying into it, as he does with everything this godforsaken narrative enforces upon him, “i am the book”.)

i know it’s roleplay, but i’m emotionally invested in this arc, and it’s just so incredibly dark on purpose which people seem to ignore, so sorry for ranting.

“you say that you never said sam molded him into what he became, but you accuse the people of affecting dream and therefore forcing him into the role of the villain. i feel as if that is a type of molding?”

i’m saying no one molded dream on purpose, but what they all did (or should’ve done but didn’t) affected him in a very negative way nonetheless and should be acknowledged.

also, calling dream a monster or standing by while he gets ruthlessly murdered after following all orders and putting away all his armor and weapons isn’t very helpful of them.

“you saw it as skeppy “twisting his words”. this seems to be an example of someone calling dream on his crap, yeah? just because he’s twisting to defend himself doesn’t mean the other person is trying to make him be something he doesn’t want to be, it means that he’s uncomfortable or unable to deal with confrontation of his own acts and will attempt to justify them.”

no. i made an entire analysis of their interaction. that’s literally what he did, there is no softening that punch.

Dream: Anyway, um - you’re really making me out to be a bad guy! Like-

Dream: Look, we HAD to fight that war, okay? We had to fight that war, it was a necessary evil.

Skeppy: [Wheezes] No, it w- You’re telling me, you started the war too?

Dream: Yes! Because - listen-

Skeppy: You started it? It wasn’t even them, you started it-

Dream: Listen, they - they made a Declaration of Independence-

Skeppy: You one day woke up and said, “they don’t deserve that tiny piece of land”?

Dream: Well no, cause they made, they made a-

Skeppy: That’s literally what happened, one day you woke up and you said-

he continuously cuts him off while dream nervously expresses his discomfort over skeppy making him out to be the villain, and his refusal to listen. here’s my analysis of the interaction if you’d like to read it.

“i think it’s unfair to say that nobody tried to help him. people still treated him with respect and kindness for a long time and with those bonds it was ultimately him that cut them.”

no. name one bond that he cut first. george and sapnap? they left him first. sam, puffy, punz? he wasn’t as close with them, but he didn’t cut any of them off before they showed up during the disc finale ready to kill him. if that doesn’t count as them cutting attachments or abandoning him then i… don’t really know what you would call it?

“it feels a little victim-blamey to say that if only they had treated the guy hurting them better, maybe he wouldn’t have hurt them as much.” “you do say that dream is responsible for his actions, but you place the reason he did his actions on other people, effectively blaming them for how he turned out. this rubs me the wrong way because a lot of the people you accuse of doing this were people directly being harmed by him, and so it ends up sounding like they’re at fault for their own pain.”

well, it’s true, though? he was hurt and abandoned to the point when he didn’t care about hurting others anymore. that’s it. that’s his character arc. it’s not “victim-blamey”, it’s a fact. just because he ended up hurting people doesn’t negate the fact he was hurt himself first. the environment they all were a part of pushed him this far, and that’s just what happened.

the dream smp is a literal cycle of violence perpetuated by each and every one of them, and it’s awful for all of them. the problem is that they refuse to see things from others’ perspective and end up hurting each other as a result, which dream is a prime example of. that’s just the plot of the story, not victim-blaming anyone.

see the second to last line of my original post. “the entire dream smp is absolutely screwed, and every single one of them needs therapy.”

here’s another thread about that, actually!

i’m blaming the environment which includes the actions (which were often - not always - unintentional mistakes) of the individuals, i’m not saying they “brought this upon themselves” or anything of that sort. everyone makes mistakes and those mistakes might affect other people and how they act, but that’s not saying i’m blaming anyone for being hurt?

“sapnap still considered him a good guy up until the moment that he saw the space for beckerson in the vault.”

see you keep bringing this up but that doesn’t make sense at all. sapnap came into the vault before he saw that. he made the conscious decision to ally himself with tommy during doomsday before he saw that. he accused dream of not caring about him and george, and left to make his own country before he saw that. you get the point?

the vault was the direct consequence of the hurt he’d endured, so i don’t see why you would ever list it as a reason for people abandoning him? the prison is just them continuing it, although at this point they might have actual reasons, it doesn’t negate the fact that they ignore his bad conditions and even perpetuate them.

“dream was not alone until he chose to be alone. it was tragic that he chose that, but it was ultimately his choice and this is evidenced by the vault.”

people do not decide to isolate themselves for no reason. people started cutting him off first, they turned against him first, they made him the villain first, they used what he loved against him first, they told him he couldn’t ever achieve peace first. he only cut himself off only after all of that happened, and i would’ve done the same! you would’ve done the same. it was a defence mechanism that only sent him deeper down his mental spiral, but it was a reaction, not a decision he made. the vault is a physical embodiment of how deep down he went and how bad his state of mind had gotten overtime through neglect.

also, you might wanna give the vault vod a rewatch as well, and then tell me the person saying those things is mentally healthy and definitely doesn’t need help.

oh! also, a thread on attachment about dream. worth a read.

just because a response is an overreaction or wrong doesn’t make it any less of a response. nearly all of the things dream did was a reaction of some sort.

he lists his reason for starting the war as them declaring independence, so i don’t think it really matters when the official document was sent.

“he also initiated the final disk conflict, with the clear intention of murdering tubbo and putting tommy in the prison as a sort of thing for his amusement. he said multiple times that he found the struggle with tommy “fun”, and said their fight wasn’t over because he personally found it engaging to torment another person, and that was how he got power.”

oh yeah, that definitely seems like something the guy who’s only ever listed his reasons as being peace and has been mentally declining ever since would be completely honest about in front of his biggest enemy. /s

the thing is, the way dream behaves in front of tommy is starkly different than everyone else. c!dream sees him as the “hero” and himself as the “villain”, which is why the pushing of the narrative on his part is so strong when they interact.

besides, so many things he says simply don’t match up at all.

basically, he is very obviously playing a part when he says things like this. nothing he says like that matches up with anything else about his character, and that’s the only explanation. besides, this man’s evil monologues are straight out of a “how to be a scary villain” book.

no discredit to cc!dream of course, but it’s like that intentionally. cc!dream has said after this that c!dream is “reserved” not only about his feelings but also about his “plans” and “intentions”. that quite doesn’t match up with what he yells at the top of his lungs during that scene, now does it? his mask’s very convincing, to be fair, so i don’t blame you. he’s gotten good at playing his part over the years, which makes sense seeing as it was always expected of him, and other people would talk for him if he didn’t do it himself.

“there are a lot of conflicts that dream has started.”

...alright? list any other ones besides the last one?

“buying his line of “only caring about unity” and “trying to prevent chaos” … he uses this many times as an excuse for his actions, and the fact that he was still excusing and justifying his actions makes me think that he still genuinely believed he was right.”

well yes, because he does believe that. he uses the excuse because it’s true. the justification isn’t right of course, but he is not lying when he says those are his motivations, which is backed up by his prior explanations as well as actions. i am not buying anything, it’s what’s become evident from analysing him that that is what he wants to achieve. it doesn’t excuse anything, but saying that’s truly his end goal isn’t incorrect.

becoming a control freak as a result of feeling the loss of control over your own circumstances isn’t equal to dehumanizing the people you’re trying to control.

he didn’t ever take george’s personal freedom. he didn’t start using attachments because he thought it was convenient. i have literally no idea where you’re getting these claims from.

“dream’s actions during exile and the vault do not look like those of a man who is trying to get better but thinks he “has” to be something. honestly, it looks like a guy on a power trip who thinks he’s god and is going to try and prove it.”

both of those are wild misinterpretation of the character. which is understandable seeing as you’ve said already you never tried to look deeper into him, but it’s incorrect nonetheless.

he was trying to get better up until the 16th, which is when the bad things that happened to him stopped going up and instead went downhill, like, really fast. alright, that metaphor probably makes no sense, but you get the point. he had stopped trying at the point of exile, is the point. but he also does think he has to be something in order to “fix” his home.

he wasn’t on a power trip at all, he didn’t have a god complex up until the prison stripped him of all his dignity and then threw an opportunity at him, and he wasn’t trying to prove anything to anyone. that’s an easily debunkable assumption, but, well, guess it’s easy to make.

“there is a clip in which dream says he doesn’t really care how others see him and he doesn’t care if they think he’s bad.” yeah, i know he said that a couple of times. that’s him going numb after he was affected by how others saw him for way too long, which is completely natural. again, a psychological defence mechanism. him saying that he doesn’t mind others calling him a villain or a monster and even seems to agree that his methods are villainous but has just stopped caring makes the situation all the more messed up. makes the character all the more tragic.

“it requires dream to be lying about how he feels all the time. not technically impossible, because he does not talk about emotions.” he is emotionally repressed. it’s not just “not technically impossible”, it’s likely and fits perfectly into his character arc in canon.

“and if a writer is telling their story in a way that only makes sense if you disregard everything they say, i feel like it’s not very good storytelling, unless that is the entire point and the character is based on that.”

see, you get the point here. cc!wilbur is literally the man with an arg around him that has still not been solved. why would he hand us everything on a silver platter? why would he not force us to dig deeper and look beneath what is widely accepted? he literally talks about unreliable narrators constantly poking fun at how the audience seems to take things the characters say at face value, and i’d say early c!wilbur is a prime example of that. it is good storytelling because cc!wilbur pulls it off brilliantly.

it’s also called “the metanarrative”, which is a giant focus of the dream smp if you look closer, especially during the time cc!wilbur has been writing it, especially the establishment of l’manberg where he constantly talks hypocritically on purpose (he said something along the lines of “dream, you can’t just come onto someone’s land and take it for yourself, are you an idiot?” during the early days along with other things e. g. blatant trump references “we’ll build a wall and make the mexicans pay for it”, which i find hilarious) and you know what, good for him. people not being able to tell things go deeper than their feelings is, you know, valid, but also fun to watch, and cc!wilbur’s a controlled chaotic crimeboy.

“people stood by dream. people helped him.” none of them did that for long. “dream still had a system up until the moment he isolated himself” his main support system left by themselves.

i think you’re sort of purposefully discarding a lot of things and misinterpreting the character. it also seems you’re strongly biased against c!dream, which, to be fair, the majority of the fandom is.

look, i don’t want to attack your feelings about characters. you think what you want. but i’m basing my assumptions on evidence and also try to bring up evidence when i think people are misunderstanding because i believe it’s important to know the full truth. however, i understand the desire to not change your opinions if you feel attached to your current perspective - it's a piece of entertainment, you enjoy it the way you want to. you asked about it first though, so i’m giving you my opinion. we can stop at any time if you feel like we’re not getting anywhere, i’m completely fine with that.

i don’t want to seem aggressive, but i feel like at some points we’re just going in circles. would you consider talking over discord chat (better at writing longer messages than tumblr messages) so we can tackle each problem individually in real-time? no worries if you don’t, just thought it could work rather well to get somewhere in our discussion.

also, sorry for the surely numerous typos in this reply. i didn't have the mental energy to go back and proofread.

either way, have a nice day.

#discourse #long post #c!wilbur critical #c!sam critical

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the-lightning-strikes-again · 3 years

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Posting this for @pilotkinkade in response to their recent post made here, regarding concerns about VLD and how it includes white savior complex or potentially smears Allura’s character with that complex. I’m not reblogging directly because this is a long response lol. Thank you pilotkinkade for chatting earlier; I hope you find this post interesting at least and would be curious of your thoughts in return!

---

I do agree with your general sentiments, that VLD takes on a disquieting savior complex throughout a good portion of the show, even more so than in previous Voltron iterations. For me, it feels most apparent in the way that Voltron as an all-powerful machine in VLD is piloted by its second generation.

To compare: In the original OG alliance (Alfor, Zarkon, Trigel, Gyrgan, and Blaytz), multiple major races were represented, functioning as one to save their own collective galaxy from threats. So even among the OG paladins, there were checks and balances (maybe Zarkon had the strongest military skills personally, but Alfor had the alchemy, etc.), with mass racial diversity. This seemed like a pretty innovative and cool addition to the Voltron franchise. The s3 finale also clarifies that, unlike VLD’s second-generation, all of these paladins were leaders of their people. This meant they had political and legal authority/experience that an average warrior or citizen wouldn’t.

By removing that whole structure and retrofitting Voltron with (mostly) a group of unprepared teenagers from a single planet entirely uninvolved in the universal conflict, it created a lot of strange hierarchies...

We see much of the known universe raise up people who had zero prior experience with war, and little to no military or diplomatic training, as well as very little awareness of the traumas or people groups involved in this war. (Shiro is possibly the exception here.) But suddenly, all of these paladins also had unfettered, largely unquestioned access to ultimate power to carry out whatever vision they felt was right in the moment. Because simply “might is right,” we see even highly experienced commanders like Kolivan become castrated in authority compared to Team Voltron. Various alien groups express upset or side-eye Team Voltron’s well-meaning actions but obvious insensitivity to/ignorance of their problems or fears. Even at the paladin-level, a princess trained to fight and lead is subordinated to a boy with zero leadership training whatsoever (which is very different from previous iterations where Keith was actually very competent, more experienced, and wanted to be a leader).

And when Voltron plays the unchecked judge, jury, and executioner across the entire universe, the new paladins as a whole also do not have the political or legal authority the OG pallies did in the boundaries of their own galaxy. The second-gen paladins are not authorities of their people or representative of the people groups affected in the war they’re now leading. The OG pallies built the actual legend of Voltron in less than 28 decaphoebs, clearly going beyond their 5 nations to help others suffering from natural disasters or unknown needs, which might raise some eyebrows perhaps because we don’t know what all that entailed. But while we see that the Voltron machine eventually got celebrated, the OG pallies are never shown personally soaking in some kind of savior celebration…

(Photo ID: Alfor says, “Why I joined up this band of scoundrels, I’ll never know.” Trigel responds, “Because we’re the only band of scoundrels that would have you.” Third screenshot is of the paladins celebrating their alliance win by themselves.)

…compared to second-gen paladins (or some anyway) who pretty clearly soak in the love and prestige they’ve received based off the historical and legendary precedence of the OG alliance’s work:

(Photo IDs: Lance taking selfies with aliens excited to be around paladins. A second screenshot of Lance daydreaming about being a universal savior, stomping on Zarkon, planting a flag to mark ownership, and having Allura stare up at him in worship.)

In fact, a lot of the pro-Voltron war propaganda relies heavily more on recreating the legend already built for them, than on the actual competency or experience of the current paladins:

(Photo ID: Pidge complains about the war propaganda scripts, “This isn’t even factually accurate.” Coran replies, “Well, this is the Legend of Voltron, not the documentary of Voltron.”)

On that note, we even see the scripts reverse who is actually the most competent or capable of performing.

(Photo ID: Coran says, “Ladies and gentle-aliens, bear witness as the Paladins of Voltron attack Zarkon’s base to save the helpless Princess Allura!”)

Coran’s script, however well-meant, pretty massively infantilizes Allura as someone who needs to be saved by an external force, rather than mentioning her as someone who is an active and critical ally of the Voltron paladins in this war.

Unlike Coran’s script, Princess Allura isn’t helpless. In terms of the second-generation paladins, she’s has the most war-time experience, and is also the one that the paladins lean on constantly to create a meaningful connection with other people groups who are otherwise hesitant about Voltron.

(Photo ID: Allura speaks to the Balmeran people, “Balmerans, this is Princess Allura. You don’t know me, but I am here to help. I know what it’s like to watch your home planet die.”)

Allura is the successor to the Altean monarchy and a direct victim of the OG galaxy wars. So unlike other second-gen paladins, she has some semblance of legal/political authority that she was actively trained for, as well as personal skin in the game. She is ultimately the only paladin who has experienced a mass omnicide of her home and people, similar to other victims of the Galra regime. She also still accepts the authority of her father, whose AI tells her in season 1 to be prepared to sacrifice everything to undo his mistakes.

We see Allura from that point onward functioning under that directive from her father and king—to sacrifice everything she has to end Zarkon’s regime. One could potentially make the argument that, within this structure, Allura might suffer from a certain subset of “white knight syndrome,” in which one feels they’re worthless if they’re not sacrificing for others. If I have my facts right, it’s a different psychological state from white savior complex (in which I define white savior complex as “when someone outside the issue at hand barges in to make a change that may or may not benefit the recipient, simply to make themselves feel better or appear useful, without regard to the recipient’s wishes or real needs”). But I feel even the comparison of “white knight syndrome” gets dicey. Because Allura is shown as acting happy without necessarily sacrificing things (in fact, she acts progressively depressed s7-s8, the more she has to give up intrinsic things about herself or her identity). But when Allura chooses to assist or sacrifice, the sacrifice she makes has a very relevant and functional impact for the people she helps.

In season 1, she chooses to sacrifice herself to save Shiro. Shiro was, at that time, the Black Paladin and leader of Voltron, so Allura saw herself as functionally the less important of the two to save since she did not pilot the universe’s only weapon against Zarkon.

With the Balmera, she similarly chooses to act because the Balmerans themselves acknowledge they are entirely out of options, and also because the Balmerans (and the Balmera itself) accept her help she offers. At this point in time, she has already established a deep personal connection with them by virtue of their shared trauma of losing their home planets.

(Photo IDs: Shay says, “We’re lost! All are trapped with no chance for escape!” Allura says, “We can’t give up.” Shay responds, “But what can be done?” The group realizes the Balmera is regenerating beneath the ship, and Shay wonders why. Allura says, “The Castle!”)

Here, Allura assumes that the Castle—which is powered by a Balmeran crystal itself—could be regenerating the Balmera. But a Balmeran elder corrects her:

(Photo ID: A Balmeran elder says, “Not just the Castle, but you, as well.”)

So Allura did not even recognize at first that she was in any way a part of the solution to the Balmera regenerating.

Regarding the Balmera act itself, I’m not sure it satisfies the conditions for a white savior complex? I’m curious about your thoughts here, because I guess I saw it happening differently, from a witchcraft perspective...

We know from both Coran and Shay that originally, Alteans were one of the historical races who sacrificed some of their own energy to replenish the Balmera when seeking a crystal:

(Photo ID: Coran saying, “In the days of old, when Alteans were given the gift of crystals from a Balmera, we would repay its sacrifice by performing a ceremony. A sacred Altean would re-infuse the Balmera with quintessence. In this way, we had a symbiotic relationship.”)

We see that Balmerans were a voluntary part of this energy exchange by virtue of their unique connective powers (which is likely why we see them kneeling and activating said powers during these ceremonies).

Shay herself seems to indicate she is highly aware of these old ceremonies:

(Photo ID: Rax says, “Everyone comes to Balmera and takes, but gives nothing in return!” Shay says, “In the past, those who took the Balmera’s crystals would replenish her with energy. It was an equal exchange.”)

Shay agrees that the ceremony itself involves a sacred exchange of life force.

So I would argue that in this case, the Balmerans are not kneeling to Allura specifically or worshiping someone—it seems to be just the imagery associated with magical spells/magical transfers (where one object in the middle is the main conduit/focal point, and the other objects surrounding help to create and sustain the spell/protective barrier, etc).

One of the basic practices in real-world witchcraft is casting a magic/ritual circle. The circle creates a space where the spell, ritual, or form of protection can be performed. Forgive the stock image, but here’s just a super basic example:

(Photo ID: A magic circle in the form of a pentagram, with a candle in the middle, compared to a screenshot of 5 Balmerans surrounding Allura in the form of a pentacle, creating a sacred space with Allura glowing in the center.)

The five points in particular mimic standard pentacle-based ritual circles designed to create a sacred space of some kind. We do see various configurations of witchcraft imagery used in other instances throughout the show, such as when the druids have to help Haggar sustain her spells:

(Photo ID: Haggar centered in a magic circle, surrounded by druids helping her complete the ritual. Haggar kneels against the glowing symbols to complete the ritual.)

I think, similar to the druids that Haggar relied upon to help her complete a spell, it can be argued that the Balmerans were an active part of the regeneration spell with Allura. We see across the entire Balmera that they magically connect to help sustain the energy transfer, because it’s a planet-wide, massive undertaking:

(Photo ID: Balmerans activating their connection to the Balmera in the middle of the sacred ceremony to regenerate the Balmera.)

To me, it felt like the Balmerans were necessary to complete this ceremony--without their agreement to this energy exchange, and without them connecting to the Balmera to assist the transfer, Allura might not have been able to connect her life force and transfer power to the whole planet.

And to complete the ceremony, Allura herself kneels as well, just as Haggar did and just as the Balmerans around her do, in connection with the Balmera:

(Photo ID: Allura kneeling alongside Balmerans to complete the ritual.)

(Which means she’s technically kneeling to at least three other Balmerans in front of her.)

So I think the kneeling imagery would not correlate to some white savior complex event as suggested.

One other thought I had is that I feel help from a “white savior” is often haphazard and pushed onto recipients regardless of their thoughts or real needs. In comparison, we know that the Balmerans were willing to try this spell with Allura and accepted her idea of attempting the ancient ceremony. The only person who expressed hesitancy is Coran, who warns Allura that this attempt could kill her.

(Photo ID: Coran warns Allura, “To heal an entire planet, it could take more energy than you possess.”)

I do think it could again be argued that Allura seriously undermines her own value and worth in an attempt to help everyone, no matter the cost, which potentially gets more into white knight syndrome born out of trauma than white savior complex born out of privilege. She snaps back at Coran for being concerned about her well-being, and then she proceeds to enact the ceremony, not knowing for sure whether she’d live or die. But Allura also knows that her life force is uniquely tied to Voltron and that she is the only one with this kind of connection to the Castle ship’s battle-class Balmera crystal—all of this makes her a very powerful capacitor in a lot of ways. Which is why she looks like this after the ceremony:

(Photo ID: Allura having collapsed in Shay’s arms after regenerating the Balmera, but her physical features are not otherwise affected.)

And not like this:

(Photo ID: A screenshot of an Altean named Petrulius from season 6, whose features are distorted after having had the life/quintessence sucked out of him.)

So to me, it seemed that Allura was enacting an ages-old, magical ceremony approved by and wanted by the Balmerans—simply on a scale that no one had ever before attempted. And it’s likely that no one else would or could attempt it, because Allura is the single character in the entire universe whose personal life force is tied to Voltron’s regenerative energy (by virtue of Alfor’s alchemy on her as mentioned in episode 1). It’s an even deeper tie to the whole machine than the transient bond between paladin and lion. No other Balmeran or Galran or Altean had that kind of tie in their life force. Likely, even Alfor would have died if he’d attempted this act himself without being connected to an infinite power source.

And after Allura saves the Balmera with assistance from Balmerans, we also do not see her like this with the Balmeran people:

(Photo ID: Lance soaking up a savior fantasy as previously mentioned in this meta.)

Instead, post-Balmera resurrection, we see it’s actually not even the Balmerans themselves who thank Allura. The Balmerans simply convey the will of the Balmera, which Allura cannot hear:

(Photo ID: A Balmeran says to Allura, “Yes. The Balmera lives. It thanks you.”)

So backing up for a second, I do think there are much larger issues happening in the narrative with Voltron itself, with the unequal power dynamics of having young, inexperienced people from a single planet make and enact all the big universal decisions. But in the instance with the Balmera, it seemed like Allura was openly welcomed to help save the planet, using magical ceremonies as approved by the Balmerans themselves for millennia, and that the Balmerans were not passive in those ceremonies but a necessary part of their success.

In general, Allura doesn’t seem to embody the “white savior complex” vibe at all to me, unlike some others in the show. Even in season 8, when Allura planned to make The Really Big Sacrifice, she asked her team to keep her actions a secret. She literally didn’t care for any respect or acknowledgment or prestige in exchange for sacrificing her life. She was doing what needed to be done because she was, once again, one of the few who could even perform at that level:

(Photo ID: Shiro says to Allura, “Most of them won’t know the sacrifice you made so they could live.” Allura replies, “And they’ll never need to.”)

(As an aside, I would argue that it was entirely unnecessary that the narrative would demand Allura sacrifice herself at all when she was literally standing in the universe’s seat of power alongside other powerful beings like her own father or the billions of other magic-wielding dead people, because apparently the lines between life and death blur in that space.)

(I also think there are some questionable “master race” vibes in the VLD universe in general, given that it forcefully pushes, even against the wishes of Alteans themselves, that Alteans are the only ones who can wield the big power to do big things. It’s clear that other groups and beings can wield magical abilities, but the larger narrative very oddly pins the “purest quintessence/bluest blood” back on Alteans time and time again in later seasons, leaving Allura in basically a no-win, no-help-available situation until other Alteans come along.)

So yeah, I hope something in this meta might help settle some concerns about Allura as a representation of white savior complex? Or at least that this would open conversation for further discussion about what could be done in future iterations to avoid that messaging. Because yeah, I agree with you that the unquestioned savior complexes in this show are a topic that can and should be discussed! And also that, despite early world-building to suggest otherwise, the narrative especially in s6-s8 pushes that Alteans have a “purer/more alive” life force compared to any other race or form. Which is just…hm. Like, the master race vibes of all that are weird and definitely not even inherent to the Voltron franchise. (In previous iterations, humans, Galrans/Drule, and Alteans could all perform incredible levels of magic. For example, in Dynamite Voltron, Keith, Lotor, and Lotor’s siblings had all been taught magic.)

There’s definitely some weird images and unnatural power dynamics in VLD at times. It seems like more often than not, the narrative does strive to make Allura sacrificing something the only viable resort for anyone ever. In those circumstances, I’m just not convinced that she herself functions as an embodiment of white savior complex, by virtue of her behavior in those instances. But it’s definitely weird that the narrative places so much weight on her when the larger Team Voltron narrative is supposed to be about found family and strength in unity.

(If you read this far, thank you! Sorry I’m not succinct.)

#Voltron #Voltron meta #Voltron critical in ways #Allura #Balmera episode #discussions of white savior complex #I ultimately state that Allura doesn't seem to meet the basic behaviors for that #but the show does get into some strange master race stuff in terms of abilities #and we do see several iimages of white savior complex throughout the show by virtue of some other characters #which idk why that got dropped in without at least a reflection on it #like I can handle problematic stories but prefer it when they know they're problematic lol #in VLD it felt like I was supposed to be cheering for those issues #that I wasn't supposed to question it or that I was supposed to actually connect with that fantasy #I feel like this is a really interesting topic because in other iterations there were other Voltrons #as in more people had similar machines #which I feel like helped to control the savior complex inherent in manning a powerful weapon #and in fact one iteration goes as far to say that voltron ISN'T special at all #which surprises various characters #Just a very different vibe from VLD entirely #I'm really fascinated by that #Anyway thanks for reading my rambles!

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doctenwho · 3 years

Text

Ten’s First (real) Halloween

Hello! Thank so much for the prompt! Sorry this is a day late, I meant to do it yesterday, but got distracted carving a pumpkin spiderman and sitting on the step with my mom to greet trick or treaters! I hope you all had a great Halloween though!

I should probably start off saying that I’ve never seen Pulp Fiction, and I also don’t Halloween party at all. Hopefully this turned out good anyways. I jumped ahead a bit with the prompts to do this one before I felt too awkward to complete it. Can’t really post a Halloween fic mid November, but I’m back to sticking to the order things come in!

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3,557

Summary: A Halloween fic, read the prompt above!

(Gif doesn’t belong to me, credit to the creator!)

“I’ve decided,” you told the Doctor as you made your way into the console room and plopped yourself down on the chair. You looked up the Doctor’s profile from behind, grinning to yourself.

The Doctor froze where he was fiddling around with the console, turning to look at you with a questioning glance. He raised an eyebrow in question, eyeing you up and down before he finally replied with a confused, “decided what, exactly?”

“What we’re going to be for Halloween!” you chirped excitedly. You reclined back in the chair, grinning brightly at the Doctor as he blinked at you. “I’ve been thinking for weeks now, and I’ve finally picked out perfect costumes for us!”

“Uh?” the Doctor finally turned towards you, leaning back against the console and crossing his feet in front of him. The man cocked his head to the side, expressing a confusion you didn’t often see from him, “costumes?”

“Of course,” you gave a serious nod, crossing your arms across your chest to express the seriousness of the conversation, “costumes take a lot of thought, Doctor.”

“I believe you,” the Doctor responded, frowning thoughtfully at you, “I’m just... well, not quite sure what you’re on about, if I’m honest. Why are you so excited about this?”

“What?” you blinked in surprise, “you don’t know about Halloween? I thought you were an expert on everything earth?”

“No,” the Doctor straightened, “I know of the day, of course I do--” he gestured to himself, “Time-Lord, remember? I’ve visited the very first of each earth holiday through the years, All-Hallows Eve included—well, Samhain at least. Saw that and never bothered returning around the month of October.”

He eyed you for a second before continuing, “what I just can’t seem to understand is why you’d be excited for bonfires and the human race feeling the need to wear monster masks to ward off ghosts—which by the way, would not help at all.”

You stared at the man for a second, then another before you finally blinked at him, “so, you’re telling me you haven’t seen Halloween on earth since like the eighteenth century?”

“More like the eighth century,” the Doctor corrected, scrunching his face up in distaste, “wasn’t a fan then, not a fan now. I’m more of a Christmas guy, I suppose.”

“The holiday has completely changed,” you told him, standing from your seat and moving towards him in excitement, “it’s not like... well, that anymore. Very few fires, and the dressing up is more for fun than to hide from, uhm, ghosts? It’s parties, and trick-or-treating door to door for sweets, and getting scared!”

“Really?” the Doctor scrunched his nose up, eyeing you where you stood before him with a bright smile.

“Yeah,” you smiled, leaning into his space, “it’s for fun now, we’ve swayed a bit from hiding away from ghosts. Just modern traditions now.”

“I see,” the Doctor hummed, turning back towards the TARDIS console. “Sounds interesting.”

“It is,” you agreed with a smile, moving to stand beside him and observe his hands moving fluently along the knobs and dials on the console, “so, what do you think about heading to earth for Halloween this year?”

The Doctor turned his head towards you, gave you a crooked smile, “nah.”

And then you were landing.

----

“Come on,” you pleaded, “I’ve got the perfect costumes picked out for us, and it’ll look dumb if I go by myself when the costume is supposed to be a couples costume!”

The Doctor gave you a sideways glance, “and what are these costumes?”

You’d let the conversation drop earlier (or rather, had gotten dragged into another space mess you and the Doctor needed to clean up), but you weren’t about to drop the subject. Now you had a personal mission to reintroduce the Doctor to modern Halloween and all its glory.

“Okay,” you grinned, “so, I was planning on being Mia Wallace—I can pull it off, don’t you think? Actually, it doesn’t matter, it’s Halloween. Anyways, I think you’d make a great Vincent Vega. Plus, it would look weird if I showed up as Mia but I didn’t have a Vincent, right? I don’t think people would even know who we were if we didn’t show up together.”

“And... who’re these people?”

“They’re characters from Pulp Fiction,” you explained. “It’s a popular film down on earth—I can’t believe you’ve never heard of it.”

“Right,” the Doctor gave a nod, but you were sure he didn’t really understand what you were talking about. It was nice he pretended too thought. “I never agreed to this... costume thing. Doesn’t sound much different from hiding from ghosts to me. You’ll still be changing your appearance to hide.”

“It’s completely different, and we’re not hiding, it’s for fun,” you scoffed, slightly offended, but not really since this was the Doctor, “we’re going to a party, my cousin’s Halloween party. And besides, the characters don’t even have masks, they’re regular people. Clothes, makeup, wigs.”

“Well then, this holiday really has strayed from its roots then, hasn’t it?”

“Maybe,” you shrugged, “I don’t think it’s changed much.”

The Doctor gave you a tilt of his head,smile small, “right, well, you didn’t get to experience Samhain, now did you? You’ve got nothing to compare current Halloween too.” You pouted at the man, but he didn’t seem too bothered as he continued fiddling with the TARDIS.

“It really is fun,” you attempted, “it’s probably super different from the first Halloween you didn’t like, but, like, in a good way. Halloween is the best! And all my friends will be there, and the costumes are always great—there's a costume contest.”

“I can always drop you off,” the Doctor suggested with a glance back at you. “You know I’d never keep you here against your will, just say the word and I’ll return you to earth.”

“No,” you groaned, “that ruins the fun. I can’t show up alone again,” you sighed slumping in the chair, “if you’re not going there’s barely a point in me going. I want to have fun with you, and celebrate the holiday with you. Besides, I’ve already got the costumes made up. You had everything in your collection of clothes for a Vincent costume, and I already had most of Mia’s clothes. It’s perfect, Doctor!”

“Gatherings aren’t for me,” the Doctor replied, “friends and family of my companions? Nothing ever goes right when the friends and families of companions know of me and where I take you, believe me on that one.”

“But it’s Halloween,” you pouted, “no one will be asking about any of that, not one says anything serious. And we don’t have to stay for long, we can just pop in and leave. I just... want to show you that it’s changed, Doctor. Halloween is one of my favorite holidays, and I want to share that with you.”

“(Y/N),” the Doctor turned to you, frowning. He was giving you that look he always did when he was about to disappoint you and hated doing it. He stared at you for a moment before he sighed heavily, “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” you blinked in surprise, “really?”

“Not a yes,” the man continued with a serious voice, “but I’ll think about it, alright?”

----

If you knew anything about older people, it was that a maybe wasn’t much more than a no. It was a no that left the receiver hopeful of a positive outcome. A failsafe, for the person to say maybe, so they could say no later, and not outright say it. Because a maybe left room for a yes, or, a more likely no.

So, as much as the maybe was progress, it was still basically a no. And you wouldn’t settle for an open-ended no. If the Doctor really didn’t want to go, you’d leave it after today. But you couldn’t settle for a devastating no closer to Halloween when you’d had your hopes up for so long.

“Pleaseee?” you begged. It was just about the time you’d usually head off to bed and leave the Doctor to his own devices for the night. You sat curled up on the chair in the console room, warm in pajamas as you watched the Doctor do whatever it was he usually did in the evening.

This was the last time you’d ask for the Doctor to accompany you to the Halloween party. You weren’t going to force—not that you were sure you even could if you tried. He was superior to you, not that he pointed it out often. You’d rather a no than a maybe that got your hopes up.

You just really wanted to go this party with someone else, and who better than the Doctor? You’d always gone alone, or with friends, and your cousin always teased you about it. But what would he say when you showed up with someone? Someone as cool (and strange) as the Doctor?

And in matching costumes as well, it would be adorable, and finally break your cousin from his teasing.

“You’re not gonna give up on this, are you?”

The Doctor hadn’t bothered looking away from his fiddling at the console, but you could hear some humor in his voice, “then again, I expect nothing less from humans who travel with me. I’d be persistent as well.”

“So you’ll come?” you perked up where you were slumped into the seat. “And don’t give me another maybe, I want a real answer, Doctor.”

“Yes, fine. Alright.” The man tipped his head in your direction, giving a small smile, “we can visit Halloween and go to your cousin’s party.”

----

“(Y/N)!” Your cousin greeted brightly, dressed as a vampire with fake blood smeared across his mouth. “You’re here,” he continued, pulling you into a hug, “haven’t heard from you in a bit, wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

“Wasn’t sure I would make it,” you explained honestly, “had trouble convincing my friend to join me.”

“Friend?” you cousin raised an eyebrow, looking around you easily, “and, where is this friend?”

“He’s... parking,” you shrugged.

“He’s?” your cousin teased while waggling his eyebrows at you. You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms across your chest as you scoffed.

“Yes, he’s,” you groaned, stressing the word in annoyance, “cut it out. Don’t act so surprised that I’ve brought a friend. And really don’t around him, got it?”

“I wasn’t,” he raised his hands in mock surrender, smile wide and teasing in a cousin-y way. Then, he was gesturing down to your costume, “now, what’re you supposed to be anyways?”

You almost groaned at your cousin not knowing your Mia Wallace costume, but you knew it was because your Vincent Vega wasn’t here with you. You opened your mouth to respond in a snarky reply, but before you could, the door was opening and your Vincent Vega was walking in with a hesitant expression.

“Over here!” You called him over with a wave. You watched as the man’s expression settled on you, before he was stepping towards you and stopping at your side, eyeing your cousin.

“This is... your friend?” your cousin tilted his head, eyeing the Doctor with a sideways glance.

“’ello!” the Doctor grinned from your side, hesitance waning for the sake of proper introduction, which he really did love. The man gave your cousin a friendly wave, “I’m the Doctor.”

“The Doctor?” your cousin blinked at the Doctor before turning his confusion to you. You gave your relative a grin, setting your hand on the Doctor’s shoulder before nodding. “Alright, well,” your cousin clapped his hands together in an inviting gesture, “(Y/N), Doctor, enjoy the party then! Everyone’s here, and they’re all dying to see you!”

By everyone, your cousin really did mean everyone. The two of you had grown up in the same neighborhood, had gone to the same school and of course, had the same group of friends. Everyone you knew, your cousin knew as well. So, everyone really would be here.

You turned your head to watch as more people entered your cousin’s house, he threw a wave at them before grinning, “mingle,” he suggested, “I’ve gotta go play host some more. Have fun!”

You watched your cousin disappear to talk to the newcomers, a group of his sports friends you hadn’t seen in years. Some threw a wave back at you, and you returned it easily.

When you turned back to the Doctor he was looking around at everyone already mingling, eyed following around to the activities and dancing going on, “these people,” he mumbled, “they’re dressed as creatures. A mummy, a siren—is that a clown? Your cousin was a vampire...”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “and we’re dressed up as Mia and Vincent—and my friend over there is a pirate, and that guy is Mario. It’s all make believe, just for fun.”

“Right,” the Doctor gave a nod.

“Now,” you called excitedly, “let’s go see the jack-o-lanterns and carved pumpkins, ooh, and we can bob for apples. Haven’t done that in years.”

“I’m sorry, what?” the Doctor tilted his head at you, but he looked curious. And a curious Doctor was a fun Doctor.

“I’ll show you,” you promised, “it’s fun. Trust me.” You grabbed the man’s hand, not waiting for a response as you dragged him through the party to where the music was the loudest and the activities were set up.

The Doctor loved the activities, as far as you could tell, at least. He dove right into bobbing for apples, competing good naturedly with some of the other guys surrounding the tub of water. You’d decided against dunking your head in the water, in fear that your Mia makeup would run and smear if wet.

You’d barely put any on the Doctor, but he still somehow managed to look like Vincent. You still couldn’t believe that the clothing the Doctor was wearing right now had been on the TARDIS already. You’d barely had to add anything to the look.

Every activity you stumbled upon; the Doctor seemed to enjoy. He even carved a pumpkin (an image of a Dalek, which he’d done when you mentioned people liked to carve scary things in the spirit of the holiday). People didn’t know what it was, but they all loved his creativity and carving.

“So, who’s the handsome lad you brought with you tonight?” You looked to your side, where your longest friend was standing beside you. “And better question, where do I find one of my own?”

“His name’s the Doctor,” you informed, before grinning, “and he’s one of a kind. Sorry.”

“Figures,” your friend sighed, not even questioning the man’s name like you’d thought they would’ve, “the two of you are cute together, he seems to really like you.”

You opened your mouth to deny the fact when your friend continued on, “I mean, he’d have to like you a lot to do a couples costume. I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone.”

“I’m not,” you swallowed, “we’re just friends. And we’re just matching. Where’s the harm in that?”

“Sure,” your friend shrugged, “and I’m the Queen of England. You dressed him up in a costume matching yours and you try to tell me he’s just a friend?”

“Just friends,” you insisted, but you knew you were blushing, “and leave him alone, would you? He’s... not like us. He’s never had a Halloween like this.”

“Sure,” your friend shrugged, “I just wanted to check in before you take off like you always do and I don’t see you for months. And now, you come back with this boyfriend no one’s ever seen, hopefully you don’t make a habit of that.”

“Not my boy-”

“Yeah, yeah,” your friend laughed, “maybe not yet. Best friend’s intuition, it’ll happen, (Y/N).” Your friend gave you a teasing grin before leaving you to watch the Doctor carve the finishing touches on his Dalek pumpkin.

Your friend teasing you was just the beginning of it. The amount of times old friends of yours came up to you and asked if you and the Doctor were dating, or if the Doctor was your boyfriend, or, even commenting that they didn’t know you were seeing someone was absurd. And everyone commenting on how amazing the two of you looked as Mia and Vincent (or just the matching, couple-y costumes in general if they didn’t know the characters) was overwhelming.

And the Doctor would just grin brightly and wrap his arm around your shoulders or peck your cheek while you tried to tell people he was not, in fact, your boyfriend. At least he was having a good time.

The teasing smile he gave you whenever someone would walk away after assuming the two of you were together would almost be annoying if it weren’t for the brightness of the smile.

“Maybe I was wrong,” the Doctor said when the two of you finally stepped out of the party.

The Doctor had made his way through every activity, debunked anything that was supposed to be scary for you (even if he didn’t need too), and greeted everyone in attendance with cheerfulness. You were almost certain he’d enjoyed himself, at least a little.

“Wrong?” you prompted, taking his hand and leading him down your cousin’s driveway and away from the party.

“A bit,” the man shrugged, “that was pretty nice. Maybe I don’t hate Halloween after all. All the dangerous creatures around us, but nothing trying to harm us, eh? What a change of pace.”

“That’s the fun of it,” you agreed with a smile, “just for tonight, you can be anything you want. No one will tell you you look weird, everyone just goes with the flow.”

“You humans are strange creatures, you know? Now, I still don’t know about the costumes though,” the man pulled on his shirt, “not sure I pull it off, y’know?”

“You look fine.”

The two of you walked slowly towards the TARDIS. The Doctor had parked the space and time machine a bit away from the party, like you’d suggested so no one would find it and the night of tricks. You could barely imagine the Doctor’s rage had the TARDIS been egged or, covered in toilet paper as a stupid Halloween prank.

A couple costumed children ran past you, laughing and giggling as they moved up the walkway of the house you were currently walking in front of. The Doctor paused to watch, and you stopped as well.

“Trick or treat!” the youngsters cheered when the door was pulled open. You strained to hear the conversation as the woman to answer the door cooed at their costumes and dropped some sweets into their trick or treat bags.

“What’re they doing?” the Doctor turned to look at you.

“Trick or treating,” you explained, “it’s something the kids do every year. Houses hand out sweets and the children go door to door collecting them in costume. It’s fun,” you told him, “there’s nothing better when you’re little.”

“Did you?” The Doctor asked softly, still observing the bright smiles on the children’s faces as the moved onto the next house.

“’course,” you grinned, “did the whole neighborhood every year. Loads of sweets to eat.”

The man’s expression brightened into a wide smile, “let’s do it!” he exclaimed, “c’mon, (Y/N), trick or treat with me, I know you want too! Live a little!”

“Doctor...” you paused, looking at the man’s wide eyes, bright with a childish glow. He was nothing but a child on the inside. And you should know that, if you hadn’t already, by the way that man had been mesmerized by all the activities at the party.

You really didn’t have the heart to tell the man that adults didn’t trick or treat, and that it was actually kind of frowned upon. Trick or treating was really for the young kids, and usually stopped around teen years. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to say, especially not when he was bouncing on his feels in excitement. “Sure, Doctor. Let’s go to a couple houses.”

Surprisingly, no one made any fuss about the Gallifreyan trick or treating at their houses. It was almost like everyone could sense the man had no ill intent, and really just wanted to experience trick or treating. It was like those who answered the doors could tell he’d never been before, and was overjoyed at the thought just like any other kid to come to their home.

The two of you returned to the TARDIS a bit later than you’d thought, pockets full of sweets and candies handed out by the lovely homeowners you’d visited.

“I’ve changed my mind,” the man called as he emptied his pockets onto the TARDIS console. You were sure that they’d be shot around the room in the next few minutes, but didn’t really mind, “that,” he gestured to the door, “was brilliant. Halloween is brilliant. You... you humans, you’re all brillant!”

“Thanks, I think,” you snorted. “So, you had fun then?”

“Oh yeah,” the man grinned, “loads’ve it! I’ve really been missing out, haven’t I? Trick or treating, and Halloween, who’d’ve thought it could be that fun?”

You resisted rolling your eyes, since you’d tried to tell him that earlier. It wasn’t worth it, not when the Doctor was in just a good mood.

“You know, (Y/N),” the Doctor called, not looking away from what he was doing.

“Hm?”

“Next year, we’ll dress up as Thijarians. We’ll definitely win the costume contest dressed as Thijarians.”

<><><><>

Hope you enjoyed! And sorry it’s a day late! I would say prompt me again if it’s not what you’re looking for, but I’ll feel wird posting a Halloween fic a ways after Halloween. Hope you all had a good holiday (and stayed safe!).

Thank you to the person who prompted this, I hope you enjoyed it!

#Tenth Doctor #tenth doctor x reader #tenth doctor x you #10th doctor #10th doctor x reader #10th doctor x you #doctor who #doctor who 2005 #reader insert #writing prompt #prompt #halloween #fanfiction #fanfic

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