#I have been very productive with the meme making lately

[rouiyan]

𝘞𝘌’𝘙𝘌 𝘕𝘖𝘛 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘓𝘓𝘠 𝘚𝘛𝘙𝘈𝘕𝘎𝘌𝘙𝘚 [ 𝘭.𝘮𝘬 ]

⧏ back to teaser || redirect to playlist ⧐

marks manages to land himself in a forty-two hour drive across the country with his archaeology major ex-girlfriend in the passenger seat. but for the duration of the whole ride, the only thing he can think about is that one twitter meme that states that “a majority of archeologists are women due to their natural ability to dig up the past.”

✧ photographer!mark lee x (fem.) archaeology major!reader ✧ exes to lovers, road trip au, referenced college au ✧ genres — fluff/angst, hurt/comfort ✧ word count — 25.2k

✧ disclaimers — profanity, mentions of food, legal (u.s.) alcohol consumption, they make out like once, emotional insecurity and vulnerability (i.e. several panic attacks, social anxiety), possible terminal illness (not of mcs), generational conflict, y/n cries a lot, mark sucks at parking

✧ caveat — this fictional plot is set in present-day america and does not accurately reflect the locations referenced. furthermore, this publication is not an endorsement of the brand or the product featured. all credit is given where it is due. (sources linked upon conclusion)

✧ author’s note — happy 24th birthday to my dear mark! note that the first scene is the exact same as the teaser, so if you've read that already, feel free to skip over! also note i half-assed the proofread so please let me know of any typos, plotholes, and other stupid stuff that i forgot to adjust. as for myself, you can catch a little update on the past two years of my life at the end of this fic so for now, enjoy!

「 DAY 00, 01:42 PM 」 — CUPID DABBLES IN BURNT TOAST

"oh, come on. i thought you were nicer than that!"

it's at times like these where mark is led to think that haechan only considers him as his very best friend for three things. his toaster, his car, and then of course, how easy it is to torment him.

he’s experienced enough to know that the guilt he feels is really only a direct result of haechan's guilt-tripping antics. and so he responds sarcastically, "yeah, nice enough to save a girl from a week of being in close proximity to the person she hates most in the world."

the toaster dings and haechan catches the two pieces of toast in their flight. he sticks one in his mouth, breaking off a bite, whilst turning to toss the other onto his friend's plate. chewing roughly, he leans back onto the counter opposite of mark, watching in contempt as the latter spreads jam across the burnt slice of bread.

haechan points a finger and juts it in his direction, offhandedly commenting, "i'm starting to think that it's you who hates her," a fact that both friends know isn't true. and because of that, mark doesn't make a big deal of denying it. "i don't hate her. i'm just..." he trails off and haechan takes the opportunity to craftily stage his intervention.

"not trying to make her uncomfortable?"

"yeah, i guess."

"not wanting her to hate you more?"

"there's that too."

"not over her?"

"hey, not cool."

a passage of silence elapses as mark sets the butter knife aside in exchange for his orange juice. gulping it down, he gets through two thirds of the glass before haechan perks up again. "actually, i think she still has a thing for you."

mark sputters, barely swallowing his drink before it could hurl out his disbelieving mouth. trying to smooth over his show of defiance, mark recovers a nonchalant expression as he deadpans, "there's no way. you know better than i do that she fucking hates me."

haechan takes another bite, aware but indifferent at how the crumbs have been gathering at his feet. his eyes trail absentmindedly to the clock on the wall behind mark, but only briefly for the hands are far past where he'd expected them to be. shoving the last of the toast into his mouth, he rushes to gather his belongings whilst uttering to his bewildered company, "shit, i'm gonna be late. pack it up."

obediently downing the rest of his orange juice, mark grabs his half-eaten, jam-slathered, burnt-to-a-crisp toast in one hand as the other reaches for his car keys on the way out. the unbearably hot sun of an early summer afternoon only hurries mark further along to his car, his wishes that he had worn shorts instead of jeans already too late to come true. but once both car doors have been shut and seat belts have been strapped, haechan carries on with his agenda without missing a beat.

"just give her the ride, mark. she'll keep you company and, i don't know, make sure you're not falling asleep at the wheel. and plus, she said she'll split the toll and gas fees."

mark shoves the last bite of toast into his mouth, the charred-ness of it procuring a nice crunch. even after he swallows, it takes him a second to respond. and though his answer is still far from budging, it sounds more like a justification, as if he needs convincing of his own opinion. "tell her it's cheaper to just catch a flight. and faster too."

exasperated, haechan retorts under his breath, "that's the same thing i told you," to which mark gives a raised brow, not catching what he said. instead of repeating, haechan only says, "just take her. you guys need to make up anyways."

that renders mark quiet for the rest of the ride as he tosses the thought over in his head. it's a thought that he knows he's been pushing away for far too long, hoping one day it'll become redundant enough to simply forget about. unknowingly, mark begins to speed a little, his turns become a little tighter, and when the traffic light signals red, the nose of his car is pulled daringly close to the car in front.

mark parallel parks shoddily in front of the archeology department building four minutes earlier than google maps had estimated. his best friend looks over at him expectantly and that in itself is enough to squeeze the reluctant words right out of him. "fine, i'll think about it."

haechan's face lights with a satisfied glow as he swings his backpack over his shoulder, making his way out of the car as quickly as he can. and just before mark can think to wish him good luck on his last exam of the spring semester, haechan blurts out the one crucial detail he had neglected to bring up until now. 

"thank god, because i already told her you said yes."

「 DAY 01, 07:48 AM 」 — ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD

the trunk of his beloved subaru crosstrek slams shut from behind. mark winces. the car door of the passenger seat slams shut shortly after. mark winces once again, but doesn't venture to comment on it. instead, he comments on something else entirely. "so why am i picking you up from the hospital?"

you roll your eyes, traces of hostility already to be found in your expression. "as if that's any of your business." you position the tote bag you brought up front by your feet and the contents inside clank against one another. mark gives you a questioning look, thus questioning, "what’s in there? rocks?"

instead of answering with what he would assume to be the same thing you said prior, you simply huff and lean back into the seat to fasten your seat belt. mark does the same, then hastens to shift the gears from park to drive. "you ready?"

lips set into a firm line, you're staring straight ahead when you say, "ready to get this over with." mark takes that as his cue to start the forty-two hour drive across the country, past barren lands and hilly roads, trading the smog of new york for the smog of los angeles.

the drive begins with a screeching hour of silence, all of which you’ve spent scrolling on your phone. and when you finally look up from your screen, the city view outside has already mellowed into sprawling countryside. mark takes this new development as a window of opportunity to spark up conversation, although you beat him to it nonetheless. “how many stops are we taking?”

he clears his throat for fear of a cracking voice and gathers his scattered thoughts to form a response. “about two or three times a day.”

“and how many days are we gonna be on the road?”

“three to four. i’m thinking we should take a few overnight stops as well. and also,” there’s a break in his sentence where he stops to scrunch his nose, “i might want to stop at random points to shoot some pictures. is that fine with you?”

you take your eyes off the road momentarily to get a good look at mark. he has a hand on the wheel and the other propped up by the window adjacent, eyes held forward all the while. looking back ahead yourself, you give in with a slight hitch of indignation in your otherwise colorless voice. “sure, why not.”

mark refers back to a time where the silent air between the two of you would sit comfortably and thinks of how he might have brought about conversation back then. he tries, as he might, to do the same with this scenario, catching the moment before the prolonged silence warrants it too late. “so what’s your business in LA?”

surprisingly, he spots less bite in your tone the more you speak. “my sister asked me to be maid of honor at her wedding next week.” mark’s automatic response comes out first as a laconic, “oh nice” but he follows up quickly after with an inquiring, “is it...is it still jaehyun? or is that a thing of the past?”

“it’s still him. they’ve been engaged for a while, remember?”

mark nods in agreement. he even remembers that exact phone call you received from your sister on the day your freshman year finals ended. sat across the couch, he can even recall the way you tried to motion the whole conversation with your hands to him while on the phone with her, your excitement on full display when you later hugged him tight since he was the only other person in the room.

he bites down on his bottom lip at the thought of the memory that’s still fresh in his mind. time seemed to pass more quickly for him now that it wasn’t divided into semesters and school years. taking a glance over at you, mark can’t help but think that while college life turned out to be unsuitable for him, it had done wonders for you in just the past year.

with little to no trace of the temper you initially harbored, your voice is about as neutral as it gets when you take your turn in questioning him. “what about you? what are you doing in LA?”

his answer is simple, really. his plan originally focused more on capturing the sights along the way to LA rather than the city itself. but seeing as how you’d expressed wanting to make the trip as curt and necessary as possible, he acquiesced for the lesser truth. “i’m just planning on taking some pictures and meeting some friends there. it’s a change of scenery too, i guess.”

the prospect of conversation eased in difficulty the more it steered in the direction of friendly small talk and catching up with one another. his career and his career-related decisions were always somewhat of a prickly topic, after all. his parents scorned him for it, calling it “easy money” that would just as easily come and go. his friends always said he just got lucky in the industry. and his old professors had shook their heads when he told them about his plans to drop out. 

to mark, you were the only one who had ever cared to really understand his relationship with the passion that was now his life’s work. and because of that, his answer comes most naturally when you ask him, “what’s still keeping you in new york, though? i mean, you’re not there for school anymore and you’re not exactly a street photographer either.”

and without a thought to spare, mark blurts out, “you.”

what a perfect way to kill a perfectly fine conversation, he thinks in the midst of the grand silence that follows. red creeps its way up from his next to his ears until he’s flushed clean with embarrassment and terrible terrible regret, the only consolation being that your eyes seemed to be glued up ahead and not at him.

although it seems you’ve since dropped the conversation — seeing as how you’ve checked your phone five times in the last five minutes — you still make it your job to clear the air for any future attempts at conversing. after all, you’re going to be stuck with him for the entirety of the next three days. and that’s at the very least.

“mark, i don’t even want to know what you meant by that, but can we just keep our distance as…” you pause when you realize there really isn’t an appropriate label to describe your relationship with him. what do you call someone that you know really well, but aren’t on talking terms with, and have a long history of romantic instances with?

at the three-second mark in your hesitation, he lends a hopeful suggestion, “as friends?” and it’s another three unsure seconds spent on your end — unease on his — until you finally give in with a sigh and a small, albeit resolute nod. “as friends.”

he’s going at almost a hundred miles per hour on the empty road when you noticeably look over at him in time to catch the quirk of his lips, before he reassesses with a nod of his own in confirmation. with the first of (what you’re sure will be) many awkward exchanges passed, you reach a hand into the backseat to draw forth a thin blanket. “alright, i’m going to continue sleeping then.”

“mhmm,” he hums, watching in the corner of his eye as you lower the seat back. the position you assume, curling into the blanket, is as familiar as it gets and mark is reminded of countless road trip memories that he has never bothered to unearth. he sighs. “go ahead, we got all the time in the world.”

and after making sure you’ve fallen fast asleep with your slowed breathing and occasional snores, mark slows the car to a cruising 70 miles per hour.

「 DAY 01, 10:33 AM 」 — MORE THAN I THOUGHT

“keep right to stay on the i-81 south.” you slit an eye open, wide enough to see that the road ahead is blanketed in a gleaming white. the sun must’ve parted from the clouds. you close your eye in an attempt to fall back asleep. but just before you do, the automated voice from mark’s phone perks up again. “keep right to stay on the i-81 south.”

annoyed and disgruntled, you shrug the blanket off of you and, this time, crack both eyes open. sitting up in your reclined seat, you rub at your eyes and realize two things. one, the car is no longer moving. and two, you’re in the car alone. suddenly alert, you jab your finger into the ‘cancel’ button on his phone just as it continues its mantra of “keep right to sta—” and grab your own phone as you make your way out of the car.

the car itself is parked haphazardly in front of what is labelled to be a colon and rectal surgery building, with half the whole vehicle outside of the designated lines. but just as you begin to question mark’s motives, you turn to see a vast expanse of water on the opposite side. there’s small islands and clumps of trees jutting out and just across you can see a rise of buildings in the distance. 

approaching the road that separates you and the riverbank, you bring a hand to shield your eyes from the light of the sun which you have yet to adjust to. and sure enough, through the blinding haze you make out a figure on the other side of the road, unruly black hair scuffed by the wind with a giant camera held at his hip. his other hand is held in the same shielding stance as you, and even his posture alone is enough to tell you that it’s mark.

both hands now cupping your mouth, you yell out a resounding, “mark!” just as a truck whizzes by but when the body of it passes, the man is revealed to be looking back at you with a silly smile plastered across his face. he holds the heavy film camera with both hands now, as he rushes up the slight grassy incline and jaywalks casually across the street.

you’re about to scold him for not even looking out for any incoming cars but up close, he only grins harder. mark is less than five feet away when he thinks to enlighten you, his beaming smile quickly growing sheepish, “google maps told me to keep right but i stayed on the right for so long, i ended up exiting the highway altogether.” his free arm gestures outwards in exclamation while he beams, “but look where we ended up!”

the sincerity of his bright eyes and bright smile puts a dampener on the tension, so much so that you even venture to joke, “the upmc pinnacle colon and rectal surgery center?” whilst pointing back to the sign. “you’ve no idea how confused i was when i woke up.”

“sorry about that. we’re in harrisburg now. so i’m guessing this is the susquehanna river.”

you shoot him a surprised look, “nice. almost halfway through pennsylvania.”

he ducks his head, a small smile adorning his nod in agreement, “yeah almost.” mark likes this new development of mood you seem to be in. chipper? not exactly. but much more pleasant than before? absolutely. he knows from personal experience that it’s the sleep. good sleep and good food do that to you. and thus he suggests, “should we get a quick brunch before getting back on the road?”

your eyes ignite a glow — rival to his — at the sound of brunch, though you have enough patience to consider, “did you get all the pictures you wanted already?”

mark nods once again, even though he isn’t even through a fourth of his first roll of film. he figures he’ll have plenty more opportunities to use it up down the line. plus, he likes the little smile on your face way too much to be the one to deny you what you want. and so he rushes to get his equipment back in their travel straps and he clambers back into the driver’s seat, all to careen his way about four blocks down to the mcdonald’s (but only after you’d shaken your head whilst he was pulling up at the wendy’s).

he orders drive through and you’re pleasantly surprised when he turns to ask, “same as usual?” and though you’re sure your usual order has changed at least once or twice in just the last year, you nod anyways. mark pays at the till and you’re handed a sausage burrito with large fries. as you’d supposed, it’s not your most up-to-date order but at this point, almost anything will get your mouth watering.

at your first bite, you sneak a glance over at mark. his head is bowed over the egg mcmuffin in his lap, hands clasped lightly together as he says grace. looking away, you give an unprompted chuckle under your breath in remembrance of his faith, new memories ringing up old habits in the back of your mind.

the next time you place a glance towards him, there’s crumbs littering the lap of his jeans and sauce smothered around the curves of his mouth. and when he looks over at you, an eyebrow raised in question at the sudden onset of attention you’re giving, you pay little mind to the fact that you have to stifle yet another chuckle in exchange for simply tossing a napkin his way. 

sitting here in the passenger seat of his car, you can’t help but think that there must be something inherently wrong about spending time with an ex. especially when the two of you parted on terms that seemed somewhat insignificant, though only at the surface of things.

for the most part, mark was a good boyfriend. and the mark that sat to your left doesn’t seem any different than the mark you knew back then. maybe he got around to shaving his stubble a little closer and cleaning up his car a bit more often, but he wears the same carhartt jeans, eats as clumsily as he always had, and still drives his car as if he had extra lives to spare.

from his nose scrunches to his dutiful faith, the mark you’re sat next to now is undeniably the same mark you fell in love with what seems like ages ago.

and as he backs out of the parking space, almost reversing straight into the car opposite, you catch the uttered “shit” that falls so casually from his lips. the same lips that you could never get enough of against yours. the song that’s blaring from the speakers is a favorite of his, you know that best, and it has him humming lightly with the same voice that once serenaded you to sleep. his fingers drum incessantly on the steering wheel as he waits for a red light to turn green, the same fingers that once struggled, but succeeded against all odds, in learning how to braid your hair.

you swallow thickly and think of how unfair this has come to be. it feels impossible to have to sit with the fact that you revoked his license as your boyfriend, but now have to regard him as just a friend. it’s the same as holding someone you once held close at arm’s distance. and it’s like trying to purposefully forget the name of your favorite show, or your beloved dog, or even your own name. 

all of a sudden, you feel like you’ve been caught in a fervid windstorm so strong that it threatens to uproot whatever reasonings had kept you grounded, amplifying whatever feelings lingered in his wake. except, the only thing you have left to hold onto is the realization that although the mark in the driver’s seat is the same mark you fell in love with way back when, he’s also the same mark that broke your heart without even a single word said.

「 DAY 02, 01:17 AM 」 — MARK LEE SMOKING?? (100% CLICKBAIT)

a bout of carsickness hits you at seven in the evening, right after sitting in at a roadside diner that served mashed potatoes that were suspiciously tinted green. but even after he pulled over so you could throw up on the side of the road, you’d implored mark to keep on driving until the two of you were at least at the outskirts of illinois. and that had happened on three separate occasions.

reluctantly, he’d kept his promise and poorly parked his car in front of relax inn, the closest and cheapest place that google maps could turn up. located in marshall, illinois with a striking two-star rating, it had everything you needed: free parking, shitty wifi, and even complimentary breakfast. or, it had everything you needed except two separate and unoccupied rooms.

you had been surprised, at first, when the man at the front counter had only charged mark $58. but that was after he had conveniently left out that the amazing deal was actually for only one room, not two. sighing, you drop your bag to the ground in resignation at the sight of the single queen-sized bed. despite the stiff sheets and musty smell, it still stands to look inviting after ten hours, give or take, of almost nonstop driving.

with only two stops taken for restroom breaks or gas fill-ups, you figure that either one of you has reason enough to claim the bed. there is a thought of mentioning how the two of you had slept side by side with no sexual implications many times before but it’s fleeting, dismissed, and gone within seconds.

instead, you begin drafting your argument, pulling out the persuasive points of your monologue about why you were more deserving of the bed. sure, he’d driven the car the whole while, his eyes must be strained and his ability to concentrate and energy have probably been rendered null. you, on the other hand, could pull the motion sickness, weak composition, nauseated passenger princess card. yeah, surely that’d do the trick.

your opening lines are right at the tip of your tongue, ready to win over a hefty opponent, when you turn to see that mark has already situated his belongings on the ground by the couch. wary of how you’d been standing there for a good two minutes completely unmoved, he looks your way and very plainly comments, “you take the bed. i’m fine with the couch.”

and suddenly you feel very supremely guilty for having even thought of going into a full-blown verbal altercation for a slightly more comfortable place to rest. you now think about thus commencing a full-blown verbal altercation over the slightly less comfortable place to rest, if not to ease your guilty conscience, then just out of politeness. but you digress because after all, mark is way too nice and you’re way too in need of a good night’s sleep. even if it’s just slightly better.

laying in bed, scrolling on your phone, you recall that this is how it’s always been with mark. that at one point, you became too tired of always trying to be the nicer person out of politeness when mark had the kind of genuineness you’d find in about one of a million persons. sometimes, a simple exchange of things like who should get the bed could blow itself out of proportion without either of you meaning for it to have gone that far. you came to the conclusion long ago that fights about who was the nicer person weren’t necessarily fights on character, but rather just fights like any other. and choosing to let mark carry through with his niceness — accepting the last french fry, taking his jacket when it was chilly, and now letting him have the couch — didn’t mean you were inconsiderate. in a way, it was a compromise of its own to allow him the opportunity to be of service to you.

you think of showering the following morning for it seems unlikely that you’d depart the comfort and looming sleep the bed provides. squirming around, you tuck yourself under the blankets but before you could fully relinquish your body to the confines of sleep, a soft rustling by the edge of the bed coaxes your eyes to open a sliver.

mark’s squatting so that you’re right at eye level with him. his hair is mussed more than the wind had done and wet at the tips, sticking up in several places that seem to defy the laws of gravity. with an elbow set on the bed, he peers at you over the screen of his phone, eyes wide and set in the frame of his black-rimmed glasses. he doesn’t whisper though his voice comes out so low, you wouldn’t be able to tell much of a difference anyways. “sorry, i know you’re tryna sleep. just wanted to ask when you’d want to wake up tomorrow.”

repositioning to face him, you smush the side of your cheek into the pillow and the unease in mark’s face ebbs away. half alseep and a good amount dehydrated, your throat is scratchy when you pass it back to him, “what do you think?”

mark scratches the back of his neck with his free hand, “i, uh well… maybe six...?” and he traces your eyes as they find the clock on the nightstand. it reads 2:02 AM and he seems to share the same thought as you. “...thirty? six-thirty?”

you close your eyes, already losing your grasp on what he just said as you mumble out the last of your thoughts, “okay, we’ll grab breakfast downstairs and leave at seven?”

whatever he responds with goes in one ear and out the other. and it isn’t until he wakes you up, bright and early at 6:20 AM, that you remember the conversation even happened. in reality, you roll around in bed, trying to find another sweet spot that will lull you back into sleep, for about ten whole minutes. by the time you’ve given up, gotten out of bed, and begun collecting your garments for the shower, it’s 6:30 on the dot. it doesn’t even register in your mind that mark had accounted for your scheduled morning bout of grogginess until you’re out of the shower with a clearer head.

you sit across from him at breakfast and he passes the black pepper when you spoon your scrambled eggs. he offers to go refill your orange juice at one point and at another he apologizes adamantly for accidentally nudging your foot under the table. it’s only after he takes your empty plate with his back to the clean-up counter that you really bother to take a good look at him.

he must’ve skipped his morning shave, for his stubble is visible though not much more than a mere shadow. there’s a silver chain at his neck, one with a dangling cross pendant, and it sits prettily atop his plain black pocket tee. mark leads the way towards the front desk to check out. you notice the way he swirls the both the room key and car key around his fingers, his straight posture when he walks depite the heavy backpack mounted on him, and even the worn-in outline of his wallet from the rear pocket of his jeans.

and when he mistakens the pristinely cleaned glass door for a wide opening, resulting in a blooming red splotch on his forehead, you take the time to consider his big endearing head, and his big boyish eyes, and his big sloppy smile. you laugh along with him, but perhaps for more of a different reason. mark may have a big head, but at least it’s filled with good and godly things. 

seconds later in the parking lot and you think to rescind those same regards. mark may be nice but there’s no way you’ll be the one to compromise on this one.

you’re fully in the seat and ready to get the car going, except mark is standing right where the door should be closing with his arms crossed and a foot hiked up on the frame of the car. his stance is a plain show of defiance, as are his firmly-stated comments. “i’m not letting you drive. you were vomiting everywhere just last night.”

“give me the keys, i need my redemption arc to happen right now.”

mark only tilts his head in disapproval, eyes boasting a look that emanates something along the lines of ‘are you kidding me?’ you press your lips thin in consideration, realizing that this has turned out to be harder than you’d bargained for. eyeing the keys hanging loosely from his left hand, you decide that your efforts were going to amount to nothing if not by way of force.

when you lunge for the keys, mark takes that you’re attacking him or something of the sort, throwing his hands out in front to block. in the three seconds the debacle had taken to unfold, the sharp end of the car key had scraped the length of your inner arm, nicking your skin clean apart. much to your chagrin and his relief, you end up in the passenger seat anyways.

mark wipes diligently at the long cut with an alcohol pad, whilst you use your unpunctured arm to search for where he’d claimed the first aid kit with the bandaids would be. you look away from the glove box to find his unimpressed disposition, and you hold the gaze until he meets it. but he only meets it for a split second before ducking his head back down to the red-stained alcohol pad, muttering low but loud enough for you to catch. “god you’re a mess, y/n.”

you return your attention to your search for bandaids, eyes rolling far into the back of your head. “i already admitted defeat. do you have to rub it in?” to which he responds with but a fleeting laugh. and by the time he can come up with a, “there we go, all clean,” you’ve conjured four bandaids for him to top it all off.

as mark busies himself with finding the most appropriate arrangement that would cover the length of the cut, you shove the first aid kit back to where you’d retrieved it in the far corner of the glove box. it’s then that the streak of red that was presumably tucked behind it catches your eye.

by the time mark returns from discarding the wipes and bandage packaging, it’s already too late for him to stop what’s to come. the red box — at first glance, what looks to be a sizable pack of cigarettes — had already found its way into your unsuspecting hands.

「 DAY 02, 07:09 AM 」 — BROCKHAMPTON SATURATION II, TRACK #16

when haechan first introduced his sophomore photography major best friend to you back in freshman year of college, he had described him as the guy with no emotional depth. and you had shaken his outstretched hand anyways, awkwardly laughing along even though you had no idea that it was an inside joke between the two of them.

you laughed again on christmas day, same year, same joke. however, you still had yet to figure out what it meant when haechan had gifted your new boyfriend the card game, cased in a brilliant red box. he had said something along the lines of “maybe this’ll get him to dig deeper” and your group of friends, most of whom had known mark since high school, seemed to find it funny and fitting.

the game itself, you knew; it was a popular drinking game among your college friends. you had played it several times yourself at more intimate gatherings, the reflective conversational prompts amounting to several instances of sob fests, tissue shortages, and long hugs. it was good for heartfelt conversations, and apparently mark wasn’t one for feelings. put two and two together and that made enough sense for you to laugh along and move on without much thought.

but well over two, almost three, years later, you wonder why it’d been shoved into the back of his glove box, the plastic wrap still intact and pristine. it’s as if mark had quite literally buried his feelings into the depths of this car, subsequently forgotten and later dug up by his girlfriend turned ex. life’s a funny thing, because only now as his ex-girlfriend do you understand what the gag gift meant in the first place.

looking out upon the barren gas station, you feel restless standing in the face of ten — bordering eleven — hours of driving beside mark of all people. but when he slips into the seat beside you, freshly washed hands wiping themselves down the length of his jeans, you begin to think of a better, or at least more interesting, way to pass the time. holding the box of cards out for him to see, your bouncing leg finally comes to a still as you suggest, “wanna play?”

mark regards the box with a joking manner, and while his casual, “yeah, why not” might prove his act of nonchalance convincing, you like to think you know him better than to look past the way his eyes had lingered, or the hesitance set in his brows, or even the readjusting of his position. he starts up the engine and moves the gear out of park as you fumble with the plastic wrapping. a small tear later and you’re peeling back the packaging, throwing small glances at mark’s way whilst he throws unsure glances at the box of cards.

two minutes back on the i-70 west, you’ve shuffled the cards until your fingers began to feel sliced through, and only then did you deem it time to begin. fanning the deck out to your left, you gesture for mark to select his first pick. he shakes his head and wordlessly gestures back at you to make the first move, a lick of his lips giving his uncertainty away.

shoving the rest of the deck into one of the cup holders on the middle console, you read along as your other hand sets forth in finding your phone. “wildcard. press shuffle on your music library. explain the first song that comes up!”

phone in hand, you look over at mark inquiringly, “me or you?” and if you had to guess his next words, there’d be no doubt that it’d be a stiff and uttered, “you.” almost taking glee in his squirmishness, you pull up spotify on your phone and click into your mess of a “liked songs” playlist. mark passes you the carplay cord and you plug it in, pressing the shuffle button apprehensively after the beep indicates it’s been connected.

heavy piano chords pan out from the speakers and a smile is slow to spread across your face as you come to a realization of what song it is. for better or for worse, mark seems to know as well, retracting his gaze from the road for less than a second to meet your eyes. there’s a sort of ‘ahh’ in them, an understanding, an underlying fondness.

in the heat of the summer…

“do i really have to explain?”

you know that you should be my boy.

“give it a go at least.”

in the heat of the summer…

“well…”

you’re so different from the rest.

you find yourself at a loss for words. amongst many other things that arise in this moment, your train of thought does its best to rationalize. why was this song still in the playlist? simple, you forgot to take it out. it’s only normal that things get buried with time. why can’t you just say that to him, then? simple, because then it’d be so easy for him to brush it off as a lame excuse, a cover-up, as to how plainly you still held onto your relationship. what the fuck are you feeling? panic. doubt. frustration. longing.

panic at the thought that he would read into it too much. doubt at the thought that there were other reasons for why you’d let this song gather dust in your playlist. frustration at the thought that there was only you to blame for this situation that you’d gotten yourself into. and longing. longing that had sat untouched for the same amount of time you’d decided to shove your feelings away instead of confronting them. longing that had since settled into your flesh and bones, going unnoticed. longing that, at the first chords of this song, had you casting your eyes downwards from the road ahead.

hastily, you grab for your water bottle, taking steady but large gulps. suddenly, your throat had become too dry. swallowing thickly, you wonder why the lump in your throat refuses to fall back. your breathing becomes noticeably haggard while the thing lodged in your throat remains. at the slightest indication of mark’s head turning your way, you snap your own in the direction of the window to avoid his questioning gaze.

biting down on your lip, your eyes fall closed even with the sprawling hills unfurling just outside. the sun is climbing to its height, as is your sudden onslaught of emotions that drowns out all noise except the sound of mark humming along to the song. you are numb, you are deaf, you are void of everything except his voice.

“do you remember?”

reverberating through you, it’s all you are able to feel.

“do you remember last summer at the lake?”

mind emptied, it’s all you know.

“it’s one of my favorite days, i’ll have you know.”

body capsized, it floods you. and it fills you to the brim until you can’t take it anymore.

“isn’t it funny that all my favorite days have been spent with you?”

and when it overflows, it comes in the form of tears.

your vision blurs and the wetness on your cheeks is quickly pulled into a pool at the edge of the seat. closing your eyes is a daunting task, even then, because you know just what you’ll see. you make the mistake of trying to blink away the tears, making them fall far faster than they had before. but for what it’s worth, it had been a favorite day of yours as well, albeit bittersweet.

the water was emerald green and the grass was knee-high. the sun rested overhead for almost fourteen hours a day and you had a tan comparable to that of a professional-grade spray. the wind was light though unrelenting, apparent in the way the clothes strewn across the clothesline were at the cusp of being carried away. everything under the sun was warm to the touch. the rocks, the grass, the water, his skin.

you snap your eyes open and only then do you notice that the car has come to a stop, pulled over to the side of the road. your hand is pressing into your forehead and the tears are still running free when you care to peer over in mark’s direction. both hands resting on the wheel, his eyes emanate in concern, lips pulled tight as if an apology was attempting to push past from within. it’s hard to pinpoint your finger directly to it, but there’s something about his expression that ticks you off so greatly that you regard him for less than a second before slipping out of the car.

the first inhale of fresh air makes the stuffiness inside the car feel like you had been breathing in water. the wind, just as it had been that day, is light though unrelenting, and it dries clean the tears in your eyes. your body sags and you give your weight into the side rails of the road, sitting against it and heaving thorough breaths to bring you some peace of mind. if you stared at your surroundings for long enough, the short grasses growing beside the road would grow long and the valleys in between the hills would carve out an emerald lake. the warmth would find its way back to you, but it’s far from pleasant and rather close to burning, scorching even. you fist and unfist your hands, recoiling from even the thought of it.

instead, you focus on the way the roughened wood of the rail nips at your skin through the thin spandex of your shorts. when you shift your position, the metal that accompanies it is hot to the touch and the uneven pavement beneath you is riddled with its fair share of pebbles and wood chips alike. taking your time, you come to pay more mind to your breathing, allowing the intakes to fill up your belly rather than your chest. the sky is a clear blue, the single cloud is pear-shaped, you can count up to seven peaks in the hills, and there are four dirt patches within your line of vision. it’s these little things that ground you.

seven minutes past. you hear a car door open you but you never hear it close. footsteps stop maybe three feet from your left but they never step any closer. he says, “whenever you’re ready,” but he never says anything more. 

and perhaps that’s what hurts the most.

「 DAY 02, 01:56 PM 」 — LITTLE CRAZY LOVE SONG, MARY OLIVER 2014

“what’d you say?”

“nothing much, really—”

“well, you obviously said something if she’s voluntarily passed out for the last six hours.”

static crinkles on the other end and mark looks around at the endless stretch of trees surrounding the lone gas station. the signal is clearly not having its best moment here in the thick of the forest, but he rejoins anyways. 

“i brought up last summer…” he trails off, hoping that just the season would provide enough context to tell of the situation without him explicitly having to name it as terrible, godawful, and no good whatsover. to be frank, mark wasn’t expecting understanding and empathy when he dialed haechan’s number. hell, he wasn’t even expecting to receive encouragement and good faith. perhaps all he wanted was recognition for the bad deed he’d committed and someone for him to bicker out his frustration with. and surely, haechan delivers just that.

“mark, you whole-hearted idiot. wh—”

“okay but in my defense, i thought we were having a momen—”

“i think only you were having a mo—”

“it just slipped out, i swear it wasn’t on purpo—”

“how the fuck did you think she’d react to your sappy bullshi—”

“—but it’s all cool now.”

the other end goes flat after mark’s statement and he thinks it’s owed to the faulty service, until haechan sputters in disbelief, breaking the quiet at an ear-splitting decible, “cool? you call that cool?!” mark furrows his brow at his friend’s overuse of emphasis whilst he busies himself with retrieving his credit card one-handedly. he knows that somewhere along the line, he fucked up. and he thinks he knows exactly where but at the same time, mark isn’t quite in the headspace to own up to it. so he retaliates.

“it’s like you set me up for failure.”

haechan justifies, “hey, it’s not like i did anything wrong. a friend needed a ride and i found someone who could give her just that.” but mark can hear the sarcasm in his voice and he decides he would rather confront his friend than question his ex. “i highly doubt she’d be down for a forty-two hour drive over a six-hour flight. what the fuck did you even say to convince her?”

the younger doesn’t waver when put in the spotlight. in fact, he gives it away as if it’s all just a fun prank on his end. and that’s not to say that isn’t at least partially the truth.

“i told her you already agreed to take her, same thing i said to you.” 

smart as ever, he hangs up before mark’s initial surprise gets translated into brute annoyance. the silence after the disconnect tone hits him almost immediately and thus, he finds himself standing in the middle of an empty gas station, in the middle of the eerily quiet city of winona, missouri, which is sat at the edge of a brimming forest where nothing but trees run on for miles and miles on end. there’s a town & county supermarket in the same plaza and a rundown dollar general down the street he’d passed to get here. 

it suddenly feels as if he’s the only person alive in this whole wide world, trapped inside his four-walled mind with no one to talk to except his regretful self. more than confronting his friends or even you, mark has known for a long time that he feels the most social anxiety whenever he’s left to confront himself. he tries to shake the thought, pocketing his wallet as he makes a beeline for the supermarket across the desolate parking lot. it’s far on foot and with each step, he descends down into the depths of despair, digging up all the times he must’ve made you uncomfortable with just his presence. for once, he doesn’t think it’s such a wonderful thing to be alone in the world with the person he loves most.

seven hours of almost straight driving is bound to make a person go at least a little insane, as mark wonders if he even remembers the last time he saw anyone other than you. he grabs a bag of popcorn, a charcuterie box, and a gallon of water at the supermarket and only at the cash register, manned by a live and tangible human, is he freed from the confines of his tortured mind. 

gas filled to the max and provisions restocked, he’s once again met with the struggle of having to close the car door as quietly and undistrubingly as humanly possible. you’re still very much asleep and the last thing he wants is to jolt you awake when your latest memory of him is how he’d insensitively instigated a panic attack at barely seven in the morning, albeit unintentionally.

after he closes the door with exemplary caution and barely a thud, mark lowers his guard with a sigh in relief in tow. though in this fleeting moment of mindlessness, the very next moment he’s dropped his keys on the center console. wincing, he watches as the clattering elicits a stir on your end, fluttering eyelids, and then — to his utter horror and dismay — you wake up.

mark plays it cool, or so he thinks, by letting out a low “oh shit” to make sure you know of his accidental mistake. rubbing your eyes, the first glance you place his way isn’t strictly a glare, but it might as well be with how you barely acknowledge his stilled presence. mark waits until you’ve had a couple sips of water in your system and a full routine of arm stretches before speaking up carefully. “how’d you sleep?”

you look his way and tiredly blink a few times before saying, “fine.”

back at square one, he thinks. mark hands you the bag of popcorn and charcuterie box and reaches over to drop the giant water jug into the back seats. you eye the bag and the box confusedly, then the blanket draped across your knees that you’re sure wasn’t there when you fell asleep, and then finally your surroundings.

“what time is it?”

“about 2:20.”

“where are we?”

“missouri. just outside the mark twain national forest.”

you eye the landscape beyond the windows where you’re met with the parking lot, a few commercial structures, and a shitload of trees. you turn back towards mark, “are we on schedule?”

he nods. “we’re actually ahead of schedule. we were supposed to be just out of illinois right now.”

you give him a tight-lipped smile that does little to ease the tension. removing the blanket, you make a move for the door and mark thinks that this must be it. you’ve had enough of him, you’re tired of tolerating his presence, and you’ve set your mind on walking the rest of the way to los angeles. it’s a rather immature thought but he entertains it for a split second regardless. the second half of the second is spent coming up with a hastened, “wait.”

you’re halfway out the door when you look back over your shoulder, a left eyebrow cocked in question. mark doesn’t have anything on hand to say, so he blurts out whatever question he had first in queue, “why… why did you agree to come?”

fully out of the car, you stand facing him with one hand resting on the car door and the other situated on your hip. in your freshly awakened state, you cock your head at the absurdity of his unprompted question. there’s a trace of thought pooling in your eyes before you answer rather nonchalantly, “i wanted to see how you’ve been.” the words hang in the air, waiting for mark to process them, and when he does it’s as if he’s had the wind knocked out of him. breathily, he recites a quiet, “oh i see,” and then you shut the door square in his face, leaving him with only an equally quiet, “i need to use the restroom, be right back.”

mark thinks back to why he himself had agreed in the first place and he’s not sure how much of a role haechan’s little ruse had played anyways. he appreciates the honesty with which you answered because it gives him the space to be honest with himself as well. he’d agreed to go because a part of him wanted to see how you’d been doing as well, but he’d also agreed to go because a part of him simply just wanted to see you. the little stunt that haechan had pulled was just the tip of the iceberg of reasons that led to this whole ordeal, and mark thinks — or at least hopes — that that had been the case for you too.

when you return, freshened up and looking more lively than you had in hours, mark’s more prepared than the last time he’d thrown a haphazard question your way. you’re fastening your seat belt when he asks, “since we’re ahead of schedule, do you wanna go for a drive around the forest?”

he sees where it starts, slow in the upturn. what looks like the beginnings of a frown blooms into an easy smile. it doesn’t reach your eyes, but it doesn’t need to for mark to know that you mean it. “around?”

he smiles too, quick with a flash of teeth and a breathy chuckle. “in, i mean. in the forest.”

you let your head retract to facing frontwards, leaning back into your seat as you nod, “sure, let’s go.” folding the maroon blanket into your lap, you follow mark’s pointed finger until your eyes set on his backpack shoved under your seat. “there should be a map in there. can you be my guide?”

for a second, he thinks he’s being too greedy with your patience but your easy smile flattens to show complacency. “i can do that,” and you salvage the map from the front pocket of the mess of his backpack. seeing about an inch-thick stack of maps in the same compartment, you look towards him with your smile now edging towards a knowing tease. “you planned for this, didn’t you?”

mark shakes his head fervently though he can’t find it in himself to audibly deny. after all, number two on his bucket list is to visit all the national parks and forests the country has to offer. how could you have expected him to resist when passing by a city that sat directly under 1.5 acres of forest land? and with the extra time to spare, it was a given.

you have the map crinkled open on your lap as you load up the top destinations with your phone in hand. mark’s excitement seems to be rubbing off on you; his giddy smile lends into your glittering eyes, his drumming fingers on the steering wheel translating to your bouncy leg. twenty-four minutes north — one right turn and one left turn — later, you’ve successfully navigated the both of you to alley spring and mill, a three-story red statement with a clear turquoise spring tucked behind.

the summer heat licks at the nape of your neck when you first open the door. you grab the blanket, the charcuterie box, the bag of popcorn and — with a thought spared in consideration — the stack of cards shoved into the cupholder after tucking your phone into the waistline of your shorts. the rush of water grows louder as you approach, the uneven pavement ebbing off into scuffed dirt and then brustling grass further down the stretch. pausing a good distance away from the decades-old structure, you hear a sigh in wonderment coming from behind.

mark’s mamiya rz67 weighs down one hand, the other raised to his brow to deflect the glare of the sun. he has a sort of satisfied look to his face, one that only grows as he makes his way to catch up to you. “good find,” he comments, tearing his gaze away from the sights to meet your eyes. pride snuggles into the corners of your smile and you duck away from his stare. 

“lemme go find somewhere for us to settle down for a bit,” you hold up the blanket in gesture and then wave him off with another smile, “you go do your thing, don’t mind me.”

there’s a few people here and there coming in and out of the mill and a few more along the skirts of the spring, but you manage to find a quiet spot along the water with some trees to offer a decent amount of shade. it’s much cooler down here, where the spray disperses itself fresh from the water and into the air, and you drape the blanket over the mildly damp grass. spreading the contents of the charcuterie box across a napkin and pouring a portion of the popcorn into the now empty box, the setting begins to look as if it were all planned and not, in fact, an impromptu day trip that fell in motion less than a half-hour ago.

slipping your shoes off, you ease into the spot, appreciating the clear air while you can. if you shield your eyes, you can see mark in the distance with his phone held up to the red building to check the light settings. he takes a shot there in that position, and you swear you can hear the ka-shink! of his shutter even from this far away. nibbling a corner of brie cheese, you watch him closely as he jogs in a zig zag across the plot to find another interesting shot to frame.

mark gets six or seven more in before he rounds upon where you’re sat, having finally found the alcove of shade you’d claimed. he’s still holding his camera with one hand, the size of his palm making the five pound camera seem small. in the back of your mind, you can still recall the weight of it from a year ago as mark demonstrated how to advance the film for your first try at a shot. you remember how difficult it was to get the hang of medium format photography, much less the bothersome large format that mark used to haul around wherever he went.

“may i join you?”

snapped out of your momentary reminiscence, you glance up at mark as if you hadn’t even seen him coming your way. at the nod of your head, he takes his spot across the blanket with his legs criss crossed. the seconds tick away while your eyes trace the lines of his hands, moving familiarly to load a new film stock into his camera. the delicacy of his movements, the steadfastness of his grip, the roughness of his knuckles, and the baby soft pads of his fingers.

there’s nothing to do with his hands when he’s done with his camera so he resorts to fiddling with the folds of the blanket and occasionally reaching for a grape. mark looks a little lost, if you are to be honest. or at least, it seems as if he’s unsure of his presence; too scared of breaching boundaries thus he shies away from interactions altogether. his patterns of behavior are nothing new to you. and though there was once a time where you’d despise having to always be the one to coax him out of his shell of insecurity, you aren’t nearly so distressed to do so when there’s no strings attached, no long withheld feelings that come with it.

“when should we get back on the road?”

mark looks up at you in surprise and relief floods his face when he realizes no sign of annoyance in your expression. as if he were taking a firm hold of the hand you’d extended, he responds kindly, “it’s best if we go before five, so we can take our time on the road.”

you check your phone and the time reads a quarter past four. scrolling down your notification screen to see if you missed any important messages, you find about four consecutive texts from haechan, sent just before you woke up from the six hour stress nap you inadvertently took. 

【 2:06 PM 】 bro u good? 【 2:06 PM 】 mark told me what happened 【 2:06 PM 】 should i beat him up for u? haha 【 2:08 PM 】 call me when u get a chance ;)

shutting off your phone, you retrace your attention back to mark. he’s the spitting image of a kid whose one and only friend didn’t show up to school today, hence he had to sit at his own table during lunch. you chuckle under your breath at the thought and he happens to hear, giving you a raise of his brow to which you only shake your head in dismissal.

so badly do you want to just clear the air — his newly uptight demeanor being a nightmare to get along with — but you know better than anyone how avidly mark avoids confrontation at all costs. to bring it right to his front steps is just asking for uncalled-for frustration. you zip your lips, and eye your surroundings, hoping for a topic of conversation to jump out at you.

sure enough, the red boldface catches your eye and it lingers. who says confrontation is the only way to subdue the tension? sometimes all you need is a little fun. and what’s better than a game to do just that? you place a hand atop the deck and wait for mark to recognize your intentions before softly suggesting, “your turn?”

the expression he dons is a bit squirmish as he reaches for the cards, but you can tell that he’s glad his careless words hadn’t ruined the game for you forever. his fingers make quick work in shuffling them neatly and, face down, he draws one from the pile at random.

“what do you think is the hardest part of what i do for a living?” 

mark glances up at you from the card expectantly and you’re thrown off guard for a moment. “i answer? i did the last one though.”

he only laughs, “yeah i know. but even if i wanted to answer, i couldn’t. you don’t have a job.”

“oh that’s right,” you smile, masking a tinge of embarrassment at your late realization,” okay, i’ll answer it then.”

you cross your legs like his and pluck a grape for your fingers to play around with. momentarily in thought, you realize that there’s not much to the question, not when pertaining to mark and not when asked to you.

“the thing is, i’ve seen a lot firsthand. and i think you know what i’m going to say.”

it’s his turn to be thrown off guard with wide eyes and a hand to his chest, “i do?”

nodding, you pop the grape into your mouth to give leeway for your thoughts to string into words. shortly after swallowing, the words follow in suit, “i mean, you love your job and from what i remember, it pays your bills. which is great, it’s really great.” careful with your next words, you approach them with caution, “but at the same time, i think — and correct me if i’m wrong — i think...it’s put a strain on some of your relationships.”

mark doesn’t look the least bit surprised. in fact, you’re sure he’d known the answer the second after he read the question. hardly disappointed, he smiles wide when your eyes brim with uncertainty. reassuring you, “you’re right on point,” and then nudging you along, “i still want you to elaborate on it though.”

“okay,” you smile back at him, mostly in relief, “i know this is pretty personal, but since you insist…”

and so you trailed on about what you knew. on how his job drove a wedge between him and his parents. on how they told him it was one thing to chase after your dreams, and a whole other to let your dreams crush you. but to him, dropping out of college didn’t make those two semesters a waste of time and money. rather, he thought that going to college in the first place made it easier for him to realize it wasn’t the path he wanted to walk. there were always going to be times where he wouldn’t be able to make ends meet but that was nothing to him if he could have the support of his friends and family to do what he loved most.

you knew very well that a “strain” was a light way to put it. his parents cut him off at nineteen when they realized he wouldn’t be returning to school. as most parents would be, they were worried but unwilling to financially support their son who they no longer believed in. his mom still brings stacks upon stacks of tupperware kimchi and side dishes each month and his dad still passes money under the table at family dinners. but for some reason, they could never look him straight in the eye.

“do you ever feel like they betrayed you?”

“no, never,” he declares almost immediately. “it’s easy to think that they did. it’s harder to really feel that way when i know how much they love me. it’s just that we value different things.” mark says it so convincingly that you nearly dismiss the suspicions behind your question. when you meet his eyes and they are dark and glossed over, you start to believe them a lot more than what he’d just said.

seeing his pain resurface as if it were there the whole time, you’re reminded of the guilt you carry for breaking up with him at perhaps the most vulnerable point in his life. knowing that mark could never blame you for it, you blame yourself in his place.

looking down from his gaze, you hold your left hand in your right, imagining it as his, and hope that just the thought of wanting to hold his hand offers him some comfort, in some sort of cosmically significant way.

「 DAY 02, 10:34 PM 」 — TOMAYTO TOMAHTO

mark drove past the ‘welcome to oklahoma’ sign at 7:30 PM. between cherokee and muscogee nation, he considered stopping at tulsa for the night instead of oklahoma city, the capital. it was around 9:00 by then and you were still fairly energized; he took from that to continue even though it was you who slept through the day, not him.

in your search, etrip.net claimed holiday inn to be $19 for a two person room, seemingly a ‘too good to be true’ deal for a four-star hotel with an indoor pool. you booked it anyways — though only after confirming that he was fine with sharing a room — and keyed in the address into google maps for mark to follow. 

when you look out the window less than a half hour to your destination, it’s near pitch black, save for the distant outlines of buildings behind large fields of what you assume to be grass. the two of you are just outside the city and when you roll down the window; the air is rather cool and crisp for a summer night. there’s a truck in front of your car with a shipment of fresh tomatoes and the scent of them wafts sweetly in the dawdling air.

basked in a comfortable silence for the first time during this whole trip, you feel that summer break has finally started. the days are long and long gone are your day-to-day worries about when this assignment is due and how much this exam will affect your grade. in hindsight, they were all passing worries, things that never irked you for long enough to be significant. and now that you had finally made peace with it all — moved on, and slowed down — the world seems much more pleasant, less frantic, and more at ease than you remembered. it’s quiet and you’re happy.

glimpsing to your left to check how mark’s holding up, the first thing you’re met with are his wide, frenzied eyes. you trace his line of sight whilst venturing to ask, “you good?” before noticing the oblong shape that’s been planted straight into the dead center of the windshield. upon further scrutiny, there’s a redish secretion that’s oozing down the glass. 

“y/n...what the fuck is that?”

the two of you are stunned in your seats, frozen at the thought of what it could possibly be. (a hockey puck! a donut! a scoop of ice cream! a bloodied body part?!) though soon enough, your conscience returns in time for you to register it as a tomato, straight from the truck ahead.

“holy shit,” mark mutters, and he begins to slow the car down and away from the alleged source. a second hits, (“fuck!”), right where your head would have been if not for the window. the third and fourth follow shortly, splatters sounding more like fist-sized rocks under the sheer force of impact. mark sees you ducking and dodging, this way and that, and his blood pressure sky rockets as a huge portion of his side becomes slathered in goop.

both of you are screaming at this point, mark has no way of knowing when the road will curve, and he’s still going seventy miles per hour, occasionally speeding faster whenever a jolt of adrenaline hits too hard and he loses fine control of his foot on the gas pedal. “roll up the damn window!” and your fingers fumble around for the button, almost opening up the whole door in the process.

you swerve your head right after the window’s safetly shut to see if anyone’s tailgating. “pull over, mark. there’s no one behind us.” and when the car comes to a stop, the two of you are panting uncontrollably, despite having barely moved for hours. there are no thoughts running through your mind — absolutely none, zero — when you turn your head to meet his eyes. and the second you do, the two of you burst into laughter, in utter disbelief at what just happened.

still breathless at the thought, your hand comes to your mouth in belated shock. the aftermath is disastrous. cautiously opening the door, you can spot remnant tomato juice dripping from the bottom edge. mark rounds the car twice in inspection, only to find that every last corner of his precious subaru crosstrek is coated in a sheen of red except for the back, bottom, and some of the top. the meager stack of napkins you saved from earlier in the day does the best they can, sweeping off most the meat but none of the juice. the scent doesn’t seem so sweet anymore when it’s all you can smell from a mile away.

you notice that mark has been standing in the same position for the last four minutes, unmoved with both hands on his hips, sweat gleaning from his brow, and a distant look in his eyes. you fear speaking up will spook him into tears. luckily, he speaks first. 

“y/n.”

“yeah?”

“can you find the nearest coin-op car wash on my phone?”

“okay.”

“i’ll…” he trails off into a breathy laugh, that kind of echoed laugh that makes you want to give him all your hopes and dreams, support and love. “...i’ll be here for a bit.”

you clamber back into the passenger seat, careful not to transfer any of the liquids indoors. his phone is mounted on a stand and you pry it off, wondering how you would get past his passcode. you key in his birthday, a reasonable first try, but the lockscreen doesn’t budge. pressing your lips thin, you try to recall what his password had been way back then. mark was never one for unnecessary changes; he held onto his possessions and habits stubbornly.

after an aha! moment comes a moment of doubt. to get the code right was one thing, but you weren’t sure how you’d feel if it was indeed unchanged. shrugging off the hesitation, you press in the four numbers anyways, and sure enough it unlocks.

dumbfounded, your hands drop into your lap and your vision stills, zoned out on the curve of the steering wheel. it’s hard to really understand what you’re feeling and it’s even harder to discern mark’s intentions behind keeping his passcode set as your birthday after all this time. the signs have been there—and you had kept to avoiding them—but now is the first time you’re facing the possibility that mark still has feelings for you. and even just the thought of how it doesn’t disturb you greatly warrants extra precaution on your end. 

mistakes are made so that they won’t be repeated.

you repeat the sentence to yourself perhaps five times over, and carry on with locating the nearest coin-operated car wash station as per his instruction. mark got in the car five minutes later with a small smile on his face. “it is what it is,” as he had put it. with only thirty minutes left, the car ride resumes in silence though this time around, there’s nothing comfortable about it. the man next to you is humming along to some john mayer song, oblivious to your disconterting mood that was induced solely by him (and partially by you, if we’re to be crystal clear).

deciding not to get too worked over it, you fixate, instead, on playing word games with haechan. time passes quickly as you win most of the rounds, half the time wondering why he’s even still awake when it’s already fairly late in his timezone. you make a mental note to call him when you get settled at the hotel, sooner the better if anything.

mark manages to hum along to every single song that comes up on the radio, sometimes even singing with a full voice and vibrato. you’re partially relieved that he’s no longer so on edge around you, also aware that now it’s you who’s way too in over your head. figuring that it wouldn’t be much of a problem once you call it a night, you move past your concerns and finally take a glance up from your phone.

marvelling at the ever-changing landscape on the other side of the window, your mouth falls agape at how the bare grasslands have since given away to streets among streets of buildings. you can peer even further down, where the city lights of oklahoma city make out a twinkling night sky, replacing the stars with their light pollution. devon tower stands the tallest and most discernable of the skyscrapers and for a second, your troubles melt away as you fall captive to The Big Friendly.

long past rush hour, the streets downtown are jam packed with both cars and pedestrians, forcing mark to brake every other second. the city night life in oklahoma feels warmer than the busy new york city had ever been. flourescent signs flash bright in invitation for you to enter, people flood the streets, swarmed with laughter and filled with good food. you keep a smile to yourself as this tedious road trip begins to feel a little more like a long-anticipated vacation.

marks pulls up at the coin wash station you’d found for him earlier. with it being a ten minute’s distance from the city’s main streets, the surrounding areas are quiet at this slow hour. when you reach over to unbuckle your seat belt, a hand comes to stop you and with a patient smile on his face, mark simply tells you, “wait here, i’ll clean it up real quick,” as he slips out of the car.

given no time to react much less disagree, he shuts the door behind him and you end up sitting in the car by yourself, watching mark as he busies around with his coins and then gets to hosing down the red streaks striping his car. presumably, they had dried in the wind. what a sight his car must have looked like, rolling through the city streets as if it’d been dunked in ketchup.

you get the idea then, while you’re idling around, to call up haechan quickly while you have the moment to yourself. if you could be curt with him, beat around the bush like the annoying little brat you are, you’ll have no problem with wrapping up the call within the next five to ten minutes it takes for mark to get the car scrubbed and shiny.

the phone rings a whopping total of seven times before he picks up. you put him on speaker and the groggy voice you’re met with is a telltale sign that you’ve freshly awoken him. “the fuck you want? i just fell asleep, you cow.” at least he went to bed, you think, whilst turning his loud ass voice off speaker and bringing your phone to your ear.

“woah, no need to be so vulgar. you’re the one who told me to call you.”

you hear a scoff coming from the other end. at his next quip, his voice is no longer groggy, now boasting a new tone of feisty. “yeah. i meant when i’m actually awake and willing to answer. bye, i’m hanging up now.”

“hey,” you whine, “you’re awake and i’m free right now so let’s just get it over with. what did you want to talk about?”

there’s a clear pause of deliberation on his end, only for less than three seconds though. “how’s it going with mark? i heard he made you cry.”

you sigh into the receiver, fingers having found the rim of your water bottle and decidedly tracing the cap around and around. “so he told you everything, i see. he just brought up some bad memories and i got overwhelmed in the moment. it’s all cool now.”

the line goes silent for while longer and the blasting hose outside just happens to shut off at the same time. you look up from your water bottle and through the shower of water, mark’s peering in with a sponge in hand, gleeful eyes greeting you hello. you give him an absentminded wave in return with your free hand.

usually, haechan had too much to say about everything but to your surprise, he only ponders with a lilt, “...it’s all cool?”

“it’s all cool,” you confirm. mark sweeps his sponge-equipped arm across the length of the windshield, the thick lather of bubbles building a wall between you and him. but just as his fingers dot two eyes and a big smile into the soap for you to see, haechan synchronizes, “so you guys are getting along?”

mark peeks into one of the holes to see you smiling as wide as the playful smiley face he’d drawn, the same one that was now at the mercy of the drooping liquids. contradicting your ear-splitting grin, you remark offhandedly, “we agreed to be friends.” and after a beat, you fill in the missing blanks, “for the sake of this trip, i mean.”

“friends…” haechan seems to have his panties in a twist today, for he’s pausing at all the weird moments, saying all the weirdest things. you can almost imagine the shake of his head as he cryptically states, “that won’t do.”

“what won’t do?”

the hose water is turned back on as mark directs it right at the windshield this time. you almost shriek in surpise, barely catching the click of his tongue that haechan gives. after dousing the windows clean, mark reaches for the snow broom to shimmy off the remaining water droplets. going row by row, he gives you a sore attempt at a wink when you meet his eyes. you supress your giggles as haechan’s dissatisfied voice soars past your ears without much thought.

“how can you be just friends with him when you still like him?”

you’re in no mood to be taking him seriously, so you end up saying the first thing that pops into your mind. “i’m pretty sure he’s the one that still likes me.”

“well you’re not wrong there.”

mark throws in another silly face — a really blown out toothed smile — and you decide then that you should probably end the call soon before haechan drags you into another discussion of who’s still hung up on who and who’s still in love with who. you decide then that, for tonight at least, you want to set aside the messy feelings and just have fun. because that’s what’s easiest when you’re with mark lee.

momentarily forgetting that you’re still on call, you hastily ramble out a quick, “hey i gotta go, something came up,” and the eye roll that haechan’s sure to give is predictable as it is true. “fine,” he deadpans, “talk to you later. or not, i don’t know maybe something will come up and i’ll forget about you for two weeks.” and with that, he hangs up right as mark reenters the car, eyes all shimmery and filled with glee.

“you have fun out there?”

he messes around with a few wet tips of his hair. “a lot of fun, actually. you should help me out next time.”

your heart races messily and mercilessly at the thought of ‘next time,’ so much so that you only have enough mindpower to muse absorbedly, “maybe i should.” he gets his seat belt buckled and you cap your water bottle after taking a long swig. 

“so…” mark starts whilst pressing the start engine button, “who was that on the phone?”

“haechan wanted to know if we were ripping each other’s hair out yet.”

mark chuckles, reversing the car out of the small lot. his eyes tell you he knows that a lot more than just that was discussed, but he resists prying to a certain extent. “so what’d you tell him?”

“well...” you take a moment to admire his side profile, his one hand resting casually on the wheel, and the gentle way his lips curve into a smile when you say, “i told him that i still have a full head of hair.”

「 DAY 03, 12:00 AM 」 — YOU ARE MY SOUVENIR, MY PROOF THAT I WAS HERE

what etrip.net forgot to mention was that the $19 you happily gave away was actually just a reservation fee, and not — as they had deceived you into thinking — the actual price of the room. you direct a sheepish smile towards mark as the bright-faced young man at the front counter charges $124 on your card. evidently, the internet is why you have trust issues.

the hotel sits right in the belly of downtown oklahoma city, with the touristy bricktown district only two blocks away. you’re given a card key to a spacious room with a queen sized bed draped in a crisp and plush duvet. from the updated appliances to the chic furniture and decor, every corner of the room smelled like fresh lemon verbena.

“i guess this is what you get when you pay top dollar.”

mark nods dazedly, but at the mention of money, he snaps out of his haze. “here,” he fishes out his phone from his back pocket, “i’ll transfer you the $62.”

you recline into the white lounge chair in the corner of the room. a ding! sounds from your bag that you’ve set on the floor besides you, signaling the transaction. eyes now closed in respite, you direct your “thanks” towards no one in particular.

there’s no couch this time, despite having paid a ridiculous amount, so mark sets himself atop the left side of the bed. he rummages through the front pocket of his backpack until he draws forth a thin booklet with a giant OKC in bolded yellow on the front. as he remembered, there’s a checklist list on the second page that covers all the must-do, must-see activities and locations that oklahoma city has to offer. 

mark looks up at you, then back down at the book, then back at you and back down at the book. he knows you well enough to see that you’ve yet to fall asleep. but give it another two or three minutes and the snores will catch up to you. but before those two or three minutes round upon him, mark decides that he has nothing to lose. if you want to come, you’ll come. if not, he still has a whole city to plow through in one night.

“hey.” there’s a hand on your shoulder and it’s shaking you lightly. distantly, you think that you’ve entered a state of lucid dreaming. a second after, the voice returns to say, “y/n, wake up,” and you’re conscious enough to recognize it as mark’s. willing your eyes to open, he’s hovering right above you with apprehensive eyes. “let’s go out.”

still not quite awake and still unsure of what you just heard, you blurt rather obtrusively, “what?”

“i mean...i mean like let’s go out out,” and he gestures to the window to make his point clearer. “we can get late dinner, or really early breakfast, or just walk around for a bit.”

not very convinced, you only frown at him. in turn, he’s prompted to ramble on further. “okay, but when’s the next time you’re visiting oklahoma?”

“like… never,” you drawl out slowly. mark nods fervidly as if there were a right answer and you were at the precipice of discovering it. impatient or in sudden fervor, he exasperates, “exactly! so you should make the most of tonight and see what it has to offer.”

he’s like an overly enthusiastic salesman and you decide that even if it’s just to please him, there’s no harm in playing tourist for a few hours; you could sleep as much as you want on the road anyways. you give in, “okay fine,” and watch as he pumps a fist not-so-covertly. “gimme like five minutes to change first though.”

by the time you meet him at the lobby, mark’s switched out his tour guide booklet for his phone, having loaded up all the destinations in preparation. the warm air outside is breezy to a fault and the wind picks up your hair and sloshes it this way and that. mark is quick to laugh but equally quick to tuck the wandering strands behind your ears. unknowingly, you blush and when you don’t break the stare, he breaks it for you. the tips of his ears are red when he looks away.

the first stop — a touristy jazz club — is closed for renovation, and the next one that you guys attempt had rebranded into a strip club. unease begins to nibble away at mark’s intial excitement, as his exhaustion and embarrassment collide to dampen his mood. the sidewalk crowd doesn’t care to part for two, so mark grabs hold of your wrist, leading you towards what he hopes is the final destination for the night.

mark finds his composure being built up and chipped away by your presence in the exact way he’d expected it to even before this whole ordeal of a trip. he can avoid your careful eyes and feign ignorance towards your attempts at civility, but he will never be one to deny to himself how much he still cares, how much he has always and will always care, about your opinion of him. it’s in the littlest ways that he hopes if not to impress you, then to make you smile at the least. mark doesn’t endeavor to lie to himself about that — that he wants you to smile and that he wants, even more so, to be the reason behind it.

he thinks he’s done a rather good job of accomplishing that tonight. from afar, “the flea” is but a green box with brick facing and a short line abutting the entrance. but upon entering, the ambiance of the bar feels rather like an old school arcade, with low ceilings and dimly colored lighting. it’s littered with games from pool to cornhole to connect four, and people are drunk and having fun. mark glances at you to gauge your liking, and supresses the urge to pump a lame and loser-ish fist at they way your eyes glisten in response to your lively surroundings.

he’s not sure if he’ll ever get the courage to apologize for the consequence of his thoughtless ramble from earlier in the day. and he knows that an apology is what you deserve. but in his own selfish and self-serving way, he hopes that this one night of drinking and games will at the very least make up for your soured impression of him.

you order two beers at the bar and amble over to mark, who’s found himself a spot at the darts corner. handing him the drink and taking a swig of your own, you query with a cocked eyebrow in the direction of the board, “wanna bet?”

taking the drink from your hands, mark deadpans, “you suck at darts.”

mouth full, you quickly swallow before laughing aloud, “maybe i got better, you never know.”

mark rolls his eyes in disbelief, but concedes nevertheless, “so what’s on the line?”

you take a quick scan around the room in consideration when a girl standing on the opposite side of the room by the pool table catches your eye. but not because she’s looking at you. feet crossed at the ankles and left hand swirling a half-emptied margarita, she has her sights set square on mark. a small smile dawns upon your face, and you turn back towards him. “you lose, you get her number.”

once glance around the room and he, too, knows who you’re talking about. maybe his heart sinks a little. and so he laughs. maybe he wishes you wouldn’t be so quick to write him off with another person other than you. mark takes a sip of his beer, and looks around the room once again. maybe he doesn’t mean what he’s about to say. “you lose, you get his number.” maybe he wants you to know that he still likes you, at least a lot more than the guy by the bar with the sleazy smile. 

you take a look at him yourself and decide that he wouldn’t be too bad of a punishment. some part of you felt the need to distinguish you and mark as two single friends who were just hanging out. the barrier needed to be defined after how it’d been ebbing between the extremes of exes and more than exes the whole day. it’s hard to say that you don’t like mark at this point. and that while any other guy could make you feel things, it would never amount close enough to what mark made you feel. 

but it’s even harder to say that you would want to get back together with him.

mark decides on a 200 point game and whilst you get off to a good start with two 20-pointers, mark beats you out by almost a hundred point margin to sum up the game. today, he feels up for admitting the truth to himself, for he knows well that he had tried his best to lose. but any further effort on that attempt would have made it obvious, as there was no conceivable way for him to out-lose your constant 1-pointers without suspicion. 

he watches as you down the rest of your beer before gesturing in the direction of the bar. he smiles back when you mouth, “i’ll be back,” over the blaring music. he knows why you’re being like this. he knows that it’s mostly his fault. he also knows that you’re doing this to protect yourself, that it’s not a means of punishing him. but mark accepts his punishment anyways, looking onwards as you approach the guy with a tap on his shoulder. he watches as the guy’s eyes rakes your figure in delight, sets a casual hand on your waist, smiles along to your cheesy pick up line.

but mark tears his eyes away before the guy can smash his greasy lips onto yours, or before you respond in kind. even seeing him lean in made mark sick to the stomach. he goes to retrieve the darts from the board and when he returns, you’ve returned too. “got it,” you show him the contact and number in your phone, “and i got a smooch on the cheek too.”

a small, “ew,” is all he can muster in his confusion of equal relief and disappointment. mark keeps you close for the rest of the night. you suggest many times that he go talk to this girl, or how that girl looks like his exact type. but you don’t seem to understand that mark only wants to talk to you and that you’re the only person in this room, or even in the world, he’d consider to be his exact type. you are nowhere near the understanding that mark has never felt this unlucky to be spending the night with a girl he wants but has lost the privilege to have.

you’re tipsy, with an arm linked with his and your head on his shoulder, as he walks the two of you back to the hotel. mark can’t tell you — at least not in this state — how he’s thought of trying again at least a million times. he’s come up with a million scenarios of how he’d somehow loop himself back into your life and slowly regain your trust for him. a million times over, he’d lost the confidence to follow through, always so sure that he would fall in the same patterns of negligence and immaturity. even so, he’s never wanted to try as much as he does right now.

he places your shoes by the bedside and slips off your dirty socks to add to the laundry. rummaging through your toiletries bag, he comes upon the micellar water and reusable cotton pads. he swipes it across your sleeping face to collect the makeup and extra debris, then washes the two pads and clips them on a hanger to dry. mark is dutiful in drawing the covers up to your chin, in pulling your hair back from your face, in everything a boyfriend would do.

mark is sober when he sets his lockscreen as the only thing he has to remember oklahoma city by: a photo of you, smiling at him.

「 DAY 03, 8:21 AM 」 —  HIS APOLOGY

“what is the hardest truth you had to face this year?”

you place the card to the back of the deck after reading the question aloud. mark takes his eyes off the road for a split second to glance at you. fiddling with a used toothpick with your fingers, mark wonders when you started flossing after years and years of ignoring your dentist’s nagging. yesterday, he noticed you were using a different chapstick brand than what he remembered as your go-to. you wear your hair up more often, and you frequent warm-toned clothing as opposed to your routine neutrals.

the more time he spends around you, the more mark realizes he’s never felt this distant from you. in barely two days time, he’s been surprised by how much you’ve changed in the relatively short duration the two of you spent apart compared to the time you had spent together. mark’s even more surprised by how little he’s changed in comparison.

the thirty seconds you’ve taken to formulate a response — to decide your terms of vulnerability in just how much to divulge — weren’t nearly enough for mark to be prepared for what you were about to share.

you don’t look at him when you speak. with your eyes set on the passing hills just outside, your voice breaches lowly into the air and across the car, right to mark’s utter confusion at the first of your words.

“i’ve learned that no amount of love goes wasted. i’ve learned that bad, unfortunate, terrible things happen to good people everyday, most of the time for no reason.” when you next blink, there’s a thin film of tears that gloss your eyes. “i’ve learned that the same bad, unfortunate, terrible things can happen to the very people that you love, and that sometimes there is nothing you can do about it.”

he thinks he can hear your breaths, or some similar rhythm pulsing in the thickened air, taut with tension and the fragility of your words. two beats pass, then four, before mark confirms it to be your now labored breathing. it stops shortly after, and you continue speaking to your best ability, which even then amounts to very little. “i’ve learned…”

mark turns to look at you for a little longer than he should, and the composure with which you held your head gives out, the weight of his gaze somehow heavier than that of your circumstances. he’s never seen you like this. he doesn’t know what’s your reality, and that this car, this trip, this moment, is your escape. 

“i’ve learned what it means to grieve for someone before they’ve even passed.”

he doesn’t know that you’re running on stolen time. he doesn’t know, wasn’t there, never saw how your mom had given your hand a squeeze, feeble but certain. how she faults her poorly-timed illness. how she struggled to sit up to give your grief-stricken, heartbroken body a hug and a kiss goodbye, regretful she might never be able to rejoice in her daughter’s marriage, and yet grateful that at least her other daughter can rejoice in her stead.

when you find it in yourself to lift your head upright, mark takes in another glance at the puffiness around your eyes and the streaks running down your cheek to your neck. he knows he should free a hand to locate the tissue box or offer that hand in support but he can hardly breathe, much less move, when you start speaking again.

“it’s my mom. her cancer, it’s relapsed.”

for a few seconds, all he can hear is the white noise of his car tires on an endless expanse of road. it’s like your words dissolve into the noise, refusing their impact on his own ears, richocheting between reality and his imagination. mark holds so still that he might as well have stopped breathing, or thinking, or being. 

it’s only when he hears a sob escape from you that his gravity returns to him out of a sense of realized necessity. a sort of certainty courses through his veins when he pulls over the car. there’s barely anyone on the road to witness him exit and circle around to your side. mark moves with conviction when he pulls your door open, unbuckles your seat belt, and embraces you whole. neither of you register the tears leaking from his eyes nor the way his hands shake ever so slightly, because his expression has been set straight, and his body sturdy for you to lean on.

forehead pressed to his chest, you’re gasping for air and making all sorts of incomprehensible sounds of anguish. you weren’t sure of where your strength had come from to confide in him like that, after you’d dutifully dedicated yourself to a trip detached fully of worries beyond your control at home. but you know it now. in the way he pats down your hair, rubs circles into your back, holds all the same grief-stricken, heartbroken pieces of your body together like glue, you know that it’s because it’s mark.

he doesn’t yet know what he’s saying but it’s coming out of him anyways. “i’m sorry. i’m so sorry.” he panics even more when you’re shaking your head in his arms, your hitched breaths unable to let forth any words of disagreement. but mark shakes his head too. you don’t know.

you don’t know how much it hurts him. from his heart, in his bones, through every fiber of his being he feels it. his apology.

“i’m sorry for not being there when you needed me most.”

you make up for your loss of words by looking up at him, finally. his mask of placidity folds, first at the seams with the furrow of his brow, but then in full as his face scrunches into what can only be described as indescribable heartache. his shirt is fisted in your hands as you sob, “how could you… how could you have known?”

mark shuts his eyes because he doesn’t think he has it in him to bear witness to the misery written across your face. his heart hammers inside his chest, unpromising of any relief any time soon. he holds you together, closely, closer, until there’s hardly a hardly a point of separation between the two of you.

your question rings in his head, because it makes no sense, because it only makes him feel worse about the last year he’s spent alone, because even without you by his side…

“i should have just known.”

only now do you realize that your trust in mark is the one thing that could possibly nullify your entire messy history. in hindsight, it was obvious. you knew that if you told him, he would make it his duty to make you feel better. you told him because maybe that’s precisely what you wanted to feel. and maybe you needed mark, more than anyone, to hug you like this and to convince you that everything was somehow going to work out. because maybe, just maybe, you would begin to believe it for yourself.

「  00:00  」 —  AMARANTH

it was something that you didn’t think was possible. to live with someone, to inhabit the same room, sleep in the same bed, and yet, to be so distanced to the point at which you were strangers.

sometimes he’d leave a mug on the kitchen counter, lukewarm coffee left idle. other times the tv would be left on when you got home from class, or the shower was wet when you stepped in. it was these small things, like traces of a ghost, that reminded you of your relationship with mark, or what was left of it.

on the off chance that the two of you would meet face-to-face, he was always reserved to himself. a few small apologies, maybe a peck to your lips, and always a search for reassurance — that you would’t leave him, that you wouldn’t understand where he was coming from, that you knew he wasn’t doing it on purpose.

the it was complicated. on the surface, the it was his absence in the physical sense. despite dropping out from college and having a suddenly abundant amount of free time, barely any of that time was spent with you. despite moving in to your apartment after being cut off financially from his parents and being forced to move out of the school dorms, the it was him rarely being at home. mark was always out on some unnamed errand, or to shoot at some far away location, hours away from anyone and anything. 

but under all that, the it was his inability to face himself and his future head on. the it was his latent realization that there were consequences to his impulsive and headstrong decisions, more than he had the foresight to think of, more than what he was capable of dealing with at the time. the it meant that he was incapable of putting any of these feelings to words, and even more so unwilling to say these words aloud to you.

mark didn’t know how to tell you he was lost without feeling like he had lost the one thing that was left of him — his dignity. he had held his head high when he’d passed word around that he would quit school, certain that it wasn’t the right path for him. he had held his head high when he had left his parents’ house, his childhood home, after his own father had gotten on his knees to beg him to just finish up his degree, to hold out for one last year. but he couldn’t even admit to himself, much less you, that he didn’t know what to do with himself after all his bravado had worn off.

it was an adulthood thing, he’d much later come to understand, his own version of a dramatic coming of age movie where he needed to lose himself in order to find himself. and it led him to the job of his dreams: somewhere between a full-time photographer and a part-time influencer, traveling the world, capturing it on film, documenting his process and growth journey for others to be inspired by. ever so passionate and devoted to his work, mark poured his whole into perfecting his craft. and only when he emerged atop the hill he had climbed all by his lone self — without a degree and without the support of his peers and parents — did mark realize that he had lost the one person that would have supported him through anything. you.

but the damage had been done. at that point, there was no such word in the english dictionary that could remediate the month and a half of unexplained absence. in response to his silence and refusal to confide in you, you had withdrawn from the relationship yourself, having given up on getting him to clue you in and having to deal with your own problems as well. 

it was too late for mark to say anything about it, far too late for any verbal apology to make up for it all. mark figured that his actions would speak louder than his words ever could.

at the height of summer, the sun couldn’t have shone brighter. it was that day where you had come to understand that mark’s place of refuge had never been the apartment you thought you’d both called home; it was the lake. the emerald lake would have a special feature in the photobook that mark would publish months after the two of you had broken up. in his captions, he’d write that it was there that he would turn to when his thoughts overwhelmed him, when he didn’t have it in himself to face the world.

and it was beautiful, in the most heartbreaking way, to see for yourself that in his most vulnerable state, he had turned to these waters and these winds. it was most beguiling, in the most earth-shattering way, to watch as he submerged himself bare in the water, to realize that he could never bare his heart to you, didn’t know how to, didn’t want to, didn’t care to.

he didn’t understand how badly you wanted to love him for everything that he was. he was too proud to let you see the worst parts of him, too proud to let you love the worst parts of him.

to him, the water was a symbol of renewal. to bring you here, where his heart lay, meant that he was opening back up to you, urging to you enter his waters. to you, it was a symbol of cleansing. to enter the water where you were beckoned meant washing off all the grief and bitterness that had accumulated towards the tail end of your relationship. you hadn’t yet figured out where you stood with him, if you still loved him, or if you even knew him well enough to say that you still loved him. 

it was ill-fated timing, really. your mom was diagnosed with hodgkin’s lymphoma, not even a week after what mark believed to be the turning point of your relationship. you had called him from the hospital, voice thick with affliction, rambling about chemotherapy and medical bills and breaking the news to your sister and everything else that had brought your world to a standstill. and yet in the midst of all your despair, mark could not for the life of him string together a single sentence.

later revealed, her cancer was at an early stage, so one round of chemotherapy was enough to quell it into remission. it wasn’t, however, easy on your family in terms of the financial burnden and emotional turmoil that steadily built over her four months of treatment.

all of this, mark would only hear of through haechan, for your relationship had ended the moment you had hung up that call.

blocking his phone number and social medias was the easy part. the hard part was convincing haechan to let mark move in with him. it was completely and utterly stupid and unreasonable, according to him, to end a fully committed relationship just because the guy couldn’t formulate a response to your trauma dump. “why?”

“because he’s emotionally constipated,” was the easy answer with an easy counter that haechan was sure to give, “but you knew that even before dating him.”

you sighed. however impossible, you could hear his impatience over the phone. it was enough to get you to be fully honest with your best friend. “he can’t talk to me. he can’t be honest with me. he can’t look me in the face and say ‘i’m sorry.’ tell me, hyuck,” your breath picks up and you’re mere seconds away from sobbing, “tell me, how am i supposed to come home from the hospital everyday and tell my sob story to a fucking wall?!”

later that day, haechan came over to your apartment to pick up all the belongings of your ex-boyfriend. you had dumped him because your life was in no state to house someone who didn’t know how to shoulder a burden. you had dumped him because, for the sake of your well being, you could no longer put up with his inability to communicate openly with you, to tell you what he was feeling, to tell you to ease your worries, or even just to tell you that he loved you.

but even now as you’re sat in the passenger seat of his car, if mark told you he didn’t love you anymore, you probably wouldn’t believe it.

you know it in the way he looks at you, with eyes so tender and attentive to your every motion, ears perked at every intonation, and heart worn bare at the foot of his sleeve. these were all made fact from the moment you first stepped in his car, when the simple idea of seeing him still made you apprehensive and guarded.

but with how low your defenses have since dropped, there’s no reason left to deny that mark wouldn’t believe you either if you told him you didn’t love him anymore.

and you can’t say it’s any sort of impulsive feeling, or an effect of loneliness that’s gotten the best of you. it’s evident to you now that the mark beside you is not the same mark you fell in love with. he is a result of your breakup, the one thing that he could not bury away with the rest of his feelings. the one thing that, if he ever turned to the lake for refuge, would only haunt him in the form of the memory of you that day. he could not run from the torment of losing you, because it had consumed him whole.

the mark beside you gave you your space when you needed it, and held you close even when you didn’t know you needed it. he still is awkward in responding to your questions, but he responds nonetheless. he apologized.

he’s not the same mark you foolishly fell in love with, overlooking his weakness until it ruined your relationship. the mark beside you is someone you have the choice of falling in love with, in full admiration for his growth and strengths, so much so that it begs the question:

what do you do when the reason you broke up with your ex no longer exists?

「 DAY 03, 12:47 PM 」 —  WILL YOU GO ON A DATE WITH ME?

“thank you.”

mark jolts in his seat, though he keeps enough of his cool only to answer somewhat lamely, “uhh… for what?”

“for comforting me.”

mark doesn’t look over at you. he can’t. he’s afraid of what you have to say, of what’s to become of your fleeting friendship, of the boundaries he’d overstepped. so he merely brushes it off, hoping you don’t read too much into his actions to feel uncomfortable about it. “oh that? it was nothing, no need to thank me.”

but you look over at him, and continue to, for seconds or even minutes on end. the profile of his face is perfect to you, round eyes, the slope of his nose, an equally boyish and nervous smile playing at his lips. you could almost cry, again; this time at the irony of how your break up was so ill-fated by time, but your reunion so auspicious.

“it was not nothing to me. it was… everything.”

now he looks over at you with curious eyes, but you just shake your head slightly. “it just meant a lot to me. that’s all.”

mark returns his gaze up front. he’s still nervous, afraid, and ever so conscious of you, but at the very least, he’s glad that he seems to have successfully communicated his care for you. in silence, you’ve spent the last three hours switching between playing sudoku on your phone and annotating a red-covered book titled all about love by bell hooks with a pink pen. 

until a few seconds ago, mark hadn’t had any insight whatsoever as to how you were feeling, whether you wanted more space to yourself, or if you wanted to just put it behind you and move on to cheerier conversations. and with bated breath has mark awaited some sort of sign that you were doing okay. now, as if given the green light, he sighs in relief and begins to speak, almost a little too eager to be able to strike conversation with you again.

“we’re almost halfway through texas now. well, the tip of it.”

the view just outside is completely flat for as far as the eye can perceive. blocked with only two colors, the vivid blue sky is completely void of any cloud, just as the dirt ground is void of any plant. seeing the landscapes change restlessly before your eyes over the past few days has felt like putting your life on double the speed, and the constant and unchanging blue and brown just outside feels like a welcome contrast. in all the flurry of this trip, you yearn for a moment to reorient yourself. and so you ask, “where are we staying tonight?”

“not sure yet, but if you want to you can look up some hotels in new mexico.”

you ponder the suggestion to yourself before suggesting an idea of your own, “how about we go camping? i saw your gear in the trunk.”

it’s gradual and awfully subtle, but you watch intently as the corners of mark’s lips upturn into a small smile. you even take note of how the sunlight from outside catches in his eyes, a small glint that gives his whole countenance a boyish radiance. he chuckles under his breath, simultaneously spotting a sign on the right side of the road. there’s almost a singing undertone in the way he says, “wanna take a break somewhere, grab some food, and plan something?”

you notice that the smile is still on his face as he sits across from you at a wendy’s in the middle of amarillo, thirty minutes later. in the same plaza there happened to be a taco bell and a denny’s, with an ihop and mcdonald’s across the street, inciting a fifteen minute heated debate as to which would make you less likely to vomit all over his car. in reality, there was no right answer. they were all wrong, but mark lee isn’t usually one to win arguments.

he has a few travel brochures splayed on top of the table, though he spends more of his attention typing into his phone and scribbling down notes on a yellow post-it. while he put himself in charge of finding a suitable camping spot somewhere in eastern new mexico, mark put you in charge of something you couldn’t mess up, and something you thought was too easy for the high paygrade of your company.

you did it begrudgingly and anyways, opening up the notes app on your phone, not all that happy to be left with the comparatively more boring job of coming up with a list of things to buy. with some on-the-go food options and a blanket on the list, you contemplated what kind of alcohol would most appropriately suit the occasion, looking up from your phone in time to catch mark as he did the same. briefly, your eyes met across the table.

he knows you both thought of the same thing. you must have. 

he’s the only one who knows he didn’t actually need to study for any of his finals that semester, with most of them being projects and the only outlier being a general education psychology course. but mark was at the library every day and night with you, knowing you were scared shitless for your first week of finals as a college student. you were in two completely different majors, with no overlapping classes or even departments, and yet he was there, quizzing you on your human anatomy or art history notes. you’d get all in your head about the answers, rethinking and doubting yourself. and then you’d look up at him, eyes meeting across the table just the same as now, and you’d say the correct answer.

and there was that one time, in the complete silence of the top floor of the main library, where mark had slipped you a post-it note, eyes attentive and lips pulled into a line as he watched you read over his penned question. and as always, you had said the correct answer. i would love to go on a date with you.

just like back then, you smile at him brightly and fondly from across the table. mark looks taken aback for a second, either reeling or pleasantly surprised by thought of the memory. he takes a bite of his burger, chews a bit, then swallows roughly. you look back down at your screen and quickly type ‘soju’ before setting your phone down, figuring something stronger than beer would be able to get more truths out of you that wouldn’t escape so easily when sober. seeing as how this trip had you revealing more than you expected, even going as far as confiding your most vulnerable self to mark, you wish he would let go of some of his own thoughts as well.

mark sets his phone down too, as you rummage through your bag to find the red box you’d taken from the car. he watches as you set it on the table and after recognizing it, quips almost incredulously, “you still wanna play? after all that?”

“well i was thinking i could use a break from answering.”

“you want me to answer?” he quirks an eyebrow up, and you pass the set of cards over to him. barely shuffling, he draws a card at random and his eyebrows move again, this time to furrow as he skims the question. mark reads aloud, “how old do you feel, emotionally?”

it’s a question that you yourself can’t answer for him, even if you wished to. there’s no way for you to tell what kind of changes had occurred between then and now, but at the very least you know that he’s years wiser than the mark that once sat across from you at the library. and that thought alone pulls at your heart incessantly.

after giving the question some thought, mark answers in all the ways you least expect him to.

“i feel like i know nothing.”

and he doesn’t bother to elaborate further.

“what?”

mark laughs a bit. it’s evident that his thought was underdeveloped, and so he develops it some more, “i feel like a newborn baby, but like… really smart.” he continues to make no sense, so you laugh at him. and then you’re both laughing. it’s sweet, really.

he had spent so long in that library with you, dutifully studying for what would be the easiest final exam of his life. mark reread his psychology notes so many times that week that they would be forever ingrained in his mind. but to you, the next thoughts he shares are completely out of the blue.

“you know like crystallized and fluid intelligence?” he pauses to laugh some more at the quizzical look you’ve thrown him. “like crystallized is like accumulated knowledge and stuff like facts, while fluid intelligence is like problem-solving and reasoning or something.”

now he really needs you to stop laughing because it’s infectious. “and what does that have to do with anything?” your laughter is especially infectious to him, because he really can’t bring himself to stop laughing despite the point he so desperately wants to make.

“just let me finish my thought, okay? and then you can laugh all you want.”

at that, you stifle your laughter by pressing your lips together, and all mark can think of is how cute you are. he pushes past that thought and does his best to sound like he’s not stupid.

“i mean like, i feel like i have a bunch of crystallized intelligence from being in the world for so long, but at the same time i have zero fluid intelligence. like i’m a newborn baby with all the knowledge in the world, and no idea what to do with it.”

and you catch on immediately, “so basically like… adulting? like facing the real world after being coddled your entire life?”

mark isn’t laughing anymore nor was anything he said that stupid, but he has this stupid dopey smile on his face. because if there’s one person that can comprehend his thoughts so completely and so easily, even as he uses the most unorthodox methods to explain them, it’s you. always you. only you.

and just like that you understood it all. the months he spent in solitude after dropping out of college weren’t spent alone, they were spent facing the real world. you had always been so bitter that he would rather endure those rough moments by himself than shoulder his worries with you, but you understand it now. and he didn’t even need to say much at all. mark had needed space to figure out himself, for himself. he needed to unlearn everything that people and society had told him about who he was, what he was good at, bad at, should or shouldn’t do, and for once, spend time to get to know himself. after all, how was he supposed to be in a relationship with you if he didn’t even have an idea of who he was?

sitting across from him now, you can see in full how mark’s grown into himself, his passions, and his work. he’s facing the world still, and will always be, but he is confident instead of prideful. he isn’t ashamed of what he doesn’t know, for he will learn in due time. he isn’t afraid of failure, because he knows he’ll only grow from it.

it’s astonishing how these past few days have brought everything into a full circle. in hindsight, the messy break up was really just what the situation called for. and this impromptu reunion turned out to be a miracle of timing, to the degree at which the both of you can’t help but think…

right person, right time.

「 DAY 03, 10:12 PM 」 —  MY DREAMS COME TRUE (WHEN I’M WITH YOU)

you found it strange, but didn’t think too much of it.

it was like there was some foggy haze over everything, like a honeyed film that made your world a little sweeter, softer, and more precious. you had spent almost a full two years juggling your classes, extracurriculars, and family and relationship issues, flitting between school and home and the hospital and then repeating it all over and over until you couldn’t even trace when you’d gone a bit insane. to you, it was something between a secret orchestration of the universe and an answered prayer to find yourself out here, surrounded by cicadas and under the scorching sun.

to him, it was everything he could have asked for, and more.

sumner lake state park had his favorite hues of greens, blues, and browns. and you were grateful, for mark frequently paused your impromptu hiking trip to shoot on his camera, leaving you moments to catch a breath and take in the views along the lakeshore.

the sun had set at half past eight. that was almost two hours ago, and two hours after the two of you had luckily scored a spot at the eastside campground. whoever made the original reservation would forever have no clue as to what they helped achieve by simply not showing up.

it was like a dream, except you were awake. it was like a movie, except you were the star. it was like a book, except it wasn’t all about love. it was all about mark lee.

he has one hand holding his mug and the other on your thigh. again, there’s the glint in his eyes, this time sourced from the small campfire he’s made. the summer night is hot enough, but mark had insisted. “for the ambiance,” he’d said, “for the memories.”

this is how the memory will go. for whenever you think back to this moment, you will always remember the glow of the fire reflected in his eyes, the buzz of cicadas, the sound of the lapping lake, and his hand on your thigh.

you take a swig of your soju, face scrunching at the initially bitter taste. setting your mug down, you lean back on the palms of your hands and look up towards the sky. it reminds you of the color pencil set you used to use as a kid, the black you’d always confuse for a dark navy and the dark navy you’d always confuse for the black. and dotted with a white color pencil were the stars, shining one by one, all too similar to the light in his eyes.

the water of the lake reminds you of him. the leaves of trees he’d dedicated countless rolls of film to reminds you of him. the singing of birds, as soft as his mindless humming, reminds you of him. the sweetness left by the soju in your mouth reminds you of him.

maybe the world felt a little lighter on your shoulders when you were with him, and everything seemed a little brighter because of his bright eyes and carefree smile. he makes you feel like you’re a kid whose imaginative color pencil drawings of her dreams spin off the paper and turn into reality. like a kid who, in her heart, only has space for hope for the future.

and you think, that must be what it means to love someone. to see everything in a different light, to see only the best of situations, of people, of the world around you. and ultimately, to love the world, everybody in it, every thing ever created, because you love him. 

and so when he draws the next card, it’s the most ridiculous question ever.

“how did you get over your first love?”

you laugh a little, then gulp down the rest of the soju in your mug. wincing at the taste, you decide that it would do no harm whatsoever to be a little more honest with mark. compared to the first day you stepped in his car, back into his life, you now have a very good idea of how mark had changed, how he knew how to handle your feelings with care this time around. it’s a newfound trust, and you plan on exercising it.

looking him straight in the eye, you cock your head a bit to the left as if considering the thing you already knew you were to say. “i don’t think i’ve ever gotten over you.”

mark has no reaction. he just stares at you for longer and longer, until you tilt your head to the other side and he seems to remember that time hasn’t stopped for him. suddenly he’s also downing the rest of his soju, throwing his head back and gulping it down thickly.

truth be told, he used to be intimidated by the honesty with which you always spoke, but he thinks he gets it now. whether it be with other people or with himself, mark feared that the truth about his feelings, his pridefulness, or the nature of his insecurities weakened him. but at the end of the day, what good has avoiding the truth done for him? it was through losing the most sincere person in his life that he realized being forthright and overcoming the fear, the uncomfortableness, and sometimes the displeasure of being honest, made him all the stronger.

and it’s with these thoughts that mark is able to muster up the courage to regain your gaze with all the softness in the world. maybe it had a little to do with the alcohol in his system, but the words seem to slip right out of him. “i don’t think i’ve ever gotten over you either.”

you hold your gaze for only a few moments longer, for shortly after processing his words you break out into a grin so wide, mark can’t help but think the alcohol’s gotten to you too. and then you’re laughing a bit — whether out of relief or bewilderment, he can’t tell — but he’s glad. mark is glad to hear your honest answer, glad to give an honest answer back. he watches as you fully recline on the air mattress in the trunk of his car, looking onwards adoringly. there’s really no way to tell if he’s feeling this giddy because he’s drunk or because for the first time, there is no need to suppress his feelings for you. mark suspects it’s both, at the same time, in full effect. 

he grabs another card, reads it for all of two seconds. mark leans over to where you’re peering up at him and, smiling fondly, he tells you to, “close your eyes for a sec.” you think of the campfire, the cicadas, and the lake, but when you recall this night in memory, this exact moment is what you remember most vividly.

it was bound to happen. you just didn’t know it’d happen like this.

the air mattress isn’t uncomfortable, per se; it’s just that it feels hot against your skin. chills run down the length of your spine, but it isn’t the doing of the wind from the half-open windows. it’s mark lee and his lips on yours. his hand comes up to your arm feverishly, barely grazing it, and more chills ripple from wherever the rings on his fingers ghost your skin. 

mark stops for a moment. takes a breath. looks back up and peers into your eyes. he kisses you again.

you don’t know what to do except kiss him back. he has both hands on you now, the one on your arm and the other one on your neck. and he keeps kissing you, lips molding to yours with slips of his tongue here and there, gentle and prodding. he’s scared. for what exactly? he doesn’t know. maybe for his life.

his life, that you seem to be holding in your hands, the same hands that are now making their way around his waist. mark can’t breathe. the skin at the back of your neck is warm and soft to the touch, but he already knew that. he’s known it for so long. everything about you is familiar to him like a well-worn book or the lines of his favorite song. the sound of your voice is so low when the briefest of groans escapes you, but to mark it’s almost predictable. this is the you that he knows, the you that he couldn’t forget, the you that he lost.

mark can’t breathe, and so he stops kissing you. he mumbles an embarrassed, “i’m sorry.” he buries his head into your shoulder. he thinks he loves you. he knows he does.

but he can’t bring himself to say it out loud.

out of fear, he can’t tell you he loves you. it’s not the same fear that held him back from sharing any vulnerable side of himself with you, but instead the fear of losing you. even as you admit your lingering feelings and kiss him back like you’d never stopped, mark is filled with the fear of how overbearing he’d be if he fully leaned into his desire for you. he can imagine himself, in this same moment but in a million different universes, and in each one he messes up.

in one, he moves too fast by saying the words but he’s got the timing all wrong, and all of a sudden his feelings are a burden to you whose own feelings lack the depth of his. in another, he never says them at all, and this night marks the last of any intimacy he’ll receive for the rest of his life. in all of these universes, he knows why he kissed you, but he doesn’t know what you meant when you kissed him back. in all these universes, he wants, more than anything, to do right by you.

“sorry for what?”

mark lifts his head up to look you in the eye, and when he still fails to say a word, you tease him a bit to lighten the suddenly dour look on his face. “for kissing me? really?”

to your delight, he chuckles at that and shakes his head lightly. 

you can tell he has a lot on his mind, but his neck and ears are flushed red and you don’t mean to use his inebriation to pry the words out of him. you pat the empty side of the bed, “lay down, we should get some sleep.”

slowly and cautiously, he moves to the spot next to you. laying down flat on his back and staring at the darkened ceiling of his car, mark wonders if this is the universe where nothing happens at all and he misses his chance completely. he sinks into this feeling and almost lets it consume him whole when he realizes he’s the only person who has the ability to change that.

the blanket the you bought earlier in the day has been discarded by your feet, the summer heat imanent even in the dead of night. you don’t know how to process what just happened, and you don’t get a chance to. a warmth is felt along your side before you realize mark’s arms have found their way around your waist, bringing you closer to him. he nuzzles his face into the sleeve of your shirt, eyes closed and humming in satisfaction.

his voice is barely discernible when he mumbles, “i’m sorry if that caught you by surprise.”

the sound of cicadas chirping just outside fills the space between his apology and your forgiveness. “it’s okay. i didn’t mind it.”

mark shifts his position a little. he places a small kiss at the base of your neck. “do you mind this, then?”

though his eyelids remain heavy and all his words are slurred together, he’s more alert than he has been all day. he doesn’t hear your small laugh so much as he feels it pulse against him, and it fills him with much joy. perhaps this has been his superpower all along, changing his universe in small and big ways, however he desires. perhaps, as long as he is true to himself and honest with his feelings, he will always find a way to have you close by his side, feeling every rise and fall of your breath. 

that night, in the brief moments before sleep overcomes him mark decides that he will create a universe where you are his, happily, rightfully, and fatefully.

「 DAY 05, 1:44 AM 」 — JUST TELL ME YOU LOVE ME

number three on mark’s bucket list — the one he made in his sophomore year of college — is to one day visit the svalbard islands. located in the arctic circle, the northernmost town in the world, called longyearbyen, goes about half a year without sunlight during its dark season. it is there that mark wishes to undergo the challenge of photographing in almost complete darkness, something he’s never quite been able to catch the hang of.

number four on his bucket list is to start a company that produces camera gear for his own needs, and for the needs of the many people he’s inspired with his work. number five on his bucket list is to buy an old ass subaru manual transmission wrx and fix it up until it’s perfectly to his liking.

out of all these ambitions listed on his bucket list that mark had told you about way back then – the previously mentioned visiting of all the national parks and forests, shooting in svalbard, starting a camera gear company, and owning a wrx — he’d neglected to tell you what tops his list at number one.

after two years, his bucket list remains unchanged, even the mystery number one: to complete everything on his list with you.

when you had asked a few days prior why mark hadn’t bothered moving out of nyc as it no longer served his needs, he had said you were the one reason he couldn’t part with the city. it had made you frustrated as to why he kept you in the equation even after your relationship came to a close, but more so confused as to why he still held you to such importance. 

you had spent the many months after the break up working hard at keeping your life together, removing all emotions, situations, and people that stood in the way of your priorities at the time, which were school and family. while that still holds true for you, mark’s priorities hadn’t changed either; you have continued to be a priority of his to this very day. and only now, when he’s right in front of you, do you realize this.

maybe it had been your insistence on moving on from him that you believed all his actions were nothing more than displays of his latent guilt. he’d send boxes of protein drinks to your front door, salves and balms for cracked skin, and woven hats for your mom who was undergoing chemotherapy at the time. and for you, there’d be the occasional uber eats ramen or chicken noodle soup that would arrive at your doorfront unprompted, and especially right at the times when you were up studying all night.

under suspicion, you had stopped complaining to haechan whenever you were feeling particularly tired or hungry, and the late night meals that were sent to your house lowered in frequency, and weren’t as punctual to your needs. mark wasn’t outright with anything, never showed up himself, or contacted you personally, but he wasn’t exactly discreet either.

only you, haechan, and mark knew your door code, for you hadn’t bothered to changed it after he moved out as there was no apparent need to. after the lightbulb in your kitchen went out and you had asked haechan a favor to buy you one at the nearest hardware store, you came home later that day to find it already fixed. knowing haechan was also busy with school and wouldn’t go to such lengths without further bribing, you had surmised it was mark and decided to put it to the test. the next time when your shower faucet started leaking, you mentioned it in passing to haechan and before the end of the week, it was good as new.

could it have counted as breaking and entering? that’s debateable. but you were aware of it and yet did nothing about it, rendering it legal at the very least. back then, you had given the vitamin supplements he had sent to your house to your mom, eaten every meal he bought you, and accepted all his covert services without a second thought, because you were firm in your belief that any form apology sent your way was useless in repairing the relationship you had put to a stop. you might as well accept it, move on, and wait until the day mark was no longer ridden with guilt, and no longer felt the need to perform such acts out as a result. 

that day never came, and it’s evident to you in retrospect that he did nothing out of guilt, but everything out of care, for your health, your well-being, and safety. his care, simply, for you.

it’s evident to you in the way mark exceled in his role as the passenger princess the entire day. after he lost another argument to you, you finally found yourself behind the wheel which, somehow, felt like the safest seat in his car. he fed you snacks, kept you entertained, put on all your favorite songs, and navigated the both of you safely to the white sands national park in new mexico.

mark kept an extra pair of sunglasses in the central console of his car. mark also had facial oil blotting papers in the glove box. in the trunk, there was an extra pair of sandals in your size, and a set of two fold-out camping chairs. the way he never stopped caring, it was as if you never broke up with him.

there is no city in the world that mark would rather live in, if you are not there. there is no national park he would ever visit, if you are not with him. he would freeze to death in the northernmost city in the world, without your warmth beside him. he would run his company to the ground without your input, and his favorite wrx becomes just another car without you in the passenger seat. all his life goals lose their meaning in your absence. this is how it’s always been for mark. this is why you are a priority to him.

even with his sunglasses on, the white sands were exceptionally bright. for the duration of 45 minutes, mark had guided you along the dunes drive, a scenic eight mile drive through the famed gypsum dunefield. the road conditions were harsher the farther you went along, and so he instructed you into the nearest parking lot, and swapped seats with you before going on. mark held your hand while driving, and he also squeezed it whenever he inevitably hit a bump here and there, as if in apology, as if it was his fault.

mark had kissed you again, with nothing but the white sands and blue skies in the backdrop. he’d taken pictures of you, using up his most expensive film stock on your priceless smile. he’d paid for the motel too, knowing you hadn’t initially wished for the trip to be more than three days, but wanting you to stay for yet another.

all of this has you wondering if you have it in you to care for him the way he cares for you.

you wonder how much importance he holds to you, how much of your heart you’d be willing to give to him, where your love for him would take you if you set it free.

as it turns out, your unanswered questions would be answered in the wee hours of the following morning. this is after mark had driven another six hours to ensure you would be able to make it to los angeles by the day after that to help with last minute preparations for your sister’s wedding.

you are in miami, a city in which — up until the last hour of your life — you had no idea existed outside of florida. you are in arizona, a state in which you would never have had a reason for visiting, if not for mark lee.

you are in a room, at the two-star rated el rey motel. and now you are in the bathroom, dimly lit by the dispersed light of a plastic water bottle placed atop your phone flashlight. you are in the bathtub, and though the water’s no longer hot, the temperature maintains its warmth from the heat emanating off your body. alongside mark lee’s.

it’s a forced darkness; the single lightbulb was out, and the early hour meant the motel staff had already retired for the night. with only one weak light source, the darkness of the room sets a tension so high that both of you are afraid to speak, much less move. but you put it upon yourself to break the tension, as it was your idea in the first place. bathing together.

the silence and the darkness combined makes it so every movement and every breath is unmistakeable and pronounced. the same applies to the sound of your voice when you start to speak, “thank you.”

all of a sudden, mark repositions himself. you can barely see it, but you hear the water sloshing and you feel it move about you. he’s sat across the tub, and you find it fascinating that even without light, his eyes still manage to shine. looking into them, you resume, “thank for everything you did, after we broke up.”

you can hear him swallow. the more you talk, the more you feel the tears pricking at your eyes, your emotions rising as you continue to speak, “and thank you driving me across the country, and for always being considerate, and for apologizing, and for…” your voice lowers to a bare whisper, “...everything. for everything you have ever done for me.”

“you don’t… you don’t have to thank me for anything.”

whereas your tears are at the precipice of falling, you notice that mark has begun crying. they’re silent, the way his tears roll down his left cheek. the water around you shifts, ebbs and flows, as you move closer to him and reach a useless wet hand to wipe his tears. you keep your hand on his cheek. and again, mark finds that he can hardly breathe, “i did it all… i did all of it, because i…”

mark breathes a sharp inhale, the air struggling to squeeze past the three words that remain lodged in his throat. he’s twenty-four now, and he’s still scared of the dark. but by no means is he scared of the monsters under his bed. without light, a camera has to resort to longer exposure times to piece together a full picture. without light, the human eye has to dilate to capture more of what is right in front of it. if his exposure is set too low and if his eyes fail to dilate, all that will remain will be a blurry image, uncertainty as to what was, nothing when there was actually everything. 

here in this bathroom, where there is nothing but you and him and a million unsaid truths, mark finds that he is terrified of losing what’s right in front of him to the darkness. again, he is most fearful of losing you.

both of your hands now cup his cheeks, bringing his face in line with your own. he has his arms around you, and you can feel his fingers pruning on the skin of your waist. you think you have an idea of what he’s about to say, was about to say, but you’re scared he won’t say it. with nothing but a thin veil of air between your noses, you decided to help him overcome his fears.

“i think we feel the same way about each other.” please say it to me.

mark blinks, breaks the stare, looks away, upwards, to the side, “we can’t possibly feel the same…”

he sounds almost exasperated, in the most diminished sense, but you push again, “even then, i don’t mind,” just tell me you love me.

“we can’t possibly feel the same…” mark returns your gaze again, and you watch as his pupils dilate, “because there’s no way you love me as much as i love you.”

the veil of air between your two noses lifts as you lean in for a kiss. a small one. one that says, i will always love you.

of all the things water could symbolize, the water in this bathtub surrounding the two of you represents life, the life that was breathed back into your relationship. this is owed to truth, which is a funny thing for it often hides in plain sight. a year ago at the lake, where the sun had touched every surface on the face of the earth, it had not bothered to dig deeper than that. it is only in the darkness that the truth has nowhere to hide. and if mark had been fearful of the dark moments ago, it is for this reason that he isn’t anymore.

「 DAY 06, 1:18 PM 」 —  LIKE WE JUST MET

the trunk of his beloved subaru crosstrek slams shut from behind. mark winces. the car door of the passenger seat slams shut shortly after. mark winces once again, and complains rather brashly, “can you not do that every time you get in my car?”

“you’re late. we’re late. can we just get going already?”

mark huffs, turning his attention to the front because the both of you are at fault. you, for not treating his baby with love and care. and him, for picking you up almost twenty minutes after he was supposed to. the wedding venue was an hour away including traffic, and now mark had only forty minutes to not jeopardize the state of his new old relationship.

he’s all but broken your neck by the time you arrive — only five minutes late — after accelerating and braking as aggressively as was necessary to get you to your destination.

while you collect your belongings, mark exits the car, straightens out his tux, and makes his way over to your side of the car, pulling the door open for you. you meet him with a glare while clambering out the car, “you’re lucky nothing’s started yet.”

with you as the maid of honor and with him as just your plus one, he spends most of the time idling around and mingling with acquaintances he hasn’t seen in ages, whilst you headed to the suites of the beachside resort to help your sister get ready. mark is shocked, more than he has been in the past week, to find out that you hadn’t told a single relative that you’d broken up with him in the first place. still, he plays his role as “boyfriend for almost three years” quite well.

throughout the rest of the day, mark notices a few things. 

1) you like the venue, a lot. a summer wedding on the beach, with pastels and flowers and the wind in everyone’s hair. and since you’d commented on these things more than once, mark made sure to commit it to memory for future reference.

2) your sister made a face at you before turning around and throwing the bouquet, which you caught. did everyone think he was supposed to propose right then and there? he doesn’t know, but something about the way your sister had regarded him the whole night makes him nervous. as in the “meeting the in-laws” kind of nervous.

3) lastly, you were more beautiful that you were yesterday. but also, yesterday you were more beautiful than you were the day before. mark had recognized this ongoing phenomena ever since you’d stepped in his car, and it doesn’t seem like there’s a cap to his admiration for you. at this point, it’s like he’s just waiting for any day now where it gets out of hand and he does propose.

it’s on the dance floor where this last point becomes very apparent to him. you’re laughing at everything he’s saying, eyes beaming up at him as he sways you this way and that. when he leans down to plant a kiss to your forehead, mark swears the smile you give in return could save lives with just how radiant it is. he feels a bit silly, like he’s gone a little crazy, but mark knows that the next wedding he’s going to will be his.

and it’s as if your minds communicated on a frequency that only the other could hear, as just the next moment you whisper in his ear.

“us next?”

✧ [ FIN. ]  copyright © 2023 rouiyan all rights reserved.  

✧ author's life update — honestly who knew i would get back into writing ff... basically i graduated from high school, got into a few t20 colleges, lost a parent to cancer, gained a parent, lost two best friends, broke up with my long term boyfriend, got my license, turned legal, AND saw the dreamies in concert. so if anyone's wondering why i left.... i'm just glad to say i'm so bored that i'm back. and yes this fic is mostly a self-indulgent account of what i wish my relationship and family life turned out to be but the moral of this story really is: if you're emotionally unstable, seek professional help before relying too much on your s/o. unless they are, of course, mark lee.

sources wnrs card game wnrs free deck (shhh) upmc pinnacle colon and rectal surgery center brockhampton saturation ii track 16 one star relax inn review little crazy love song alley spring mill the flea holiday inn at ok my fav tea that got me thru this wendy’s in amarillo sumner lake state park svalbard wikipedia things to do at white sands national park new mexico el rey motel

#mark lee x reader #nct mark #mark lee #mark lee fluff #mark x reader #nct fics #nct scenarios #nct #nct x reader #mark scenarios #mark lee scenarios #nct mark lee #mark x you #lee mark #mark fluff #nct dream #nct 127 #nct u

[nostalgebraist]

@oakfern replied to your post “it's going to be fun to watch the realization...”:

i feel like this is going to play out very similarly to voice assistants. there was a huge boom in ASR research, the products got a lot of hype, and they actually sold decently (at least alexa did). but 10 years on, they've been a massive failure, costing way more than they ever made back. even if ppl do think chatbot search engines are exciting and cool, it's not going to bring in more users or sell more products, and in the end it will just be a financial loss

​(Responding to this a week late)

I don't know much about the history of voice assistants. Are there any articles you recommend on the topic? Sounds interesting.

ETA: Iater, I found and read this article from Nov 2022, which reports that Alexa and co. still can't turn a profit after many years of trying.

But anyway, yeah... this is why I don't have a strong sense of how widespread/popular these "generative AI" products will be a year or two from now. Or even five years from now.

(Ten years from now? Maybe we can trust the verdict will be in at that point... but the tech landscape of 2033 is going to be so different from ours that the question "did 'generative AI' take off or not?" will no doubt sound quaint and irrelevant.)

Remember when self-driving cars were supposed to be right around the corner? Lots of people took this imminent self-driving future seriously.

And I looked at it, and thought "I don't get it, this problem seems way harder than people are giving it credit for. And these companies show no signs of having discovered some clever proprietary way forward." If people asked me about it, that's what I would say.

But even if I was sure that self-driving cars wouldn't arrive on schedule, that didn't give me much insight into the fate of "self-driving cars," the tech sector meme. It wasn't like there was some specific deadline, and when we crossed it everyone was going to look up and say "oh, I guess that didn't work, time to stop investing."

The influx of capital -- and everything downstream from it, the trusting news stories, the prominence of the "self-driving car future" in the public mind, the seriousness which it was talked about -- these things went on, heedless of anything except their own mysterious internal logic.

They went on until . . . what? The pandemic, probably? I actually still don't know.

Something definitely happened:

In 2018 analysts put the market value of Waymo LLC, then a subsidiary of Alphabet Inc., at $175 billion. Its most recent funding round gave the company an estimated valuation of $30 billion, roughly the same as Cruise. Aurora Innovation Inc., a startup co-founded by Chris Urmson, Google’s former autonomous-vehicle chief, has lost more than 85% since last year [i.e. 2021] and is now worth less than $3 billion. This September a leaked memo from Urmson summed up Aurora’s cash-flow struggles and suggested it might have to sell out to a larger company. Many of the industry’s most promising efforts have met the same fate in recent years, including Drive.ai, Voyage, Zoox, and Uber’s self-driving division. “Long term, I think we will have autonomous vehicles that you and I can buy,” says Mike Ramsey, an analyst at market researcher Gartner Inc. “But we’re going to be old.”

Whatever killed the "self-driving car" meme, though, it wasn't some newly definitive article of proof that the underlying ideas were flawed. The ideas never made sense in the first place. The phenomenon was not really about the ideas making sense.

Some investors -- with enough capital, between them, to exert noticable distortionary effects on entire business sectors -- decided that "self-driving cars" were, like, A Thing now. And so they were, for a number of years. Huge numbers of people worked very hard trying to make "self-driving cars" into a viable product. They were paid very well to do. Talent was diverted away from other projects, en masse, into this effort. This went on as long as the investors felt like sustaining it, and they were in no danger of running out of money.

Often the "tech sector" feels less like a product of free-market incentives than it does like a massive, weird, and opaque public works product, orchestrated by eccentrics like Masayoshi Son, and ultimately organized according to the aesthetic proclivities and changing moods of its architects, not for the purpose of "doing business" in the conventional sense.

Gig economy delivery apps (Uber Eats, Doordash, etc.) have been ubiquitous for years, and have reported huge losses in every one of those years.

This entertaining post from 2020 about "pizza arbitrage" asks:

Which brings us to the question - what is the point of all this? These platforms are all losing money. Just think of all the meetings and lines of code and phone calls to make all of these nefarious things happen which just continue to bleed money. Why go through all this trouble?

Grubhub just lost $33 million on $360 million of revenue in Q1.

Doordash reportedly lost an insane $450 million off $900 million in revenue in 2019 (which does make me wonder if my dream of a decentralized network of pizza arbitrageurs does exist).

Uber Eats is Uber's "most profitable division” 😂😂. Uber Eats lost $461 million in Q4 2019 off of revenue of $734 million. Sometimes I need to write this out to remind myself. Uber Eats spent $1.2 billion to make $734 million. In one quarter.

And now, in February 2023?

DoorDash's total orders grew 27% to 467 million in the fourth quarter. That beat Wall Street’s forecast of 459 million, according to analysts polled by FactSet. Fourth quarter revenue jumped 40% to $1.82 billion, also ahead of analysts’ forecast of $1.77 billion.

But profits remain elusive for the 10-year-old company. DoorDash said its net loss widened to $640 million, or $1.65 per share, in the fourth quarter as it expanded into new categories and integrated Wolt into its operations.

Do their investors really believe these companies are going somewhere, and just taking their time to get there? Or is this more like a subsidy? The lost money (a predictable loss in the long term) merely the price paid for a desired good -- for an intoxicating exercise of godlike power, for the chance to reshape reality to one's whims on a large scale -- collapsing the usual boundary between self and outside, dream and reality? "The gig economy is A Thing, now," you say, and wave your hand -- and so it is.

Some people would pay a lot of money to be a god, I would think.

Anyway, "generative AI" is A Thing now. It wasn't A Thing a year ago, but now it is. How long will it remain one? The best I can say is: as long as the gods are feeling it.

#oakfern #ai tag

[ilgaksu]

i will now be referring to this situation as weimargate, because i must laugh or i will dissolve into the void.

aka i have had a VERY weird experience of it in fandom lately, and it has escalated to memes in lieu of interpretative dance*, but also i want to talk about it because i think, in more general terms, it's relevant for discussion about how fandom is evolving.

(*as illustrated by @difeisheng because i am personally intimidated by photoshop. interpretative dance would've only had me to blame.)

so. hi! if you don't know me, i am an ao3 writer who goes by the pen name ilgaksu. i have 179 fics on my ao3 account, and of those, 46 of these are for DMBJ or grave robber's chronicles. i've been writing in this fandom for roughly three years, which means according to the laws of mathematics and my own inability to stop posting about my favourite blorbos, that's a new fic every 3.39 weeks. i have not counted chapter updates in this count, but given several have multiple chapters, i think we can see there's....a lot. one ongoing series is currently sitting at about 200k, word-count wise. i like to write, overall, about disability, reclamation, legacy and memory. i also overuse semi-colons.

i am also a very private person at this point in my fandom career. this will be the first post i've made in a while talking about myself where i have allowed there to be reblogs on it. this isn't intended as an affront to anyone else in fandom. my ask box is open, sans anon, and in the last few years, i chose to reply to every comment i could to make sure i still get to engage about the characters i love without compromising my own desire for privacy about my personal life. i choose to work under an explicit persona - because we all do on the internet but i have made mine obvious and enunciated and almost a brand - because i think there is something freeing about allowing myself that experience. it's allowed me to write work that i relate to deeply without having to divulge my life to be analysed by strangers on the internet. generally, i like to post my silly little stories, talk to people about them, and then go about my day offline.

anyway, so this week, i seriously considered walking away wholesale from my current fandom, and i'd actually like to talk about why, and talk about me as a person as opposed to the narrative of persona that i've crafted.

because the reality of a persona is that a real, living person is required to animate it. if i am the person who is small and human and anxious to even speak about this, then i am also the reason the operation is running. it's a one-man show. as much as i want my work to speak for itself without my need to justify its meaning or worth, without my experiences, research and choices about my time, the work would not exist. that's just fact. it's fact for every writer and artist and podficcer and person who labours out of love you see. i also deliberately consider myself a writer as opposed to a content creator, because i believe that label mimics a wider culture i have no interest in - that of someone creating a consumable, ownable object. my fanfiction is a hobby. it cannot be owned by other people. unlike my original work, where it can be bought, there is no formal, explicit contract between me and the reader. there is, however, in fandom, an implicit social contract of equality and collaboration, where we are all equals. i am fundamentally no better than someone who never writes fic and never wants to and never will. i reject the idea of superiority among fans because i do not engage in subculture to mimic the dominant culture, the one that tells me stories are something only certain people are allowed to see themselves in, or even tell to others; that production is the only means of social capital and intrinsic worth.

i am aware, also, that by being private the way i am, i end up sacrificing some experiences that i could have by being more accessible, but i want to reiterate that i have never gone out of my way to conceal my tumblr, nor ignored people who contacted me directly to talk about my fic. in fact, if you show up to talk about my fic, i will probably be so thrilled i'll never let you leave - especially since, when it comes to a majority of it - i spend a lot of time on research, something i enjoy, and deliberately cite my research in the notes because i want to share it as part of the experience of my writing. clearly, i want ideas i have come up with to be enjoyed and loved and shared, because otherwise why would i take the risk of putting them out online, where i then cannot control how they're received or transformed?

however, since about a year ago, i've maintained a policy of works based on my own that i've had outlined clearly in my profile on ao3 here:

as someone who is playing in someone else's sandbox for free myself, my only request is if when you use an idea, usually a headcanon, which is one i created, which you can as much and in whatever way you want because that is the nature of collaborative fandom and the reason i love it so much, you cite that i was the originator of the idea. and secondly, that you let me know. this is a personal request based on how writing can be a very lonely project, even in fandom. you put your work out into the world, with no sense of who it will reach and if it will mean anything to them, and you have to work on the faith that even if it doesn't, the work itself was worthwhile. but you hope it will, because everyone hopes it will.

all of this is outlining so it's understandable to people that read this how i was completely off my face bewildered when i found out a headcanon of mine had reached the level of fanon popularity where it's been mistaken for canon, and has been for over a year at the very least, and i had literally no idea this had happened.

which, frankly, was both hilarious, in a very bizarre way, and completely, deeply sucked.

i know this is my idea because of how distinctive it is, and how much it contravenes canon - namely, that a character, hei xiazi, was a medical student in berlin during the weimar republic. i know it's mine because the timeline with the canon we're told by the actual writer of the source material doesn't match up, which i was aware of and chose to retcon. it was designed and fitted to a personal interpretation of canon material i had been working on for years, and involved a lot of time and research and intense love for the era, the character, and the ways a story about being alone in a foreign country had intertwined with my own personal life. ever since i wrote it, i assumed that the one or two people who had used it with credit were the only ones who had, and because they had honoured my request i was honestly completely thrilled. i still am that those fics exist. that's because it was collaborative.

i want to be clear: nothing about the situation as it stands has been collaborative. a writer being the last to know about the commonality of their own idea in a small fandom is not collaborative. and while it might not bother everyone, it's bothered me to the point i've had serious consideration for several days about whether i should walk away from the fandom.

but ilgaksu, surely you should be flattered that people liked the idea so much?

yes. this was never about the use of the idea. it's about the way this idea has been isolated and used with an assumption that i would have no interest in knowing, or that i would even need to know. i'm not sure what has caused this - whether the persona element of my work has led people to believe i would not have any emotions about finding this out, but i am not, actually, a persona. i am the person who uses it. and as the person who uses it, this is how it felt to find this out. it felt, and still feels uncomfortable, hurtful and isolating to find out your idea has been so beloved but that nobody considered whether you would like to know. it feels like the collaborative element of fandom has been severed from you, specifically, and that your fanwork has been treated as entirely other from you as a fan. i hope nobody else making work feels like this, and i've been told this situation is so strange as to ensure that's hopefully not the case, but i think this is an ongoing issue more widely - the idea that writers are separate from fan culture, and their works are products as opposed to the shared results of a hobby.

do i think this was deliberate? not at all. do i think this was intended to be hurtful? not even in the slightest. but i want to be clear how personal this feels.

i don't have an answer for this situation. the cat is out of the bag, ilgaksu knows about the fanon, and hei xiazi is, despite all canon, going to medical school in 1920s germany. expressing my discomfort with how this has gone down feels important to me anyway, and it's also important to me that i do it in this very detailed way so that people who were unaware do not feel personally at fault, or feel like by me expressing this i am taking this idea back from them. i always wanted this idea to be loved and to be shared.

i also always hoped this idea would find people who wanted and needed a story about someone a long way from home following an ambition, and how much fear and hope and desire goes into the decision to do something like that, and what it means to be a disabled person in a foreign country, and what it means to be queer in a foreign country, and overall what it means to be a stranger in a strange land. i want to be clear that while i wrote this for me, i also wrote it for everyone who has also lived that. i want my work to feel like someone is holding your hand, not that they're at a distance and disregarding you, the reader, and the relationship we have together during the time you read my work.

i hope in future that if you use my headcanons and are aware of that being the case, you let me know. i don't have to read the work itself if you find that intimidating. i will not go out of my way to find it. whatever you've done with the idea, i will fundamentally see it as a compliment and evidence of an exchange between us as a fandom. but i want to know because otherwise, all i see is you taking something i loved and wanted to share and enjoying it with a door firmly shut between us. i am too old to care if i'm not invited to a party, but if the party is themed around a concept i put so much thought and love - for the source material, the people who were going to read it and myself - i can't help but care. it's hard to feel like a vending machine, even if the process of making the fic is so joyful for me that i won't stop until the joy is gone. it hasn't gone yet, but this week it's been dented a bit.

anyway - if you got to the end of this, thank you. please be considerate of how much this has taken for me to express, regardless of your own feelings on it, and how unusual it is for me to make a post that is able to be shared. if you use the idea in future, you do so with my blessing, which was always there. if you want primary sources, places to start, or anything like that - fashion, language, visuals - i want to be clear you can ask me and i will be beyond thrilled to help. i always have been and i'm concerned that because of this that hasn't been clear. but i also feel like if i don't state this experience in this way at this time, and how it was experienced by me, odds are i will now forever look over my shoulder and wonder if this will happen again, and i love writing for this fandom so much that i will not allow something like that to dim that love. i know you love these characters so much too - it's why you're here. i actually used to make a lot more meta posts like this, about fan culture, and i've been considering if i will again - just less personal and less anxiety-inducing to post next time. until and beyond then, i just hope we can all consider things like this in future - that i can treat you with the same grace - and understand the pressures and anxieties of writers in fandom at this point in time especially. a lot of us have hearts far more made of glass about the things we love, like our work, than can be immediately apparent.

anyway, i'm going back into hiding now.

your friendly local cryptid fanwriter,

ao3 user ilgaksu <3

#personal #fandom #okay to reblog

[rensimps]

Wrong Number {L.F, SKZ}

chapter 8

summary: when texting your friends new number turns to you making friends with a memelord and his friends.

warnings: fluff, crack, very bad sense of humor, angst if you squint, a lot of swearing

word count: 756

It's been a few weeks since you and Jackson had started working with the 3 "small producers", and honestly you really liked working with them. they are respectful and honest, speaking out on things that should be changed and what they think could be done better and you and Jackson listened.

For the most part the song you 5 have been working on is complete, Chris had messaged you about lyrics and you both sent ideas to eachother, asking opinions and what should be added. you had already finished writing the lyrics you both worked on and now all you had to do was sing and rap your parts. your part was the chorus where you would do a fast rap and then transition to singing, Chris wanted your sing part to be strong and rough but confident as well as it fit with the lyrics. your singing voice was mostly breathy and light but on song currently you opted for a more growl type (yknow, like ado?).

As for Chris and the other 2, you had no idea where they'd put their parts in but you trusted them enough. Jackson on the other hand, worked with Chris and Seungheon on the song and the beat. When you first listened to the finish product you honestly thought it could fit in with 3racha well with Jacksons vibes scattered on it but you let the thought pass by.

★彡

Today was the last day before holidays from uni for you and your friends. you all had decided to crash at Jacksons place to have fun and drink in celebration of finishing all your tests.

Jackson was currently sat on a bean bag infront of his TV playing some games with Lexis as you and Jiyeon started on dinner for the evening. You helped Jiyeon with most of it, dinner being Kimchi Jjigae, some bulgogi with various side dishes, a side of tofu to dip into the jjigae if they wanted to and some fish cakes. You brought out a few plates and placed them on the coffee table infront of the couch and called everyone in for food. Jiyeon came striding in with a cooler which you assumed was full of alcohol. She picked some stuff to start with, like beer, soju and makgeolli. you snatched the makgeolli before anyone else could and lexis whined out, something about it being her favorite but you just stuck out your tongue at her.

As you all sat and chatted for a while, your phone dinged a few times. you took your phone and saw a message from lix, your friend you had been talking to for a few months, you two had gotten close in the time you had been messaging, often playing games with eachother like genshin or fortnite, which you definitely carried. You opened your phone to see what he sent.

Mona Lixa: Y/NNNN WANNA PLAY SOME GAMES? I FINISHED MY SCHEDULE FINALLY

sent 21;38

You laughed at how excited he seemed, and sent a reply back with some memes

Y/N: can't rn, I'm having dinner w my friends tonight bc we finished our exams, later maybe if you're still up?

sent 21;40

Mona Lixa: boohh, fine ig I can wait, have fun! I'm gonna beat you this time frfr

sent 21;42

You laughed at his message and liked it before closing your phone, only looking up when Jiyeon called your name.

"y/n, you've been laughing your phone a whole lot lately, did you get a boyfriend? are you cheating on me?" Jiyeon said in faux of fence but also wriggling her eyebrows at you. You scoffed at her but smiled nonetheless and pushed her shoulder slightly. "as if, it's just a friend of mine, he's been whining about how I can't play games with him right now."

"oooooh what friend? I didn't know you had friends other than us" lexis teased, pointed her chopsticks at you accusingly. "yah! fuck you mean other than you! I have plenty of friends" you pouted "he's the person that I texted when Jackson gave me the wrong number, he's actually funny unlike you guys" you smirked as everyone gasp at what you said. they all jumped up and started throwing pillows at you as you screamed and laughed the night away.

★彡

After a few hours at Jacksons place you went back to your apartment. You walked in, took off your shoes, and immediately head to your fridge to drink a bottle of water and hangover supplements to not feel like death in the morning. as you finished drinking the water your phone dinged again, this time a message from Chris.

"Chris": Hey, finished the song, well send it to you but we have to tell you guys something first.

sent 01;23

you furrowed your eyebrows at the cryptic messaged, heading to your bedroom and laid down before replying.

Y/N: That's great! I'll message Jackson to hop on to the group chat then

sent 01;28

★彡

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taglist:

taglist: @lauraliisa @smoltika @dreeener @tfshouldidohere @ilychee08 @schniti-is-in-the-house @strawberry31 @deadmans-toe @2137natalia @jiisungllvr @lixielovesme

#bang chan #han jisung #skz #skz x reader #lee felix #lee know #straykids #changbin #hyunjin #skz text fic #skz text #skz smau #lee felix text fic #lee felix smau #lee felix x reader

[hamsterclaw]

Bangtan Christmas Drabble 1

Candy Cane ft Taehyung

You wake up with your head in Taehyung’s lap, and he shows you how his dick is as sweet as candy.

Rating: 18+

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Explicit sex, swearing

Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday to Memes @madbutgloriouspond . Here's to another year of friendship and writing 💜

You wake up with your cheek pressed against the zipper of a pair of soft slacks.

‘Mmmfph,’ you murmur, shifting a little so it isn’t pressing into your face. You adjust the angle of your head and end up lying on a belt buckle.

Its smooth, metallic coolness pulls you closer to wakefulness.

You shift again, and realise there’s a hand on your head, fingers curled into your hair.

Last night comes back to you in flashes.

Christmas drinks with the old gang.

The short dress that just barely covered your breasts and ass.

The revenge dress, because you’d wanted to prove to your ex Taemin that you were doing just fine without him.

A few mojitos. A few more tequila shots. And a few more.

Taemin coming up to you but being cut off by another man.

The taste of the other man on your lips.

You lift your head, aware now of two things.

The length and girth of a covered cock against your cheek - if not fully hard, then at least halfway there.

Second, the name of the man who’d kissed you.

Kim Taehyung.

Your eyes meet his, as you look up at his face. He hasn’t moved his hand out of your hair.

‘Hey, Y/N,’ he says. He doesn’t look in the least bit sleepy.

‘Taehyung,’ you say, going for a smile. It’s tentative, because you’re now stone cold sober with your face effectively planted in his crotch.

Taehyung’s dark brows are furrowed together, top teeth in his bottom lip as he considers the situation. His wavy hair is flopped over his forehead, his hair product succumbing to whatever happened last night.

You have a vague recollection of running your fingers through his hair as he kissed you, writhing in his lap, grinding against the same dick that’s now barely an inch from your face.

‘So I guess we can go get breakfast,’ he says, his morning voice thick as molasses, ‘or we can pick up where we left off.’

Your eyes lock with his.

Taehyung wasn’t always part of your friend circle, your old gang was Sana and Hyejin and whichever boys were into them at the time. Just lately though, Sana’s long-term boyfriend Haru’s been bringing his friends round, and Taehyung’s one of them.

You think he works in fashion.

You’ve always been too caught up with your messy breakup with Taemin to find out more.

‘I can hear you thinking,’ Taehyung says. There’s kindness, what sounds like affection in his voice. ‘There’s a good coffee place around the corner from here. We can get breakfast and I’ll drop you off at home after if you like.’

His hand untangles from your hair, and you reach out and grab it as he’s pulling away.

His wrist is warm, pleasingly solid. Your fingertips skate over his smooth skin as you loosen your grip.

‘I’m good to pick up where we left off if you are,’ you say.

Your voice sounds so confident in the quiet of his flat.

Taehyung doesn’t miss a beat.

‘Get up here, then,’ he says.

You clamber up the length of his body as gracefully as you can considering your dress is rucked up around your hips, your silky panties exposed.

It’s only now that you realise that Taehyung’s shirt is most of the way open, that you can expose vast swathes of his chest with really very little effort at all.

Taehyung tilts his jaw up, and you forget any niggling worries about how you might taste because he seems to like the taste of you, judging by how he’s licking into your mouth.

He kisses firmly, like he senses that you need to know how he wants this.

And damn, he convinces you that he does want this. Wants you.

He doesn’t say a lot, but his breathing quickens as he tugs down the zipper of your dress, exposing your breasts.

You’re pleased to know that the silk and lace bra that you bought for an extortionate amount makes your breasts look as good as they did last night when you put it on, even in the truthful light of early morning.

Taehyung worries his bottom lip with his teeth, eyes fixed on you.

‘Shit. I knew you were stunning,’ he says, quietly, almost like he’s speaking to himself.

‘It’s the bra,’ you say, oddly shy.

He shakes his head. ‘Come now, you just had your face in my junk. You must know how pretty I think you are.’

He bucks his hips a bit, goofy, going for a laugh. ‘This guy doesn’t jump to attention for just anyone.’

You laugh.

Taehyung’s smile spreads across his face but you don’t get to enjoy it fully as he’s leaning down, pressing kisses to the tops of your breasts.

He’s gorgeous, of course he is, but his lips are a whole other level of otherworldly beauty when they’re pressed against your nipple.

He grunts as he tugs your bra strap down, exposing you.

Again it seems like he’s trying to tell you without telling you how into this he is. He licks around your peaked nipple, teasing, then takes you in his mouth and sucks.

God he feels so good, your panties are soaked.

You realise his free hand is palming himself over his trousers, and you put your hand over his.

‘Take em off, Tae,’ you say.

He nods, pops off your nipple, squeezing your breast fondly as if to say he’s not done with you yet.

Then his trousers are down, the bulge of his cock straining against his boxer briefs.

Shit. Is that the head of his cock peeking out from a leg of his boxer briefs?

Your mouth goes dry, your cunt gushes at the sight of him.

You’re sitting up, trying to get close.

Taehyung almost looks bashful about it. ‘I’m big,’ he tells you. ‘I’ll go slow.’

You feel like all your Christmases have come at once.

‘Let me get you wet,’ you suggest, looking up at him through your lashes.

Taehyung says, ‘wait a sec.’

He arches off the couch you were both sleeping on, and you get a glorious preview of his cock as his hips buck towards your face.

There’s the crinkle of wrapping, a snap.

When you tear your eyes away from his dick you realise Taehyung’s got a candy cane in his mouth, pocketed in his cheek, the bulge of it obscene.

He hands you the other half of the candy cane, presses the edge of it against your lips.

‘Suck,’ he says, brows furrowed again, voice low.

You’ll suck anything this man gives you, that’s the truth.

The mint makes your tongue tingly, your mouth cool, awash with sweetness.

He tugs the waistband of his boxers down, way down, to mid thigh to free his cock.

It slaps against his abs, and you’re licking a stripe up the underside of it without a second thought.

Taehyung hisses, eyelids heavy as he gazes down at you.

He wraps a hand around himself, thumb smearing pre-cum.

‘You’re fucking obscene,’ he tells you. ‘I’m regretting every single time I wanted to ask you out and chickened out.’

This is news to you. You file his words away to think about later because he’s tapping his cock against your lips.

You open wide and slide him in. He’s heavy and hot on your tongue, so thick the thought of him inside your pussy makes you pulse around nothing.

His pleasured groaning spurs you on as you move on his cock, taking him deeper incrementally, trying to get your nose up against his groin.

You’re sloppy around him, you can’t help it, not with him filling your mouth and nudging into the back of your throat. His hand’s in your hair again, holding you steady.

You look up at him and he hisses, tugging your hair, pulling you off his cock. Your lips come off with a loud smack, your cheeks still hollowed from the suction.

‘Fuck,’ he groans. His pupils are so dilated his eyes look black.

He drags you up and unceremoniously buries his face in your cunt.

‘Ngh!’

Your hands flutter over the smoothness of the sofa, looking for something to anchor you.

Taehyung laughs, knowing, and grabs your hand.

He kisses the back of your hand, lips sloppy and tingly from the candy cane, and then puts your hand on his head.

‘Fuck my face, yeah?’ he utters.

He delves between your legs again and makes out with your cunt exactly the same way he kissed your mouth. His stubble rubs against your inner thighs, and you realise you’ve clenched your thighs around his head.

You let your muscles go lax, and Taehyung grunts his approval.

He laps at your entrance, nose nudging your clit, tongue spearing into you shallowly.

He swallows audibly, and it’s so hot you nearly jerk off the sofa. He presses a hand on your hip, crooning, ‘easy, love.’

He eats your pussy like it’s his last meal, and his enthusiasm has you bucking your hips against his face, fingers tangled in his hair.

You think you could come like this but your cunt’s been clenching for him since you saw him.

‘Fuck me, Tae,’ you plead.

His brows are furrowed again. ‘Yeah, let me get a condom.’

There’s a tearing sound, the familiar smell of latex you always associate with sex, and then he’s back on top of you, the head of his cock against you.

He presses his forehead to yours, voice muffled around the stick of candy he’s popped back into his mouth.

‘Suck,’ he tells you again, and you suck the exposed end of the candy cane he’s holding out to you, suck it in until your lips are touching again.

Taehyung licks at your lips and pushes his way into you.

You’re wet, slick, but the girth of him still makes you feel stretched around him.

Your low moan makes him stop.

‘You good, love?’ he asks, strained.

‘Yeah don’t stop,’ you mumble. You grab his ass to push him in deeper.

Taehyhung sounds pleased. ‘Good fucking girl,’ he tells you.

He snaps his hips, fills you the rest of the way, and you moan again as he bottoms out in you.

For a moment you and him are perfectly still, then he’s moving again, giving it to you just right.

You close your eyes, and all you feel is peppermint on your lips, in your mouth, and the drag of Taehyung’s cock inside you. He forces a hand between you, thumbs your clit.

Your teeth grind down, the candy in your mouth snaps, and then you’re splintering in the wave of your orgasm, calling his name.

‘Yeah,’ Taehyung groans, moving faster now, hitting you hard with every thrust.

He cups your head, plunges his tongue into your open mouth, and grinds against your still pulsing cunt as he comes, shivering and jerking until finally, he’s still.

You whimper as he pulls out and ties off the condom, dropping it carelessly on the floor.

‘Still here,’ he says, reassuring. ‘Are you good?’

He touches your cheek.

You open your eyes to see him watching your face.

‘Should’ve asked me out sooner,’ you tell him.

Taehyung laughs. ‘I’m not gonna make that mistake again,’ he tells you.

He settles in behind you on the sofa, pulling you into his chest.

He strokes your hair until you slip into a light doze, and when you next wake, he pulls you under him and you do it again.

His dick’s just as sweet without the candy.

©hamsterclaw 2022

#bangtan christmas #taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #taehyung fanfic #bts smut

[sanstropfremir]

ok nana unsubtly kicked me in the ass about this and i realized they were mostly done anyways so here we go! only four months late!

best stylings 2023 - first half

runners' up

rising - triples

there are two good stages with funky athletic wear, but it wasn't enough to bump it up to the overall category. mcountdown 230216, the show 230221

abyss - woodz

didn't promote it which is a shame, but the variety in the costuming for the different versions of himself is well done and it's a beautifully shot bottle mv.

moody - superkind

you got a fake member you gotta make it spooky!!! he's not real that's inherently spooky!!! anyways this is what i wanted them to do right off the bat some i'm glad they finally got my psychic memo.

golden hour - mark

absolutely fucking crazy. fantastic imagery. i think i talked about it earlier in the year but it's such a stupid and hilarious idea to make a whole diss track mv about a several year old meme and then actually make it strange and weird art. obsessed with it still.

sos - kang daniel

i'm also including the wasteland music sequence here because holy shit when this dropped i lost my mind. i'm always surprised by what kang daniel does bc i can never predict it, which over the last few years i'm coming to enjoy. and i absolutely did not expect him to produce basically an entire wild west mad max movie with equal the production value???? literally how did he do this. how. and then everyone paid it dirt??? it's an amazing mv and one of my faves of the year, the only reason it's not bumped up categories is bc although the styling was actually one of the only times tactical gear has been thematically relevant to a cb, its been so overused that it has no punch anymore, which makes me sad bc the tactical gear was good! and a good choice! and i feel bad saying it has no punch bc it should have!

small talk - kim sungkyu

we love when sungkyu acknowledges that he's annoying and a loser. all these outfits were so losercore. i loved this deviation from form for him; he's normally king wailer supreme, but he does smooth upbeat rock very well and it's a nice contrast with the capital y yearning that's in the bsides. it's only here bc he didn't promote much and i'm mad at him for putting dancing in the mv and then not dancing in any of the stages. mcountdown 230629, music core 230708, inkigayo 230709

ay-yo - nct 127

this is just here for taeyong's urchin outfit. well i'm a bit of liar it is actually a really fun early 00s inspired mv, but we all know the urchin outfit stole the show.

stamp on it - got the beat

i will hear NO slander against got the beat in this house, this was a great mv i love hot women planning a heist.

tricky house - xikers

FANTASTIC debut. does a really great job of establishing a character for them as a group and it's got such unique flavour. kq has made great use of their ateez money and also the lessons that they learned with ateez. i'm excited to see where xikers goes in the future, and since i'm writing this section from the future i can say that i do like where they've gone with full confidence. the only reason it didn't make the top list is bc the styling is kinda average for this era of kpop.

best overall

rose blossom - h1 key

i was aware of h1key before this but they hadn't really grabbed me, but damn this cb was so good. the mv is a nice mix of story and dance sections. plus a surreal section in the middle! and by virtue of being like the first cb of the year, they got the jump on this alt girl look that would be the dominating look for ggs this year. and i do think first did it best in this case, all the looks are smart with good group synergy and and a lot of creativity; when you do this type of alt-y punky style it's important that there's a diy element to it, which a lot of groups fail to grasp bc stylists are obsessed with luxury branding. h1key manages to avoid that mostly by being flops, but i'd like to believe its also bc their creative team cared about capturing the true spirit of the style.

stages: music bank 230106, mcountdown 230202, music bank 230203, mcountdown 230119, inkigayo 230108

tic tac - 8turn

honestly i was kinda ready to not like these guys since mnh shat the bed with chungha, but then i remembered that the mnh creative team is very good at their jobs, so here we are. this is one of the few debuts/cbs this year where every single stage was a hit and it was very hard to narrow down to just a few for here; lots of good emphasis on shape and colour and accent pieces with repeated motifs, which was a big part of the fashion in the 00s that they are remixing here. very strong debut especially for so early in the year and i'm looking forward to more.

stages: show champion 230208, mcountdown 230202, music bank 230203, show champion 230222, music core 230211, mcountdown 230223, music core 230225, inkigayo 230226

bonus: this absolutely hysterical 4minute cover (they even got the name bucket hats! not in the stage, but they had them in photos)

sweet juice - purple kiss

i'm not normally a fan of wes anderson or wes anderson inspired aesthetics because i find them too twee and perfect, but this wasn't too direct in it's inspirations and definitely had the spooky purki flavour. i really liked the uniformity of the costuming, both literally using uniform motifs and using the same fabrics; i really do miss the days when kpop costumes were design to actually be costumes with the group image in mind.

stages: mcountdown 230216, inkigayo 230219, music core 230225, music bank 230224, inkigayo 230226, music core 230304, inkigayo 230305

sour & sweet - bambam

bambam again proving that he's one of the few idols that knows his shit in terms of interesting styling. also if anyone knows where he filmed the mv/performance vid please tell me i need to know bc its so beautiful.

stages: mcountdown 230330, music bank 230331, inkigayo 230402, music bank 230407, music core 230408, inkigayo 230409,

bsides: music bank 230331, inkigayo 230409,

macarena - blitzers

i'm so so so glad blitzers got a bit more attention this year bc they deserve it and macarena was so good. perfect culmination of their goofy ass talents and the unusual creativity of their performance + creative directors. i'm even linking the mv teaser here bc its so goofy and offbeat and different. honestly i'd recommend watching as many of the stages as you can find bc they do different intros every time and it's very funny, but unfortunately tumblr has a link limit so i can't link them all.

stages: show champion 230426, music bank 230428, music core 230429, inkigayo 230430, inkigayo 230514, music core 230527

bouncy - ateez

yea yea yea nobody is surprised so sue me. this was a crazy followup to halazia and proved that ateez can deftly switch between serious dramatic performance and comedic but no less dramatic. i'm very happy to see how much work has been going into the main ateez mvs in the last year because it has very clear and striking direction that fits both their performance style and their creative ambition, as well as their growth as a group. also yea i'm not immune to neon cowboy shit.

stages: inkigayo 230618, music bank 230616, the show 230620, mcountdown 230622, music bank 230623, mcountdown 230629, music core 230701, inkigayo 230702

kick it 4 now - tnx

tnx had an absolutely banging 2023 and although kick it 4 now is has superior and more comprehensive production, love or die is also a very good cb, and both of them together have shown that they have a really good grasp on the genre of teen listlessness, from two different directions. kick it 4 now has been i think the most successful cb to actually capture the feel of first gen, and the creative team did a lot of extra work in order to pull that off. from all the graphic design to the goofy lil 90s style music show promos, to the styling, they had a clear goal and achieved it. i think it will be quite difficult for any other group to pull it off this thoroughly.

stages: music bank 230609 (the giant lyrics!!!), music core 230610, show champion 230614 (more giant lyrics!!), music core 230617, mcountdown 230622

shooting star + left right - xg

we all already know that left right was my most listened song this year, but the fact that the mv was b movie sci fi star trek themed? it's like simon made everything about this specifically for me thank you. xg blew everyone out of the water this year on every front; music, styling, choreography, you name it. i said i wanted groups to commit to their bits and i got it. they were completely unafraid to actually commit to the y2k nostalgia AND to harajuku styling; a lot of groups have weakly pawed at it but always back away due to the fact that harajuku and y2k are not actually 'pretty' fashion trends, which leaves their attempts half assed with no real understanding of why and how those trends happened. xg came saw and conquered the current trend in a way that only a japanese gg can do. my only annoyance is that they tone down the stylings when they promote on music shows, and i know why they do it, so it's not an annoyance at them, it's an annoyance at everyone else.

stages: shooting star - mcountdown 230202, con-tour 230217, the show 230221, inkigayo 230212, inkigayo 230205, con-tour 230224

left right - the show 230228, show champion 230222

circle - onew

absolute masterpiece. album of the year in every way. it's a profoundly beautiful unpacking of grief and the sadness that comes with acknowledging that things change, and the way that in that change life and humanity and story is eternal. a circle. the theatre imagery combined with the 60s style children's tv show use their similar but contrasting forms to illustrate the same point: something can be eternal and fleeting at the same time, and that heightens its value rather than diminishing it. the promo campaign was so thought out as well, i love the integration of the theatre imagery into the highlight medley and i highly recommend you watch it if you haven't. one of the best cbs from a solo artist in years.

stages: mcountdown 230309, music core 230311, music bank 230317, inkigayo 230319

--

ignore the fact this was almost five months late even though i started writing in like. november. i'm busy ok. it's planting season and i have to send so much post. the choreos post is the next most finished so that will probably be out before the styling second half one.

#is there even anyone left who wants to read these lmao. i mean other than nana since she was creeping my 2022 styling posts #kinda miss the pandemic days when we were all stuck on the internet but also no i do not #i'm trimming down on how much i do for these posts also since i dont have time to sift through all my saved links #just know there's a lot of one offs etc that are sitting in a mega playlist on my youtube. #im just focussing on the ones that made the biggest impact with me bc there's just so much its actually kinda crazy #text #kpop styling #what else did i even tag these as i dont even remember its been so long #kpop analysis #end of year posts #best of 2023

[suchagallabitch]

🫵weekly wednesday tag 🫵

omg I (simple old me?) have been bestowed upon the honour of coming up with these questions??? i would like to thank the academy for this most sacred honour 😋

1. if you could switch bodies with anybody for only one hour who would it be and what would you do? I think I gotta say taylor swift OBVI. first off im gonna dropping ME! acoustic version. Then I’m gonna hope lover deluxe is already recorded, drop that. If not i will make sure to text Jack and tell him that we need to record it so that i get it either way 😼. Then I would find out the definite truth of what happened between her and Karlie Kloss. I’d wire myself (as in me- me) a few million dollars, pet the cats and then post something really random on her instagram story. Literally want to make the public go absolutely bananas trying to figure out why taylor posted a random twitter meme. I have a lot of faith to believe this could all happen in an hour but I would try. SO hard.

2. whats your most trivial / dumbest hot take?I don’t think we should still be discovering animals. like what do you mean in the year of our lord 2023 we are STILL finding animals?? no they should all be discovered and if they havent been then i think they should stay undiscovered.

3. if you had to teach a college course what would it be in? I feel like we’re all expecting me to say something Taylor related but honestly I could teach a masterclass on the psychology of Ryan Murphy. I hate that man and i have so much to say about him and his productions

4. season 12 of shameless is suddenly happen and youve been put in charge! what plot point(s) are you gonna make happen? I cant think of anything substantial to actually contribute but i want Carl Gallagher to have a fruity little vape. I also want to see him quit the force and flourish in a new job!

5. who would be your godly parent? (can be any mythology). I’m gonna go with greeks as a Percy Jackson stan. I asked my bsf who is an expert in greek mythology. She said: “you’re a Aphrodite child cuz you’re a hopeless romantic and you appreciate beauty. You’re very particular in how you’re viewed and how everything you produce is viewed (what you write, how your feed looks like, etc.)” - I’m gonna have to agree with her on Aphrodite

6. what’s something you love about yourself? I think i’m so very very funny

7. describe your day in 5 emojis: 😴👁️👩‍💻✈️☕️

8. what shameless character do you think you could beat in a fight? Realistically i think the ONLY person i could beat in a fight is Liam and honest to god im not even sure i could.

9. tell us 2 truths and a lie, we’ll try to guess the lie!

- I’m double jointed

- I sleep on the left side of the bed

- I’ve never had pumpkin pie

10. do you have a pet(s). if so how did they get their name? I do! my son (cat) is named Chidi after the good place!

11. show us a meme (or picture) that captures your essence

self explanatory.

12. whats your typical coffee / tea / beverage order? see i gotta have a special lil drinky drink everyday and i mean my little drinky drinks are free so i am likw 80% gingerbread chai at any given time. Alternatively, an iced chestnut praline latte w/ praline cold foam.

13. use a song to describe the last 5 years of your life?

2019- its nice to have a friend- taylor swift

2020- ribs - lorde

2021- nothing new - taylor swift

2022- first love / late spring- mitski OR orlando- leith ross

2023- true blue - boygenuis OR now that we don’t talk - taylor swift.

Thank you friends thats all i got :)

I Tag: @deedala @darlingian @michellemisfit @mybrainismelted @too-schoolforcool @gallawitchxx @gardenerian @sam-loves-seb @thisdivorce @xninetiestrendx @scarcrosseduntouched @juliakayyy @y0itsbri @grumble-fish @grumpymickmilk @transmickey @surviving-maybe @metalheadmickey @heymrspatel @auds-and-evens @deathclassic @flamingbluepanda @crossmydna @sleepyfacetoughguy @vintagelacerosette @depressedstressedlemonzest @thepupperino @squidyyy23 @energievie 🫶🫶

#im on a plane rn #zoom zoom in the sky #elle does tags

[roadandruingame]

RAR Musings #11: Rebuilding A System

I engaged in a reddit thread discussing "killing your darlings" lately, where they wanted their game to be "simple and approachable", "narratively driven", and "introduce elements of mech games that enthusiasts enjoy, but to people who aren't enthusiasts."

"Killing Your Darlings" has blown up as a game design buzzphrase people use to appear more experienced and wise than they actually are. Often, it's a bid to appear better read, or "oh woe is me, who must relinquish my idea to the void. Good thing I'm above all that, professional designer that I am, that I can sacrifice my preferences and ideals for the greater good," but for a single tear rolling down the cheek, but in this case, it was a genuine argument about whether something would contribute to the final product well or not.

I don't personally define a game with equipment heat, energy costs, and random lookup tables for an assortment of weapons in a catalogue to be "simple and approachable" for non-mech enthusiasts, nor particularly necessary for a "narratively driven" game, but I'm more upset about "narrative game" getting slapped on a lot of different products that don't actually have mechanics for driving a narrative. The 'stress' mechanic that they were dropping would actually give definition to the characters of the game, if the game's narrative was about said characters, but by removing it in favor of player agency, it's just... it's just a game. Not a story.

I fought about it, and offered some alternatives. Rather than a negative mechanic that removes player agency, why not a Brave mechanic, granting extra rewards for engaging in risk? Why have all these different mech parts, why not just have Parts, if non-mech enthusiasts weren't going to care? Why not come up with mechanics that actually DO tell a narrative, rather than just relying on DND-make believe?

The more I thought about it, the more mad I got, not just at the designer, but at myself, and Road and Ruin.

I don't like the phrase, Killing Your Darlings, to begin with. It implies that your idea is so specific, so inherent to the engine you're designing for, that there's absolutely no salvaging it. A new species, that winks in and out of existence, a twinkle, before you snuff it out, never to be seen again. Why not figure out a way for it to be used! Or if it doesn't fit or overworks the product, shelve it! Use it on a different project! Don't let your dreams be memes! You're a designer, not a farmer with a lame horse!

But I had invested so much time, so much design work, and been so pleased with the elegance of Road and Ruin's core resolution mechanic, that after coming to terms with the fact that it was bulky, time-consuming, involved adding too many numbers, and ultimately wasn't actually very fun, I resisted any notion of changing it. Even later, when I DID change proficiency from affecting the minimum dice value of the d10s, into being a flat value added to the d10s, the system still involved adding anywhere from 2-5 random values between 1 and 10, and then the proficiency value besides.

So why was I so willing to tear into this objectively decent mech game, and do so much design work trying to come up with ways to simplify it, when I wasn't willing to entertain simplifying Road and Ruin for a more enjoyable experience and a wider audience?

_______________________

I woke up the other day with a sudden idea.

Road and Ruin's core skill resolution system might involve too much math hinging on too many variables, but what about the combat system?

It was another system I'd done some major work on over time, but unlike skill checks, only really involved one dice roll, and no math after. I started to think how I might actually make the combat system the core skill check system, thus unifying the game under one mechanic, and being a lot faster, and more fun besides.

The gist of it is, that when making an attack in combat, you'd roll a d4 (Piercing/Accurate), d8 (Slash/Scrape, edged contact), or d12 (Bashing/Touch, only contact is necessary), subtracting the target's armor, and +/- an amount based on who had the edge in weapon skill. A 1 or less is a miss, and above half is full damage, based on a flat value determined by the weapon's weight, minus any lacking Strength needed to swing it. Anything in between is a Glancing Blow for half damage. There's also the Special system as well, but I'll leave that for another post; the point was, I wanted combat to come away having inflicted SOME damage each attack, rather than none, but for there to be a real fear of both heavily armored units, as well as expert swordsmen.

But what if that was how skill checks worked? Currently, the system assumes an average 2d10, up to 5d10, adding (proficiency/10 x specialization/5), and looks for multiples of 10; that is, 10+ is 1 success, 20+ is 2 successes, 30+ is 3, with successes being measures of what a creature can easily, with training, and with specialization do, relative to a creature of it's size and shape. An adult human can toss paper into a can with a 1; a wolf might be able to open a latched door with a 2-3, or 25. Blessings/Curses and gear could modify this in multiple ways, such as preventing rolls below or above a certain threshold, or allowing the reroll of one or more die.

If skill checks were instead a sliding scale, using a single d10, difficulty could be calculated before the roll was even made, like the impact of 2 points of armor on an attack roll. By sliding the scale of success, even physically using a sliderule, results of (1 Fail/And, 234 Fail, 5 Fail/But, 6 Succeed/But, 789 Success, and 10 Success/And) are moved left and right, and the die is left with the final say. Specializations can reduce the threshold of Succeed/And, while greater consequences for failure move up the threshold of Fail/And.

If 10% increments are too much, (especially for disciplines where the likelyhood of crafting a masterwork item should be less than 10%), a d100 still offers a "one dice" solution, but on 1% increments. In that case, the threshold for masterwork can be "specialization x proficiencies", and anyone with even one specialization can make repeat attempts, so long as they have the time and resources, to continue chiseling away until they've finished their magnum opus, gaining +1% chance of masterwork each roll, whereas a legendary master completes such works on a 50% basis.

In terms of gear, supportive equipment can either reduce the Success/And threshold, the regular success threshold, or allow for a reroll 'save' when rolling a failure, such as in the case of climbing rope stopping a fall. But, in each case that the support is used, it suffers a level of damage, and the Fail/And threshold of the follow-up save increases. Past a certain point, using intact, but damaged rope ends up being more risky than it's worth, without it explicitly preventing use.

In the case of blessings and curses, they can allow rerolls, or just flat +1/-1 effects. What I'm really warming up to with this idea is how just about everything boils down to using the single die, but in a way that's still got a lot of tools to play with.

________________

Now some cons. I'd done a LOT of work on the earlier system, and designed lots of spells, such as the Revision magic, Lethologica, a spell that allows the reroll of any one die in proximity, both supportively or debilitatingly. This was a lot more balanced when you were rolling 2-5 dice per throw, but a single die? Massively overpowered. I'd rather not upgrade the cost of what was essentially a cantrip to a fifth-level spell, so I'm going to have to figure out how I'd get to keep it and make it work still. One solution might be forcing the use of the d100, and having Lethologica alter the result by a number of points in either direction, being used to help sway results, but not effortlessly overturn them. It allows for spell scaling, with more mana converting to a greater degree of sway, and still allows sway in either direction, helping to save near-failures and fail near-saves.

Another issue is the case of Monstrous/Mini. When I changed RAR from being a 10-scale attribute system to a 5-scale, I was bothered by how I'd account for three-story giants, pixies, and small-world scenarios. I'd developed Monstrous and Mini, x5 and /5 multipliers for stats that helped to massively scale up or down the effects of 1-5 of any given attribute. So, a creature with Monstrous Strength 3 would multiply the results of their 3d10 roll by 2. Monstrous 2 Strength 4 would get (4d10 x 3). Boss monsters could still get trash rolls (2+3+1 x 2 is just 12, doable on 2d10) but still get high effects on average. Miniscule, on the other hand, reduces the character's Size by a stage, having them struggle to pick up thimbles and defend against ants. This complete overhaul of the core skill check resolution system doesn't have "10 = 1 success" anymore, so multiplying the results doesn't really work; not that it did, because it was slow, and unfun.

A solution for this is... a lookup table. Kind of. The actual value of each of the stats, 1-5, are actually still quite valid for establishing standards. If a creature has reasonable stats to do what they're looking to do, they should roll, no problem. If their stat is lacking, they suffer a -1 for every stage they're missing, and if they exceed, +1 for every stage they're over. But for Monstrous/Mini, like... maybe it's +/- 5 in each direction? And if Fail would get pushed off the board, it stays at 1, causing a chance for failure of 10%? I mean, engaging in a mental mindclash with an illithid SHOULD be next to impossible with their Monstrous Intelligence, but just the chance that they roll a 1 is probably more fun than "you literally just can't do it".

The question here is, if players who are generating their own creatures have a solid understanding of what Monstrous/Miniscule creatures are actually DO, without getting to experience them in action first. And, since the game actually IS narrative in nature, I don't see an issue with placing impossible monsters in front of players that they're not actually supposed to defeat, really. But it feels weird to not be multiplying the outcome of dice anymore.

#indie ttrpg #road and ruin #ttrpg #ttrpg design

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

King of my heart (part 4/finale) | Tom Holland x Reader

Summary: You get the role of MJ for the new Spiderman movie…aka, the classic trope of co-stars falling for each other

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Note: I am sincerely sorry for the long wait. My interests have moved to other fandoms/characters and this story got pushed to the side... I hope you enjoy the final part! 

p.s. This is the last of Tom Holland you will be reading from me. He is now removed from my ‘people I write for’ list (I don’t write for actors anymore)

—

''Cut!'' the director called, his voice echoing on set. ''Everyone take five.''

''Y/N, please, some serious,'' Tom warned with a fake scowl, as if he wasn't the one making a funny face at you and making you laugh for the past seven minutes.

You narrowed your eyes at him and he grinned.

Filming had begun very early for Tom today so you hadn't had the chance to talk about your date yet. He had a lot of scenes that involved stunts and those took a long time to film. You didn't see him until late evening in your only — and very short — scene together.

Tom walked over to his chair and took a sip from the paper cup next to it, filled with what you assumed to be tea. ''Last scene of the day, then we're off.''

You made a cheerful sound and reached for your hot drink too, taking a long sip and using the warmth of the cup to warm up your fingers. If only you could do the same for your legs. You had been standing outside for a little over an hour and your fingers and bare legs were beginning to get cold. That's what happens when you're filming summer scenes at the beginning of October. You wished they would allow sweatpants underneath like they did on the set of Gossip Girl, your legs would be thankful.

''Is that coffee?'' you asked, smelling the distinctive bitterness of coffee coming from Tom's cup.

He hummed, taking another sip. ''Yeah. Tea isn't strong enough to keep me awake right now,'' he explained with a tired chuckle. ''I'm barely standing on my feet.''

Ah, the perks of being an actor.

Tom laughed from the tiredness. ''The second my head touches my pillow, I'm gone to dreamland.''

.

The next day, you knocked on Tom's trailer door. You had gotten a few silly memes while you were in the makeup chair and phones were not allowed on Marvel production sets, so you knew he was there.

''Can we talk?''

Tom nodded, letting you in his trailer. ''Do you want anything? Tea? Coffee?'' He looked at the kitchen area with pulled eyebrows and rubbed the back of his neck. ''I don't really know what else I have in here.''

''I'm good,’’ you said. ‘’If I drink another coffee, I'll have to take a pee break during my next scene. I've already taken too many since we began filming in London, the crew won't be happy with me.''

''It's always the wardrobe's fault.''

You could only agree.

''Blame it on the cold weather and the summer wardrobe my character is in.''

''When I was filming Spiderman: Homecoming, I learned about coffee and peeing the hard way,’’ Tom explained, thinking back to three years ago. ‘’That suit was easy to get in and out of, but it was so damn annoying. The wardrobe assistant never said anything, but I could see in his eyes that she was not happy with me.''

You pulled at the cardigan you had over your shoulders, feeling a chill. ''I know it's only October, but they should bring out the huge puffers. Last night's shoot was brutal. At least I have pants today.''

''Do you want something to warm up?'' Tom offered next, always thoughtful. ''I got a blanket and a jacket if you want.''

''That would be appreciated. I'll take you on the offer.''

You watched as Tom went to the small couch and gave you both options. As tempting as it was to take the jacket — which he wore this morning coming to set and would smell of him —, you took the blanket. You wrapped yourself in it like a cocoon. You probably looked silly, but at least you were warm.

''Does that feel better?''

You nodded. ''I had an amazing time with you the other night. It was nice to experience London from a native citizen's side.''

''I had an amazing night too. My only regret is, I didn't kiss you when I should have.''

You bit back a squeak of surprise, the beating of your heart picking up its pace.

Tom continued. ''When you closed the door and I went back to my room, I got hit with immediate regret. I spent the next hour cogitating and cursing myself for not kissing you.''

''You could do it now? We have…twenty-three minutes before we get called on set.''

A chuckle left Tom’s lips and he gently grabbed your chin, tilting it as he closed the space between your mouths and kissed you.

*

The change of status of your relationship made it to the tabloids shortly after wrapping up Spiderman: Far from home.

You and Tom were having dinner in a pub with some of his best mates when a ‘fan’ took pictures of Tom’s hand behind your back and kissing your cheek. In a matter of seconds, the pictures were all over twitter.

You felt violated.

Although you had chosen a career that put you in the spotlight, you deserved privacy. It was important for you to have control of what you wanted to share or not, but that control had been taken from you by that ‘fan’, turning your and Tom’s every outings into an invasive game of hunters against foxes.

*

Doing promo for the movie was overwhelming, tiring, and sometimes boring, but it was unfortunately part of acting. The last few days, you and Tom have been carried from one interview to another and asked the same questions over and over again.

It was your first time doing a tour to promote a movie you were in and you were exhausted from all the traveling and constant time-zone changes. How do actors do that all the time? Your sleep schedule was all over the place and your face felt like the Sahara desert from the constant exposure to airplane air and wearing a cake-face of makeup for over fourteen hours every day.

Having Tom with you through the whole tour made it all more bearable. He squeezed your hand three times before getting on the red carpet.

A chorus of screams from fans outside the premiere greeted you. You waved to some of them as you were being guided to your first interview.

‘’Y/N, we’re so happy to have you here. The movie is called ‘Far from home’ and a lot of filming happened outside in Europe, how does it feel to be home after being away for a few months?'' she asked, tilting the microphone toward you.

You knew the interviewer meant Los Angeles, but although you owned an apartment here, was it really your home? With all the constant traveling of the past two years, you've been living in hotel rooms and don't really know where home is anymore.

''I’ve been asked variations of this question a lot these past months. I think home is vague and can hold different meanings. Did I miss my family and my best friends while I was away? Yes. Of course. It’s hard to be in a different time-zone from the people who used to be a twenty minutes drive away from you,’’ you explained, remembering the nights you’ve spent curled in your hotel bed in Italy, missing your mom. ‘’But I personally don’t consider home to be a specific place. It’s more of a feeling. I feel at home when I’m with the people I love, wherever I am.’’

You regretted your choice of words immediately, knowing the interviewer would pick up on the ‘people I love’ part and use it to get you to talk about Tom.

His eyes lit up and he quickly took the opportunity. ‘’Do you have a specific person in mind? A certain…co-star, perhaps?’’

‘’Everyone was away from home during filming, whether it was in Atlanta or in Europe, so we were all in the same boat. We’ve spent so much time together that we became a new family. Seeing them today at the premiere makes me feel at home.’’

You mentally patted yourself on the back for this one. It’s not that you didn’t want to talk about Tom — he was your co-star, it was inevitable. You just didn’t want all the questions to be about your and Tom’s relationship. It’s a movie premiere, your first big screen production, not a personal interview on a late night talk-show.

You were moved to the next interviewer and, unfortunately for you, the guy from E!News complimented your dress and how stunning you looked, using the good old flattery method to get you to answer his juicer questions.

‘’It’s Zuhair Murad,’’ you informed him, plugging your dress designer. The shade of maroon matched with Tom’s, but you didn’t mention that part.

‘’Well, it looks stunning on you,’’ the interviewer added. ‘’We’re all excited to see the movie, but a lot of us want to know about the spiderman curse. We know it’s a thing for Spiderman actors falling for their co-star. Will you and Tom be the ones to break the curse?’’

‘’Maybe.’’ You laughed nervously. There was no getting away with this one. ‘’We didn’t mean to fall in love — it just happened —, but when you find love, you take it. You grab it with both hands and you do everything in your power not to let it go.’’ Your eyes searched for Tom, a smile curling on your lips when you saw him talking and laughing with an interviewer.

*

After the premiere, you and Tom went to your apartment, exhausted from the premiere…and a little bit tipsy from the drinks. You got unready, removing all traces to today’s red carpet glam, and slid into bed. While waiting for Tom to join you, you scrolled on your phone, looking at some pictures you took at the premiere and stopped at the one where you and Tom were getting ready in a hotel room. You had rollers in your hair and half of your makeup on, but your lips were on Tom’s cheek a golden glow was coming from the window. 

You smiled at the picture and posted it on Instagram, giving the world the first official selfie of you and Tom since you began dating, with the caption: I once believed love would be burning red, but it’s golden 💛✨

—

Marvel taglist: @xenasolos @chrizzierbsstuff​ @ayamenimthiriel @alina02 @turtleshavesoulmates @staygoldsquatchling02 @daemonslittlebitch  @wetwilliam02 @haileyismoo @manofworm @rhydianissuperior @supersanelyromantic @nicangel13 @mxxny-lupin   @sweeterheartxamerica @viridwityy @izzy-laufeyson @kenzi-woycehoski @arunaposeidondottie @liidiaaag @katsukis1wife   @amithesimpoffandoms   @acornacreacure    @chaotic-fangirl-blog   @hawkegfs @mommyruuetrue @youdontneedtoknowthisinformation   @aabananaa @starrrslove   @angeliod @nmedina8611 @1stevelacyfan

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs  @gillybear17   @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x reader #peter parker #peter parker x reader #marvel #marvel imagine #king of my heart #the end

[four-loose-screws]

Hello there, I’ve been playing a lot of Engage lately and I’ve been really enjoying it a lot. I’m writing in to ask you on what your general stance is on the whole discourse that has surrounded how certain S-Supports were translated. As for me, after reading a couple of them through, both the original versions and the localization, I personally don’t see that much a difference or disconnect between the two. While yes it can be argued that the localization did toned down a couple in a few cases, but even still I don’t think the general tone is really lost and in most cases it seems the only real notable difference is the usage of some select words in place of others which in a couple of cases might skewed into something that seems more platonic, but the rest of the conversation still seems to generally be pretty direct with how it’s translated. I also feel that even the original Japanese conversations generally speaking don’t feel nearly as romantic as they’ve been in previous games which has given me the impression that relationships in general are just simply greatly downplayed in Engage, and while that’s definitely apparent in a few other areas of the game I’ve definitely noticed it a lot through those conversations. It should be worth noting that I encountered the original Japanese conversations through Google Translate as well as other people’s own translations, and even with Google Translate I was still able to see what the initial tone of the dialogue was generally supposed to be and personally speaking didn’t think to was all that different from the official localization (minus a couple of choice words). I do think it’s worth noting that the wake-up events generally are more romantic than the conversations, or at least have more direct implications of it which I thought was interesting. However even with all of that, I would like to hear your opinion on all of this, from someone who is a speaker of Japanese, to get a further perspective on all of this. Thank you for reading this admittedly super long question as well as all the hard work you do for this community, hope everything is going well for you.

Hi and thanks for the support! :) Things have been a wild ride for me for a while now, but in an alright kind of way.

I chunked this out into 3 parts, because my brain gets lost in a whirlwind if I don't chunk up my writings.

Pt. 1 - Opinion Time!

My own personal opinion, in its own tiny little vacuum, is that I don't really care what changes a localization makes, for the most part. I see some changes as unfortunate - like those that put in pop culture or meme jokes that won't age well, in a game not already dating itself on purpose. But I don't have reason to become emotionally invested when I can look up and read the Japanese in my free time, analyze the differences between JP and localization in my free time, and use my blog to share those findings to those who don't know both languages.

The downside is I'm not available to blog like I used to be, but there's always been other people out there who know Jp./Eng. and are filling in the gaps. It's not a fun time to be subjected to the "LOCALIZATION STUPID, LOCALIZATION TEAM YOU SHOULD FEEL BAD" tone you sometimes see, but sifting through good and junk information is how research has always worked.

Now, to add on some nuance, because the world is a complex place and simplicity is a rarity. I think that it is very very valid to mourn what is lost because localization teams are trying to sell a product to a different audience, and simply cannot commit to trying to directly convey the exact same experience the JP version offered.

Not everyone is going to see the positives of localization as worth the cost. I love seeing FE spread to people I never imagined it would, because localization teams work hard to make the text engaging for non-JP audiences.

But media preservation is important too. Heck, I'm basically devoting my entire life to preservation by translating a collection of 20-30 year old novels! It's perfectly valid to value preservation of media over maximum outreach (and the big profits that come with it).

Also, just because I feel like pointing it out, I don't see localization as censorship. I feel like censorship is much more violent - a group in power trying to entirely eliminate media that does not fit their agenda for the purpose of control, etc. It's not like Treehouse is going around the internet, trying to remove and hide any record of the JP script or anything - they're just trying to guess what will sell the game outside of Japan, and protect Nintendo's brand. Nintendo could stop fan JP vs. localization analyzers at any point, but they don't, our content is all still out there for those who want to know more about the JP versions.

Pt. 2 - Talking directly about Engage & the S support conversations

Now, as for the conversations themselves!

My initial impression - Wow, the localization of these S supports compared to the Awakening days, is so different I'd think Engage was from a different franchise entirely! (For those who didn't play Awakening - the localization entirely rewrote some lines in many S supports - particularly many of the CG image quotes, in which each character says their final romantic words to Robin.)

Depending on the exact conversation, Engage's localization takes slightly different approaches towards making conversations with child & teen characters more platonic. Framme's support changes 'partner' to 'ally.' Meanwhile, Anna's support changes 'partner' to clearly mean 'business partner.' Clanne says "all I think about is you" in JP vs. "all I think about is helping you more," to shift the focus from implied romance, to keeping his relationship with Alear strictly as a master / guardian relationship.

For characters over 18, their conversations were not altered to remove romantic implications.

And, that's about the extent of it. Anon, you are exactly right in the summary Google Translate helped give you - the localized conversations always follow the original Japanese, save for toning down any lines w/ under 18 characters, that originally felt more romantic than platonic.

There is one huge sign that even the JP version wasn't as serious about committing to every S support being romantic, though - the CGs. Every character under 18 wears the ring on their middle finger instead of the wedding ring finger. Now, one could argue that the CGs are only that way because the artist was told to focus on the NA / international release, and I think that is a very valid possibility, but... many of the characters of all ages don't even wear the Pact Ring at all, and just hold on to it in their CG. And then there's the fact that the emblem rings are all worn on the wedding ring finger, when no one in the game has a romantic relationship with an emblem, so... yeah. I still don't think we're meant to read too hard into what wearing any ring on any finger means in this game.

I don't see any reason to do a deep analysis on any of the conversations, the changes are really that simple. But, as I always say, if anyone ever wants to see specific conversation(s) translated, then just send an ask my way! Straight translations tend to take less time than answering questions because I don't have to organize my personal thoughts, so they tend to be addressed the fastest!

Pt. 3 - Talking about Engage's romantic aspects in general (or lack thereof)

Overall, it is pretty easy to pick up on the sense that the devs weren't as interested in the romantic features of FE this time around - and in fact as I was writing all this out, I found a dev interview that briefly confirms the development of the game centered around Alear and the Emblem mechanics. The wake-up events might have been written as a middle ground to balance between those who wanted more romance, while taking focus overall off of the romance, but I've seen no sign of that being true in dev interviews.

Fire Emblem is Fire Emblem, and each FE game is always a grab bag of "What's coming back?" So it was always inevitable that even the romantic aspects would be toned down at some point, despite them being so present and essential to the popularity of three whole games in a row (Awakening, Fates, and Three Houses). I'm a long time fan, who knows that's how FE operates, so I enjoy it. But understandably every game will cause some controversy with those who aren't used to, or don't like, the rapid changes.

To me, as a fan since the GBA/GC days, Engage feels kind of like a fun return to GBA form, where supports always felt like a roulette wheel. Which relationships would read romantic? Platonic? Would the relationship seem platonic in the A support, then the characters get married in the ending card anyway? Would family or platonic pairs get an ending card? Who knew!

That being said, make no mistake!! Engage leans as hard as ever into FE's main overarching theme about bonds - that bonds are strength, and the glue that carries all FE protagonists to victory! There's just not as much of a focus on the romantic bonds this time around. In true FE form, you never know when the devs are going to dump, or at least shift focus away from, previous features.

I think I've gotten all I had on my mind typed out now - but anyone can feel free to follow up the conversation if you want in another ask!

-----------

(Note for full context: I read through about 10-15 or so of the S / Ring Supports before starting my reply to this ask, picking out some of the youngest characters, as well as a random sampling of others for balance. ...I didn't even try to read them all, I could only handle so many of essentially the same conversation in a row, before my head started spinning, ha ha.)

#fire emblem #engage #fire emblem engage #fe17 #alear #japan #japanese #translation #fe translations #support conversation #support conversations #s support

[ohnoitsjetster]

jesse!!! hi!! i have one very important question for you: ARE‼️YOU 🫵🏼 DAN🧍‍♂️REYNOLDS🎤⁉️

(okay now for my real question, what’s your fav hatchetfield installment?? it could be a musical or nightmare time ep or even workin’ boys if you’ve seen it :] i’m curious!! oh also if you want you can tell me about orin, i’m vaguely familiar with lsoh but it’s been a while!! so yea, free pass to talk about your lil gay sadist of a dentist <3 this was just an excuse to give you an ask so yk you can really just talk about whatever)

SOL! Hi hi hi hi !! (Sorry for the late response)

OHOHO! A dual fandom ask !! This means another long rambling post for my four most dedicated followers to read!!!! Im sorry in advance!!! this will probably be boring to everyone but me!!!!

I think my favorite might be NPMD. That one changed my brain chemistry for sure. But so did TGWDLM, I really believe that watching Show Stopping Number at the tender age of, like 11… well it just explains a lot about how i turned out ([obligatory “fuck Robert manion”]). I also frequently shake Time Bastard, Killer Track, and Abstinence Camp around in my teeth like a dog like HAUUFHGIGJHJGKKGKFGKRGJ RFRRRGJGG RRHHRHHRHH HREHHEGEGHGRGHRHHHHFFNFHFGGHF like that. But yeah at the present moment I'm being insane about NPMD. The songs are all bangers (Yes all of them) and I am in love with every character (Yes every character). High School is Killing Me is kind of my anthem right now. For no. Particular reason. Also, your honor those three nerds are all literally me and also i am in love with them and also im that fucked up dead bully but in a totally normal way.

So. Speaking of fucked up dead bullies… ‘,:]

Orin Scrivello, DDS <3 my beautiful bbg who has never done anything wrong in his life except for literally everything he did. Worst guy ever. But hey, you can’t choose who you rotate around in your brain, or how many Pinterest boards you make about it. Another instance of “he’s literally me but obviously not actually at all but I think he’s silly so that’s basically the same thing.” A tale as old as time. I don’t know how many queer awakenings one person can have but I was definitely already trans and bi when I saw Orin for the first(?*) time last year, and now, well now im the same but im more pretentious about it and I own a leather jacket. (*I actually saw LSOH a long time ago when i was way younger, but I didn’t remember it almost at all and I’d thought “The Dentist” was like this mad scientist type character, which, not exactly wrong ig, so anyway he’s been swimmin around in my brain making me silly for who knows how long, but yeah probably just since last year). I swear to cope with hyperfixating on such a fucked up character I’ve literally been making au’s in my brain where he’s morally ambiguous, or gets a redemption arc (he does not fucking deserve a redemption arc he deserves to be chopped up and fed to a bitchy gay plant), or where he’s literally just a nice guy. Yeah I’ll sometimes just remove the character from this character to appease the brain demons. But the cool thing about the Not an Asshole™️ AUs is that, in the og, the whole story basically goes south when Seymour justifies killing to feed the plant cause he can kill that jerk Orin, so if he’s not a jerk maybe they all survive?? Idk i just like thinkin. Also… ALSO!.. I made a post a while ago that I might someday make Orin textpost memes using pictures from my actual stage production, and well, that day has come! or, will come, soon. I’ve made the pictures I just have to make the post. It was very fun Im excited to share em. Okay thats all TYSM for the ask bestie!!!

Oh and to address your first question…

I 🧑🏻 AM 💥 DAN🧍‍♂️REYNOLDS 🎤 ✅

#with Action News. Weekdays at 10pm #thank you for the ask! #i am given new life by the ask! #forever in your debt for the ask! #sorry it took forever to answer #starkid #hatchetfield #nerdy prudes must die #little shop of horrors #lsoh #orin scrivello #rambles #saying stuff

[autogeneratedkahootnickname]

Ok stuff's been happening in the world of UK politics and I need to share it with you before I scream.

So first, some important context. Way back in the 1920s when Ireland left the UK, the province of Ulster, by this point predominantly Protestant, remained, splitting from the rest of the nation. However, as is always the case with partition, it wasn't a clean break: people got stuck on sides of the border they weren't necessarily happy with, and over time, historical political and cultural divides were exacerbated by a new concrete separation that culminated in the Troubles, a period of violence in NI between the 1970s and the 1990s as radical nationalists (the IRA) clashed with the UK military over control of the region. This was largely ended in 1998 by the Good Friday Agreement, tearing down the hard border across Ireland and facilitating free movement of goods and people. In order to preserve the peace, a power sharing mechanism was implemented in Stormont (NI's assembly) whereby the government had to consist of two equal and codependent parties. The first minister was from the party who won the elections, the deputy minister was from the opposition, etc. This system worked well enough at suppressing Unionist/Nationalist tensions for about 20 years and was considered one of the greatest diplomatic achievements of British and Irish history.

Flash forward to 2016, and the UK votes to leave the EU. Overall. Within the nations, it's a different story, and while Scotland's desire to remain gets most of the press, Northern Ireland also voted disproportionately to remain. And as the Conservatives would discover, they kind of had to.

Because you see, a big part of the reason why the Good Friday Agreement worked is because both parties were EU members, so they were already part of the Single Market, meaning free movement of goods and services wasn't an issue since it was already European policy. Now Britain wants to leave the Single Market, we have an issue.

If you were looking at memes around 2017, you'll be familiar with the term 'Hard Brexit'. What that means is the UK is fully cut out of all the various levels of EU membership: the free trade, the external tariffs and, most importantly, the regulatory framework of the Single Market that allows goods to be easily traded across borders. As you may also know, the EU takes regulation very seriously, so ensuring imports are up to code is a lengthy and time-intensive process. If Britain wants a Hard Brexit, and they're cut out of the Single Market, there has to be a point where goods being traded in and out of countries still in the framework are checked. Say, for instance, in Ireland.

One problem: this entails a hard border. Not for people, perhaps, but for products, and people need products to make a living. On top of that as well, Northern Ireland would be cut out of the free trade area and potentially face massive import duties, massively increasing costs and threatening demand. Even on a symbolic level, its a firm dividing line across Ireland. And the Good Friday Agreement is very clear about the No Borders thing because Look What Happened The Last Time There Was A Border. If the Conservatives try and surround the UK with a hard customs border, Northern Ireland will fall.

But the alternative is either not having a Hard Brexit, the entire point of their manifesto, which would be political suicide, or leaving Northern Ireland behind basically in the EU, creating a border not across Ireland but across the UK. And if that happens, Northern Ireland will fall because of the radical unionists.

(Alternatively the solution was 'No Brexit in the first place' but too late for that now ig.)

David Cameron resigns before having to sort this out. Theresa May spends her entire premiership trying to sort this out while part of a coalition with the DUP (the leading Unionist party, at this point the largest party in Stormont and basically NI's Tories) and she can't, forcing her resignation. Then Boris Johnson comes along and finds a 'temporary' solution to get the paperwork signed: put the border between Great Britain and Norther Ireland, keeping Good Friday intact, until they can find a better way. Until then, Northern Ireland abides by EU trade regulation and future amendments: the Northern Ireland Protocol. And they wait. And they wait. And they don't.

As this shitshow is going down, Northern Ireland is getting increasingly tired of Westminster's routine (and the DUP's dumpster fire coalition attempt) and pivots towards new kid on the block, the party of compromise, Alliance. The Nationalists, led by Sinn Fein, lose votes through this too, but to a far lesser degree. DUP loses 10% of the vote share in the 2017 election, putting them and Sinn Fein neck and neck.

And in 2022, for the first time, Sinn Fein wins Stormont. The nationalists are in power in Northern Ireland. Or rather, they're half in power.

Because as we established, Northern Ireland has a power sharing system. And the DUP have boycotted Stormont. They aren't happy with the potential of being pulled away from the UK, so they decide if they can't have NI, no-one can. By refusing to participate in the coalition government, the Sinn Fein half is prohibited from governing alone, forcing the government into shutdown.

That shutdown has lasted for a year.

This happened around the time Boris Johnson started sinking over Partygate, followed by whatever the fuck happened with Truss, so NI got overshadowed in the news cycle but over the course of 2022, order has been breaking down in Northern Ireland as radical unionists begin to stir trouble. Indeed, it looks like Northern Ireland is heading straight back to the Troubles, and no-one seems to want to do anything to fix it. In fact, the Conservatives seem to want to declare war with the EU through a proposed override of the Protocol, dismantling decades of diplomatic hard work and plunging the continent into anarchy.

In October, Rishi Sunak is 'elected' Prime Minister, and he sets out to solve the Northern Irish issue. For all her many faults, Truss was pretty cordial with Europe, and Sunak continued that trend well into his premiership. Combined with the looming threat of Russia over European stability, the EU is in a compromising mood, and agrees to help work out a new system that tears down the border between the UK and Ireland. The plan is: separate goods going to Northern Ireland and goods going to the EU. Why it took them 7 years to sort that out I don't know but huzzah, a solution. But on top of this, they also implement the Stormont Brake: whereas before, EU law applies automatically in Northern Ireland, Stormont can veto proposed amendments from applying in Northern Ireland if they're too radical. This is a hugely generous concession by the EU since this is a major compromise on a lot of their core principles, since Northern Ireland is now part of the Single Market but theoretically exempt from following it, and by extension a huge win for Rishi Sunak. While the DUP have lost all credibility, this will hopefully be enough to get them back into Stormont. This new arrangement is called the Windsor Framework, and buries the final major hatchet in the Brexit divorce proceedings.

OK, LENGTHY context complete, lets discuss what's happened. Because turns out, there's opposition to this new framework.

Who from?

WHY ITS BORIS JOHNSON AND THE CHUCKLEFUCKS.

Basically, leading members of the Johnsonian and Trussian governments (including both PMs) explicitly said they wouldn't support the deal. They don't have an alternative. A plan. Anything. They just won't support it.

Joining them is, you guessed it, THE FUCKING DUP. No matter what happens, they're refusing to go back to Stormont. Just to spite their rivals.

Some more important context, the Conservatives are on the verge of self destructing since vast swathes of the party believe Johnson is a martyr and Sunak is not the True King, so getting the Conservatives to vote together is a massive challenge. If this vote passes, it'll give the Tories a lifeline to the next election, possibly their one positive achievement since 2016 outside of 'not actively backing Putin'. If it fails, the Conservatives are history. Making matters worse in the best way, Keir Starmer pledges Labour's plurality in support of Windsor, saying, to paraphrase, 'if you fucks can't get it together we'll do it for you.' Iconic. By doing so, Labour guarantee the vote passes unless the entire Conservative party rips itself in twain, but potentially force the PM to rely on the OPPOSITION over his OWN PARTY to pass groundbreaking legislation, which is almost worse for Sunak than the bill failing.

The vote took place today and the Conservatives, despite a massive rebellion, barely managed to vote in favour on their own majority alone. Barely. We're talking single digits. Two dozen Tory MPs rebelled, and 3 dozen more abstained. With no alternative. They would rather have chaos in Northern Ireland than be forced to work with the EU when the EU is bending over backwards to make this happen.

Today is a positive for the UK's future, but it reaffirms that the Conservatives need to go now more than ever.

#uk politics #northern ireland #windsor framework #long post #stormont #sorry for the long post i just needed to vent #i hope its accurate if its not ill make edits

[valleynix]

Heyy besti I have a request for HCs on the Dimitrescu's bc they live in my head rent free. So what if y/n told each one, 'I want a tattoo, and I want you to put it on me.' As well as let them decide what that tattoo is? How would the ladies feel about it? If any of them agree what might they choose for y/n?

been answering so many asks lately skdfh but i'll get this one before i start writing the next chapter >:D

Alcina Dimitrescu

this woman would pout if you told her you wanted a tattoo

you already look stunning in her eyes; why are you trying to change yourself?

she would be so dramatic for a few days, lamenting how you're just going to ruin your skin-

"you can choose what i get."

now that makes her reconsider

she decides on a rose, similar to the one she has over her heart, right over your left shoulder blade

when you tell her you want her to give it to you, she melts

you rest in her lap while she works, gently tracing patterns on her thigh and humming at her focused grumbling

she learns to love it, in time, just as she's learned to love you

it certainly has its uses :^)

Bela Dimitrescu

when you approach her about the idea, she's a little skeptical at first

she's not too sure about the topic of tattoos, seeing how the castle didn't have much on them, and she worries about how safe it is for you (which is funny, considering she also has a tattoo, though hers is more cult-like)

can it poison you somehow? is it really permanent? what tools are involved? does she need to call someone-

you ease her worries about your human health and assure her you'll be fine

if it would make her feel better, she could choose the design and give it to you :)

i feel like Bela would worry too much about messing up and disappointing you, so she just hires someone and sits with you, holding your hand tightly as something like a music note is tattooed onto your skin

when you're done, she finds it's a lovely place for her to place her mouth after it's healed ;)

Cassandra Dimitrescu

she's all for it

she's not really the kind of person to dictate what you do to your own body, though she will offer her input if she thinks it's needed

with a tattoo, she's actually the one that asks if she can do it

after some very careful deciding and designing of tattoos (her sketches range from animals to weapons), she settles on the design of her favorite sickle, carefully ensuring she has each and every nick in its blade drawn out

it takes some time for her to be satisfied, and you wait patiently while she sketches, grinning when you catch her with her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth

she's cute when she's focused like this

it's a small tattoo, one she decides to place on your inner forearm, near the crease of your elbow

when she's finished and satisfied with the product, she leans back and hums at her work, then kisses you softly and thanks you for allowing her to do her own artwork on you

it fulfills some tiny little, itty bitty possessive part of her that likes seeing her marks on you

Daniela Dimitrescu

bold of you to assume she would ever be against something like that

you wanted a potentially too enthusiastic and supportive girlfriend? well, you've got one in Daniela

the moment you bring it up, she's all for it, already listing off several ideas she thinks could fit you and where to place them

you listen to her ramble, smiling at her hand movements and the look of awe in her eyes

when you ask her if she would like to give you the tattoo, she freezes

you... would trust her with that? really???

y'all know that one meme of the two girls, where one is sitting on the other's lap and is super focused on putting makeup on her?

that's you and Daniela, and you've never seen her so focused

you settle on a flower design similar to the one between her brows, something she decides to tattoo along the length of your forearm

she bites her lip while she tattoos you, eyes hard and fully focused as she slowly goes about it

when she's done, you thank her and kiss her, only for her to decide she has other plans for you

#asks #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #i love this idea skdjfhsdkjfh #it's so cute

[clouds-of-wings]

I guess I can post this now... this is the video to the new Therion single, out 2 days ago. As you can see even from looking at the preview picture, it's AI generated, by Stable Diffusion to be precise.

So, the latest one in the sad parade* of "bands I like that have no problem with screwing over visual artists to save a few bucks and have their heads in the sand about how it might impact them to legitimize this way of making content"? Thankfully no. Christofer wrote a very long text about his opinions on AI yesterday, which are generally very critical of how the technology is used. The video above was apparently made without his input, he hadn't specified that he wanted AI and was in fact a little shocked when he got the video and didn't want to use it. But it was also too late to order another video, so he figured he'd take it to avoid not having a video at all, and also use it to start a discussion. There had apparently been some AI stuff in the "Twilight of the Gods" video too at first, but he had made them take it out.

Being made with Stable Diffusion, the video of course uses stolen art. The bot is also doing its best as a "bias automation machine", as the meme goes, by accompanying a song about Turkish mythology with imagery of Arabs, Arabic stuff, and deserts, an inaccuracy that was apparently lost on the production team behind the video, but very much not lost on Turks on YT.

Anyway, Christofer would, based on his text, like it if people thought about the future of the arts for 0.05 seconds before jumping head first into AI, and also thinks we need to "strengthen the cult around real art" to keep human-made creations alive. And complain a lot, of course. Under videos like the one above.

--

\* Those are by no means the only bands that come to mind, but they are the biggest ones that I am in some way interested in and that I have seen use AI openly. A couple of smaller bands I like did the same, but I don't wanna hate on them on my blog since they're basically just some random people with a hobby, not public figures. I did try to be more understanding towards them, but I don't know if I really succeeded at that.

#therion #symphonic metal #music #video #music stuff #art stuff #i wonder if the fact that christofer's dating a photographer is part of the reason why he's taking this seriously #even though AI hasn't had the same extreme effect on music yet that it has had on visual art #maybe mina is a good influence on him #or maybe he's just smarter than those clowns i otherwise listen to #or both

[glocodile]

Something that just has been on my mind lately is that art doesn’t need a reason to exist. I’ve noticed that a good chunk of the people who get wayy too into media discourse are artists themselves. Like Steven Universe’s biggest critics seem to be other artists, especially animators/aspiring animators. And I understand this, as someone who’s about to graduate from art school this spring. Me and many of my peers have a lot of opinions about art, if that’s something you study then you probably will.

But I also think it comes from this desire for art to be important. I’d say about a quarter of people in art school will say that they just want stuff to look cool. Most really want their work to be important and to feel important. Representation in media NEEDS to be one of the top issues for them because it’s one of the few ways that they, as an artist, can feel like they’re contributing to society.

Art has existed for as long as humans have existed. It existed when there was much more food scarcity, when there was a lot more daily struggle for our own survival. Art always manages to exist in society even when there’s more important tasks to do.

I think a lot of my peers would get defensive over the question if art is as needed as say a doctor or farmer. And I would ask instead, does art need to be needed? Does it need to justify its existence?

There’s something very capitalist about this way of thinking, part of the philosophy that has seeped into art and religion. I consider myself a non-denominational Christian, but I was baptized in and currently go to a Seventh Day Adventist church. There’s some things I agree with them on and some things I don’t.

At some point I decided I wanted a necklace with a cross on it, and eventually got a rosary from a street artist and I wear it nearly every day that I go outside. Once I wore it to church and someone just a bit older than me, I’d guess early millennial/late gen X (I’m a millennial-gen Z cusper), told me how when he was younger, members of the SDA church weren’t supposed to wear any necklaces, even cross necklaces. People would hide it and put it on after leaving the house and take it off before going home.

I asked him if that was a gender thing and he said no, it was that everything had to have utility. If you proposed to someone, you were supposed to give a watch instead of a ring, because a watch has a purpose that isn’t just decorative.

Of course in modern times it’s a bit different and no one really cares that much. But it is something that ties into that “Protestant work ethic” and how capitalists treat art and religion.

The concept of everything needing to be utilitarian is so anti-Christianity (and likely anti-spirituality in general) if you really think about it. Jesus didn’t only turn water into wine, he turned it into GOOD wine (John 2:10). There’s a lot in scripture that suggests that we’re meant to get joy out of life.

It’s also so insidious to some core beliefs about Christianity. SDAs take the Sabbath very seriously, I mean they named themselves after it. They emphasize it as a day of rest. I can use my baptism certificate to get out of working on a Saturday if my boss tries to make me. That concept is already in conflict with capitalism. It also reminds me of that one atheist meme that I see floating around sometimes, talking about the collective hours that Christians spend in church every year, and how that time could be better spent building houses or whatever. And like, people who are otherwise anti-capitalist post it, implying that if something isn’t “productive” enough that we shouldn’t have it?

I often lightheartedly say that one thing I agree with Catholics with is their aesthetics. Like yes a lot of the iconic architecture was commissioned as a response to the Protestant reformation in order to attract more people into the church, but churches having room for “frivolous” things like art is something we need. It’s very much capitalist influence on Christianity that causes the emphasis on nonstop productivity and utility.

Not to mention all of the other anti-capitalist Christian messages like giving to the poor and whatnot, having time to rest and enjoy your life is something constantly devalued in capitalist society. And that extends to how we treat art.

This doesn’t mean that the meaning in art doesn’t matter, the themes are part of what makes a story interesting to me, and being mindful of the messages you perpetuate is important. But you don’t have to justify your existence as an artist. You don’t need to feel like someone would die without your work. You can just do things that bring yourself joy. I really think we’re meant to, and if you’re not religious or spiritual then you also exist the same way plants or animals or anything exists. You can just be.

#I have like 2 followers and I don’t expect a lot of people to see this #I’ve just had a lot of thoughts on this lately and I needed to put it out somewhere #just telling people in DMs or flooding a discord server with it just doesn’t do it

[newhorizonsxiv]

Visual Novel Meme

Getting to this very late but this is a dual answer to a couple of asks from @luck-and-larceny and @furys-mercy​ I didn’t forget either of you, just had some irl stuff going on that did a number on my creativity and productivity for a while. Hope this was worth the wait. It ended up rather long so the meme proper is under the cut.

Our story begins in the Jewel of the Sagolii, the bustling city of Ul’dah. You stand before the Ruby Road Exchange where a small crowd has gathered to watch the street performers. There are jugglers, fire eaters and the usual dancing girls though on this day one among them catches at your eye. Maybe it’s her fiery hair, maybe it’s her formidable height, towering as she does above the mostly miqo’te dancers around her, or perhaps it’s the way she moves, making no effort to seduce onlookers with her curves nor to play to the crowd for coin. She seems to be dancing for herself alone, for the sheer joy of movement. 

CORAFEL

It’s easy enough to grab Cora’s attention provided your ATTRACTIVENESS is high enough and once you have it all you need to do to keep it is to be kind to her. This route will largely consist of slice of life vignettes as you help to get the sheltered girl onto her feet properly in the big bad city and will have all the classic hallmarks of a First Love story with cute dates and lots of awkward fumbling. Gifts of jewelry, clothing and cosmetics will help to keep her interest, as will books about exciting adventures and exotic locales. Keeping her interest is far easier than keeping the woman herself, however, as several times throughout her route hired thugs will attempt to abduct her back to her father or to the man she was meant to marry before fleeing home so you’d best have the martial PROWESS to fend off a series of increasingly skilled assailants throughout the route before finally facing her reviled betrothed in a duel at the climax or else you will need the political SAVVY to outmaneuver the man and prove yourself a more advantageous partner for her family to join with. All in all this is a pretty standard romance novel sort of route. Sweet rather than spicy and with almost all of the challenge coming from external forces. 

Turning off of the Ruby Road you enter the bustling chaos of the Quicksand, it’s standing room only inside with a crowd or rowdy partiers between you and the bar but there in one dimly lit corner you spot a tiny oasis of calm, a lone elezen leaning against the wall, his attention focused on the book in his hand.

GHISLAIN

The only way to get yourself onto Ghislain’s route is to impress him with your INTELLECT. The only way to stay on it is not to try to push your burgeoning friendship into a romance until he suggests it himself. And even then, don’t expect this one to be spicy or frankly to include any sex at all as Ghislain is very ace. He is, however, open to romance and all of its assorted fluff so long as a strong emotional attachment has been formed beforehand. Paying attention to the things he does and says in unguarded moments when he lets his mask slip will be the key to developing that attachment. This would likely be the most challenging route if only because so much of what he presents in the beginning is a persona, and a persona he has nothing but contempt for, at that. Trying to win the heart of the man he’s pretending to be will only earn you that contempt in turn. Rather you should call out those early excesses and opinions as frivolous and vain while showing a strong inclination for scholarly pursuits and learning for its own sake. Gifts of books, historical artifacts and interesting natural specimens will gain you further favor. Eventually, inevitably, you’ll learn his secret and his true identity. At that point there will be a test of your political SAVVY to see if you can figure out a way to clear his name and save his family from ruin. Success in this endeavor will earn you the best ending and a lifelong place in Ghislain’s heart.

Leaving the Quicksand via the rear you find yourself in Pearl Lane, the shadier side of Ul’dah. On the corner ahead you see a highlander man baiting in drunken patrons stumbling from the bar with a shell game and across the alleyway from this game a miqo’te fellow leans against the wall watching the game with a wry smile on his face looking for all the world as though he were enjoying a bit of street theater.

ILTHUS

A pulse and the slightest hint of interest is all it takes to get yourself onto the trash cat route and it’s not a hard route to remain on either so long as you’re the forgiving sort. Expect to be dragged into some dirty dealings by this man and for him to have his own very specific definition of “helping” when it comes to any difficulties you might have that need a second pair of hands. Any gifts you choose to offer him will be happily accepted though practical things he can make some use of like weapons, dice, cards or tools of the rogue’s trade will be best received. Expect this route to be very spicy and to head right into the bedroom from as early on as you express the slightest interest in exploring that. Ilthus is even quite happy to be your piece on the side if you’re on another main route though he will make a nuisance of himself by being the polar opposite of subtle about the fact that you’re knocking boots on the regular. It’s almost impossible to fail or even to end this route once you’re on it. You have to be actively trying to shake him off and find the right words to really hurt him emotionally to get him to finally leave your character alone, however this isn’t an easy route to reach a good ending on either. Only two types of character really have a shot at it. You need to be either a street smart tough as nails type with enough WIT and martial PROWESS to survive in his world and even to beat him at his own game or a sheltered academic type whose piercing INTELLECT is matched only by their complete obliviousness to their own ATTRACTIVENESS. He’ll find either of these a challenge too alluring to pass up and may be willing to put in a little effort of his own for a change.

Passing from Pearl Lane you wander over onto the Sapphire Avenue Exchange. Various merchants stand hawking their wares. One stall in particular catches your eye owing to the eclectic mix of goods. It seems to be equal parts clothing vendor and food stand with an assortment of gaudy fabrics on display beside tempting little meat pies and skewers of roasted vegetables. Standing awkwardly alongside the stall is a dark haired Seeker male who seems to be trying to thread the needle between being imposing enough to deter any would-be thieves while being inviting enough not to deter would-be customers. He’s having a hard time finding the right balance and irritation is starting to show on the face of the lalafellin vendor who apparently owns the stall.

SHIHAN

Kindness and diligence are the most important qualities to have for this route. This poor guy desperately needs help but is far too proud to actually ask for it and almost too proud to accept it unless it’s tactfully offered. Once he accepts then successful completion of the arc will require a character with ample political/legal SAVVY to help worm him and his tribe out of a nasty contract and only once that step is done can a real romance begin. Shihan will not accept any gifts intended for him but will be deeply touched by gifts that he can give to the children of the tribe so toys, small animals that can be made into pets and age appropriate books will all be appreciated greatly. His undying friendship can be earned by helping with his tribe’s troubles but anyone wishing to woo the taciturn tia will need to have a very sharp WIT and enough martial PROWESS to prove a worthy hunting partner. He also highly values honesty and a willingness to pitch in and try to help whenever and wherever people are struggling. This one can get spicy once you’ve established yourself as his type and given him reason to trust you. A lifetime of selfless devotion can quite easily transfer to a deep and abiding desire to make sure you are completely satisfied both in the bedroom and outside of it.

Leaving Pearl Lane via the Gates of Thal you come across a spot of trouble. A small gang of rough looking men are menacing a young boy and his scraggly chocobo just outside the city gates. As you’re deciding whether or not to get involved yourself a small bag lands at the feet of the apparent leader of this gang and shortly explodes into a dizzying array of multicolored bangs and spinning pyrotechnics. The chocobo and its rider bolt past you and on into the city as several arrows begin whizzing through the smoke. The gang scatters in confusion leaving you alone as a lone miqo'te woman with an enormous feathered hat and a bow slung over one shoulder approaches through the clearing smoke.

LYNETH

Hope you’re ready for an adventure because this route will certainly give you one, or possibly a dozen. This woman never met a good cause she wouldn’t fight for even and especially when she’s outgunned and overmatched. You’ll need either a considerable amount of martial PROWESS or the devil’s own LUCK to get through her arc in one piece and a silver tongue and sharp WIT to keep up with her constant flirtatious banter. Gifts of fancy booze, smutty novels and exotic cooking ingredients will win you extra favor. This route will be a mix of sweetness and spice full of adrenaline-laced kisses and steamy nights under the stars. To reach her good ending you’ll need to prove you’re loyal, dependable and always down for a new adventure.

#ffxiv rp #alt army #visual novel meme #ask and ye shall receive