#i get emotional about archaeology

[cat-appreciator]

It’s cold and I don’t wanna get out of bed so fuck it, let’s talk about the White Horse of Uffington.

There are a lot of hill figures in the south of England, in places where the topsoil is a thin layer of grass on top of a thick layer of Upper Cretaceous chalk. You just peel back the sod and there it is, ready to be a regimental badge, a horse, or a guy with a giant dong. In the case of the White Horse of Uffington specifically, there’s a bit more soil underneath the sod, so you dig a ditch and fill it with crushed chalk.

Most of these figures aren’t actually all that old, ~500 years old or less, because grass is an incredibly tenacious plant and it grows back over the chalk. If you want to keep a hill figure around it requires regular maintenance. The White Horse has been dated to the late Bronze Age or early Iron Age, meaning it could well be three thousand years old (there’s a technique called optically stimulated luminescence where scientists can tell when a thing was last exposed to light; they dug down to the bottom of the chalk filled trench and tested the soil underneath. The Horse dates to between 1300 and 550 BC).

Again - and this is the part where I get emotional and weepy - a hill figure requires regular maintenance. Without it, the White Horse would be invisible in a few decades. So every seven years, the villagers of the surrounding communities get together with their baskets of chalk and hammers (and, in more recent years, knee pads) and pound fresh quartz into the trench to prevent it from being overgrown.

With some interruptions during modern times (the Horse was covered in sod during WW2 so it couldn’t be used by the Luftwaffe for navigation) the scouring of the Horse has taken place every seven years for three thousand years. The original builders spoke a Celtic language, or possibly a lost pre-Indo-European language. They didn’t have the same culture or religion or worldview or anything to the people preserving the Horse today. We don’t know what the Horse meant to them. And yet for three thousand years, every seven years, Roman Britons or Saxons or medieval peasants or Clive from down the way have faithfully got together to scour the Horse, to carry it forward from an unknown past to an unknown future.

It’s a tradition even more remarkable for the fact that there’s no point for the Horse’s existence except the fact of the Horse’s existence. This isn’t some high ritual (like the rebuilding of the Ise shrine in Japan, which is connected to the imperial family) it’s a bunch of farmers crushing up rocks. Empires have fallen, gods have faded out of memory, but the Horse continues.

#White Horse of Uffington #hill figures #low ritual #deep time #chalk #art #landscape #i get emotional about archaeology #horse for the horse and of the horse shall not perish from this rural English hillside

[corpsoir]

we lay here for years or for hours thrown here or found to freeze or to thaw so long we become the flowers two corpses we were two corpses i saw

on the 24th we celebrate midsommar, or summer solstice here :) its a holiday i hold very close to my heart and it means a lot to me, and so does this bog body, nicknamed bockstensmannen. and i dont really know what compelled me to draw this but i felt really emotional while drawing it. archaeology and art will do that to you i guess. hozier felt fitting.

#dont even speak about that midsommar movie on this post i am not interested and i dont wanna fucking hear it thanks ! :) #bog posting on main!!! #i hold so much love and fondness for this bog body you guys have no idea #this is based on a photo i took of bockstensmannen while visiting the museum he's located at #i have spoken to the people who take care of his body and the exhibition surrounding him and i get so emotional just by thinking about it #anyway. this is a midsommar post! #bockstensmannen #archaeology #arkeologi #bog bodies #bog body #skeleton #digital art #digital painting #cultural heritage #midsommar #summer solstice #corps art

[pantestudines]

If I am buried (doubtful) when I die, I want to engrave some metal or soemthing that just says "YOU HAVE MY FULL ENTHUSIASTIC CONSENT TO DO SCIENCE ON ME" because I id be so so pissed if scientists unearthed me and some chud made them put me back in the ground because they thought they knew and could decide what was ethical to do with my remains.

#getting a little heated about seeing people talking about *all* archaeology as if its grave robbing #like cmon you didnt know that motherfucker you cant pretend like you are the sole arbiter of what should be sacred or protected #especially for people who are like... thousands of years old #obvs i get there's real and important issues with this when it comes to minority and especially native american remains #and maybe this makes me a bit of a dick or something? #i dont want to be a 'my logic overules your emotions' type guy but. #that person doesnt care. theyre dead. they wouldnt even be able to comprehend that this situation would ever occur. #whats better. letting something rot underground in obscurity? or letting that person tell us their story and experience indirectly? #idk man #this started with gold capped schmeat guy btw

[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

[working-dreamer]

The Person Within: An Analysis Of Professor Layton's Hidden Character Development

Spoilers for practically all of the Layton games!

Hershel Layton as a character is sometimes criticized outside of the fandom for having no personality other than his gentlemanly nature and taking the concept of enjoying puzzles to the extreme.

While I think this criticism shows a blatant misunderstanding to his character, I do think from a different angle that perspective makes Professor Layton more interesting.

Think about it. Most of his personality is taken from the tragedy of those around him. Randall was the one who was originally obsessed with archaeology and puzzles. Claire was the one who originally perceived Hershel as a gentleman (thus giving him the idea.) We don’t really see Layton take these aspects of his personality onto himself until tragedy strikes and these people are taken away from his life.

In the case of Randall's death, Hershel blamed himself for surviving and moved out of town because of his self-loathing and guilt. And when Claire disappeared Layton paused his studies for an unknown amount of time trying to find out what happened until he was beaten into a coma by a group of people associated with her death.

And yet instead of grieving like you’d normally expect from a person who lost his best friend and girlfriend, he internalized their interests and aspects of their personalities into himself. He wears their passions and dreams as his own to remember them. In a way, he’s always reminding himself that he couldn’t save them.

However one might wonder how Layton really feels about those things outside of his previous losses. Does Layton even enjoy archeology and puzzles? Or is it something he has grown to accept in his life simply because he is living out Randall’s dream? Does he feel like he has a choice in the matter?

I can easily imagine Layton having doubts deep within himself: Randall didn’t get to live and it’s my fault. His dreams should live on. I don’t deserve anything else.

Same with Claire. She saw him as a gentleman but he certainly didn’t feel like one after her disappearance if his memory of events is to be taken seriously. How long did it take for him to turn into the perfect gentleman? Especially if it's just a painful reminder of her loss?

It’s probably after waking up from his coma that he starts to really embrace the idea that he has to be the perfect gentleman because he knows he can never get her back. So all he can do is embrace what she thought of him before she died. So with all of this in mind is Layton’s gentlemanly persona genuine to who he is as a person? Or is it just a persona created in order to keep her memory alive?

Layton has kept the shadows of his lost loved ones close to his heart for years and probably would have always done so had he never gotten any closure. However, when Randall turned out to be alive Layton now has the opportunity to let go of that guilt. Claire came back in the future momentarily and Layton got to say goodbye. He no longer needs to keep their personal traits as his own.

So why does he still embody Randall's passion for archeology and puzzles and Claire's perspective that he's the perfect gentleman?

I think it's because Layton doesn't know who he is without these borrowed parts of his personality. Without those aspects that he adopted into himself… who is Hershel Layton? Deep down he is someone who has silently mourned his loved ones and repressed those emotions. And yet most of his life has been embodying said grief. It makes me wonder if Layton would ever look deep within himself and realize that he doesn’t have anything to claim as his own. His entire personality revolves around past guilt and trauma from people he loved and lost.

Shoot even his name isn’t his own! Hershel Layton was actually the name belonging to his brother and in a moment of sacrifice switched names so our Layton could be adopted. So our Layton loses the only family member he has left without even knowing who that is for the majority of his life!

So we have a man who feels guilt and remorse for the deaths of his best friend and his girlfriend so he doesn’t allow himself to develop his own interests and personality because he doesn’t feel like he deserves to be his own person. It's even implied that he believed for a time that he didn't deserve to be the one who survived the events that killed his best friend and girlfriend. And then adding to the fact that he never knew his real family so he most likely felt a different kind of loss by not knowing where he came from. All and all we find a man that feels alone and tries to make it right by embodying the traits of those he cared about.

We don’t get to see Layton develop his thoughts on all of this but we do see an interesting development later on. I’d like to think that Layton slowly began to heal after his adventures thanks to adopting Katrielle in the anime.

This is because, for the first time in Layton’s life, he had a family to look after. Someone who doesn't need a mystery-solving archeologist or a perfect gentleman detective. Someone who doesn't need the grand "Professor Layton." This little girl just needs someone to be her father and, while he tries his best, he doesn't really know how to do that.

Sure he had a familial relationship with Luke and Flora, but he never called himself their father. I don’t think he allowed himself that privilege because of all the self-loathing he had been dealing with before. When he adopts Kat it feels like it’s the first time we see Layton truly allowing himself to be a father figure. And yet he is still uncertain about if he should be the one in this role.

Layton feels like his adopted daughter should know where she came from (something he didn’t get to have) before he can start thinking of himself as a father. He’s scared that if he gets attached then it'll hurt worse when she eventually returns to her own family should she decide that is her wish. But if he finds her family first then he doesn’t have the go through that heartache. He wants to find them first so she can make an informed decision.

And he says this with the logic that he always had as “Professor Layton” with that calm and collected smile. Notice that he says "I want to solve this puzzle so that we can become a true family." He doesn't say "so that we will become a true family." It’s almost as if he is going to let Kat decide if she wants to stay with him or go back to her real parents and that choice will be up to her. However, it's somewhat implied that he already thinks that she would naturally choose her real parents if she had the opportunity.

Despite his wishes to be her father, he still seems to be internally preparing himself to say goodbye (hence why he disappeared for so long in the first place.) He just doesn’t want to get too close to another person only to lose them and suffer alone again.

It makes sense why he is distancing himself, but he’ll still solve the mystery. It's what “Professor Layton” would do and he’ll have to accept whatever happens once Kat learns the truth. He doubts that she would still see him as her dad if she could be with her real parents. He doesn't even know himself outside of the role of "Professor Layton" so how can he be a true father to her? She'll go away with her real family eventually anyway. Why would anyone choose him?

And yet when he sees her again Layton is surprised when she immediately cries out for him. She still calls him papa. She wants him to be her papa.

In a public display of overwhelming emotion, we see Layton openly weep for the first time. He is so overcome by these emotions and for once doesn't repress them. He's just so happy to see his daughter again (to truly call Kat his daughter again) and allows himself to fully express those feelings for perhaps the first time in decades.

If Layton from the original game trilogy saw himself like this he would have been mortified by this “un-gentlemanly” behavior. His mindset back then was that a gentleman never cries because he has trouble coming to terms with his emotions. He even chastised Luke in Unwound Future because “a gentleman never makes a scene in public.”

However, he was never a gentleman for himself. It was always for holding onto the guilt of losing his loved ones while trying to honor their memories at the same time. But he doesn’t have to hold himself to those impossible standards anymore. He no longer blames himself for their deaths, he found closure, and now he has found himself in a family who chooses to love him not because of those attributes “Professor Layton” embodied, but because she loves him for the person hidden under that persona. And that is enough for Layton to openly weep as he embraces his child.

I believe Kat's words here helped Layton more than she'll ever know.

So who is Hershel Layton if he’s not a gentleman or a fan of archeology?

The solution to that puzzle is really quite simple.

He is a caring person. And that’s all he ever needs to be.

#professor layton #professor hershel layton #hershel layton #layton #luke triton #flora layton #jean descole #claire foley #randall ascot #pl #katrielle layton #kat layton #lmj #miracle mask #unwound future #azran legacy #plvsaa #plvspw #professor layton vs phoenix wright #pl vs pw #pl vs aa #phoenix wright #professor layton analysis #layton anime #ace attorney #professor layton vs phoenix wright ace attorney #and THAT is what happens when I watch Puss and Boots the Last Wish #Pus' struggle with keeping up with the legend sounds eerily similar to how Layton carried himself after he lost his friends over the years #layton is a deep character doggone it

[melodygatesauthor]

The Dark Side of the Moon - Chapter 10: A Beaten Stone

Vampire Marc Spector X f!Reader

Beta Read by @xbellaxcarolinax - Masterlist - AO3

Chapter Summary

The trip back to Khonshu's mansion is painfully long. You learn more about who you are, and why Marc couldn't turn you.

Tags/Warnings (for entire fic)

Major Tags/Warnings Major Character Death - Non-con - Dub-con - Violence Minor Tags/WarningsNSFW, smut, Khonshu is human turned vampire, Ammit is human turned vampire, sex with characters other than the main pairing (Marc X f!Unnamed Character - Khonshu X f!Reader), p in v creampie, furniture grinding, scent kink, blood kink, vampire/human relationship, blood drinking, rough sex, oral sex, coming untouched, coming in pants, panty sniffing, angst, fluff, smut, forbidden relationship, secret relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, Marc does NOT have DID Dead Dove Do Not Eat - This means that what you see in the tags is what you get in the fic. If you read the tags and see "non-con" and then see non-con in the fic, don't be surprised!

Word Count: 2.2k

It was a long trip back to the mansion.

The return journey took no more time than the trip there, but it felt longer. Marc had been bound in enchanted chains, not unlike the ones Khonshu made you wear back at his home. You recalled seeing him getting into the back of one of the vans just before you were shoved haphazardly into Khonshu’s black luxury sedan.

You’d been blindfolded for the duration of the trip, but now with only an hour remaining – or so the driver reported to Khonshu – he removed the cloth over your eyes. You blinked, the light piercing your retina for a moment before you adjusted to the sight around you. There was a long coast visible through the trees. Waves crashed against stone, beating them down until they were nothing.

“I thought that you and I could talk, sweet one,” he said in a soft tone, one that you knew he used when trying to appeal to you.

You were all out of care for his facade. This, Khonshu, the mansion, his promises, you didn’t want any of it anymore. You’d rather die than remain under his command, especially now that the truth was unfurling.

—

“Please don’t hurt him! I won’t see him anymore! I promise! I’m sorry!” You’d yelled in your room in Ammit’s house, the same night Khonshu had caught you with Marc.

Khonshu had laughed at you, as though your emotional agony brought him nothing but pure bliss. If there was ever a moment you’d seen Khonshu for the monster he was, it was then. He tsked, walking over to you and sitting on the edge of your bed. His hand reached out to rub your calf, a soft gesture for a horrid creature.

“I’m sorry, little dove,” he’d whispered to you, “I know this hurts, but it’s for the best. I can’t have Marc interfering with my plans more than he already has.”

 When you asked him what ‘plans’ he spoke of, he dodged the question.

“I don’t want you to worry about him at all, okay? By the time he’s allowed out of the thirst room, you’ll be long gone and it won’t be your concern anymore.” 

You wondered if he genuinely thought that was supposed to comfort you, or if he just wanted to torment you further by telling you that you would never see Marc again.

—

You remained silent as the car drove along the winding road. You’d hoped your silence would provide a sufficient enough answer. You didn’t want to fucking talk to Khonshu if he was the only thing left on Earth with the ability to speak.

“Fine, then perhaps you care to listen?”

No.

A thousand times, you did not care to listen, but being trapped in a moving car with two vampires and no way to fight, you were left with no other choice.

“You should know that what I said was true, I did save Marc Spector,” he started. You kept your eyes trained at the window. “It was 1935, and he was at an archaeological dig site in Cairo. Did you know he used to be in the marines?”

You didn’t know that. There were a lot of things you didn’t know about Marc Spector, but you’d fallen for him regardless. His past wasn’t particularly important to you. At this point, you both were trapped in the same living hell, and all you had was each other to get through it.

“Well, after he was discharged, he started working for some mercenaries.”

You felt a hand snake around your waist and pull you back against Khonshu’s chest. His large hand rested casually over your stomach. The rise and fall of his chest against your back felt comforting, despite your desire to kill him the moment you figured out how. You relaxed, body going pliant against his while the car continued along the quiet road.

He continued, “When Marc refused to gun down some innocent archeologists, the other mercenaries turned on him, and he managed to drag himself into my temple.” Khonshu laughed, “I’d felt a disturbance at my statue, so I went there at once.”

“What were you searching for?” You asked quietly.

“That’s not important right now. What’s important is that I gave Marc a choice, and he chose this life,” Khonshu’s tone grew very serious. “He would have you think that I tricked him, but I did no such thing. I offered him life, and in exchange, he would serve me. He chose to live so I–”

“Enslaved him,” you interrupted, feeling your body shaking with frustration.

You could hear Khonshu sigh in aggravation, “I. Saved. Him.”

The car became silent for another beat, the two of you rocking in each other's arms every time the driver rolled over a bump in the asphalt. You didn’t know why he was telling you this story, and you didn’t quite care to listen any longer, but you still didn’t have a choice.

“My point is, that as much as you both seem to think that I am hurting you, I encourage you to remember where you came from,” he hissed in your ear.

You cursed the tear that trickled down your cheek. “Why didn’t it work, Marc’s blood?” You asked through clenched teeth.

Khonshu laughed, “I was going to wait until a more opportune time to tell you, but Marc changed a lot of my plans with his…primal behavior.” His hand rubbed your stomach and you felt uneasy. “You, my little dove, are special. Though I’m sure you already know this. Your smell attracts vampires like a moth to a flame and your blood…well, imagine if vampires had a drug for performance enhancement.”

“Like a steroid?”

“Precisely. Your blood is not unlike a steroid for us. You’re able to heal rather quickly as well, have you noticed that?” He trailed a finger up your arm. “I’m sure when you were a child your bumps and bruises would mend faster than your peers, hm?”

You didn’t respond, though you knew his words to be true.

“There used to be several other humanoid species on Earth besides humans. Vampires, Werewolves, Witches, etcetera. Many of them have been eradicated at this point for too many reasons to list, but you, sweet one, your species was plucked from the Earth for being both too dangerous and too advantageous to my species.”

You moved to sit, and to your surprise, he didn’t insist on you staying cradled against him. You looked at him incredulously. If what he was saying was true, and based on the evidence, you didn’t see how it could be a lie.You really weren’t human.

“What am I then?” You asked, furrowing your brow.

“Relax, you’re more of a sub-species of human than a different species altogether.” He chuckled, looking out the window with his cold, dark eyes. “You’re what’s called a hunter.” Your mind was racing, but you didn’t know what to say. “It may shock you to know, but I don’t know who the first vampire was, nor do I know the origins of my kind, butthe other ancient ones and I saw to it that the hunters were removed from existence.”

The realization hit you right away. Your parents…

“My…”

“That’s right, dove,” Khonshu cooed, brushing a finger over your cheek. “I had my knights kill your parents, and anyone else you may have called kin.”

You didn’t feel emotional pain around the people you never knew, rather you felt pain for the girl who spent her life trying to understand why they would abandon her; why she was deemed so unworthy of their affections. You felt a simultaneous relief and ache that you couldn’t shake. It was comforting to know that they hadn’t discarded you carelessly, but Khonshu just told you that his knights had hunted down and killed your parents.

“Marc and Arthur?” You looked into his emotionless eyes.

“Who else?”

“You’re lying.”

“Think what you must for your mental comfort, sweet one, but I assure you, I sent my men on a private mission to kill the last two hunters alive around twenty-one years ago.”

The car was silent again, and you felt like your breath was stolen from your lungs. It was all too much at once, learning that you’re a human subspecies, your parents are deceased, and Marc may have been the one to do it. No doubt he would’ve remembered killing them though, right?

“I told them to kill you too, but you were already gone. It was when I heard that Ammit was searching for the little huntress that my interest was piqued.” Khonshu looked at his nails as though you were discussing the weather or the price of milk. “The blood of a hunter is…” He snatched your hand and pressed his nose against your wrist, inhaling deeply, “intoxicating, but simultaneously it’s invigorating. There’s nothing else like it in the entire world.”

With a gentle kiss on the inside of your wrist, he let go, snickering wickedly when you scowled at him.

“Why have you kept this from me? What benefit is there of keeping this a secret? If my smell is so potent then surely the others would know that you have a hunter with you.”

Khonshu’s large hand reached out and touched your stomach. He rubbed over the fabric of your dress, thumb caressing you affectionately. His lips parted and his breath trembled as if he were heady with arousal.

“It was always forbidden for blood hunters to exist in our world. Some thousand years ago they were spreading like wildfire, vampires and hunters fucking like rabbits, spitting out the little cretins left and right.” He smirked at you, his eyes twinkling with cruel mischief. “You wouldn’t believe how many people and children burned when we decided to kill them all.”

“We?” You asked, feeling a wave of terror wash over your skin, making your hairs stand out straight.

“Myself, Ammit, Osiris, Horus, Isis, the majority of your ‘gods’ are supernatural beings that have been around for, well, a long, long time.” He sighed. “The blood hunter genocide was a dark time, but it had to be done. Hunters were already dangerous on their own, well-trained supernatural killers that couldn’t be turned into lycan, vampire, or any other sort of unnatural creature. Your blood is immune to the diseases that plague us with our cursed lives.”

“That’s why Marc couldn’t make me like him…” you looked down at your palms, realizing what this meant.

“You’re missing my point here, my little dove,” he said to you in a patronizing tone you despised. “Blood hunters are the children born of a vampire and a hunter, and they’re dangerous because they cannot die as easily as man. They age remarkably slowly, and they can still lure in a vampire the same as you can, with your delicious scent.”

“Why are you telling me this,” you asked, despite already knowing the answer.

He chuckled, “I’m done with this impasse between myself and Ammit. I’m tired of living in this mansion tucked away at the edge of the world.”

As he said that, the place you called home, Khonshu’s mansion came into view over the hill in the distance.

“I was going to take you myself. Plant my seed so deep in your belly you couldn’t walk for weeks, but I wanted to give her the chance to submit before I create a creature as vile as a blood hunter…but it would seem Marc couldn’t contain himself for that long.”

You touched your stomach. You didn’t feel any different, though it had only been a few days, so you shouldn’t feel different. As if he could read your mind, Khonshu answered your burning questions.

“We have an incredible sense of smell, dove, and you have a scent that is designed to draw my kind in. When you’re pregnant that smell changes, and because your scent is so pungent already, even the slightest change is easy enough for us to sense.”

You felt your palms start to sweat, your heart rate rose and the car felt like it was getting smaller. Everything felt loud, the sound of the car rolling over the dirt road as the driver turned onto the final stretch of the journey, your breath coming out of your mouth, and the way Khonshu chuckled at your distress. You wanted to jump out of the vehicle, and for a moment you fantasized about it, opening the door and throwing yourself into one of the trees that you passed, but you couldn’t do that. You didn’t really want that.

“What are you going to do to Marc?” You asked, finally finding the ability to speak once more.

“My sweet girl,” he said just above a whisper, tipping your chin up so you were forced to look him in the eye. “Marc is going to stay in the thirst room until he withers away, and you’ll be dead long before that day comes, so don’t worry your little head.”

Moon Knight Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#moon knight #marc spector #marc spector x f!reader #marc spector headcanon #marc spector x reader #marc spector smut #marc spector x you #moon knight smut #marc spector drabble #moon knight drabble #marc spector fan fiction #moon knight fan fiction #moon knight fic #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector fan fic #marc spector fanfic #marc spector fic #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fan fic

[lurking-latinist]

I just saw this awesome post about including mobility aids in fantasy writing, and I do not want to create a tangent but I *do* want to share some things I learned about disability in ancient Greece when I was researching that paper I wrote on the Philoctetes, so I am making my own post.

Philoctetes is a mythical figure who was one of the Greek heroes going to the Trojan war. Before they got there, he suffered a wound in the foot which would not heal. The other Greek leaders were unwilling to have the noise of his screams and the stench of the infected wound in their camp, so they abandoned him on a deserted island with only his famous weapon, the Bow of Heracles. He survived there for ten years. Now the war is almost over, Troy has almost fallen, but the Greeks have heard a prophecy: they cannot win until they have the Bow of Heracles. So wily Odysseus and young Neoptolemus (the son of the recently dead Achilles) go to the island where Philoctetes is still living, still dealing with his injury. Philoctetes is eager to escape the island, but can he trust the community that abandoned him ten years ago? Can they ever make right what they did to him?

Now that’s the type of story that someone might very well point to who was arguing that disabled people have to be neglected and excluded in a “historically accurate” story. And it’s definitely not an example of casual inclusion. But what that person would be missing is that Philoctetes’ abandonment and isolation in this play was intended to be shocking to its Athenian audience. The audience is invited to identify with Philoctetes and to be horrified at how he does not receive the support from his community that real-world people with similar disabilities did receive, as we can tell from both textual and archaeological evidence.

Martha L. Rose’s book The Staff of Oedipus: Transforming Disability in Ancient Greece emphasizes this. Look, here’s what I wrote in my paper, why should I rewrite it:

Rose approaches her material “though the lens of disability studies, which approaches the phenomenon of disability by assuming that there is nothing inherently wrong with the disabled body and that the reaction of a society to the disabled body is neither predictable nor immutable” (1). In other words, it is necessary to see what attitudes and assumptions about disabilities are actually recorded, rather than projecting any of our own assumptions. ...

Also unlike today, Greek concepts of disability were not medicalized. “Permanent physical disability,” writes Rose, “was not the concern of doctors in antiquity beyond recognition of incurability” (11). This does not mean that disabled people had no resources or were simply left to perish, of course. Rather, they were often cared for within their households and their communities (28), which means that both Philoctetes’ abandonment and isolation form a shocking exception to the norm. The importance of community support suggests that Philoctetes’ joy at being reunited with humanity comes from practical as well as emotional needs. At the same time, the wide range of tasks and trades in the Greek economy meant that many disabled people were far from economically dependent (think of [the god] Hephaestus the lame smith), so that “[a] physically handicapped person earning a living would not have been a remarkable sight” (39). People unable to walk at all rode donkeys or were carried in litters, while those who walked with difficulty used a staff or a crutch (24-26).

So for writers: the ancient Greeks didn’t invent the wheelchair--but they had the wheel technology (I suspect the issue may have been with roads and pavements instead), so your Greek-inspired fantasy world totally can (which was the point of that earlier post). Or maybe your protagonist goes on their adventures with a faithful donkey sidekick that helps them get around. Maybe they are respected for their skill in a craft, making their home and workshop a lively meeting-place for customers. If you’re writing fantasy, you could be inspired by one of the myths of Hephaestus, in which he creates metal automatons--basically, magic robots--that not only support him as he walks, they also act as assistants in his workshop!

Anyway, the point of this post is basically just that I agree with the other post about including mobility aids in fantasy and I had some relevant knowledge in the back of my head. And also that you should read the Philoctetes. Look, here’s a recent free modern English verse translation: https://johnstoniatexts.x10host.com/sophocles/philocteteshtml.html

Oh, and if you would like to see my term paper or the relevant section from The Staff of Oedipus, message me, I will share them.

#philoctetes #writing #I should add that Rose also has information about things like blindness and deafness in her book #I just happened to be writing a paper about mobility

[that-ari-blogger]

Persephone Is Stray Gods' Thesis Statement

I mentioned this when I wrote my post on Pan (check it out, I'm rather proud of that), but Persephone is also a weird choice to include. When you think of the Olympians, Persephone is there, but its "Hades and Persephone" or "That time Hades kidnapped Persephone" or "Persephone, wife of Hades." There is a duality to her pop culture appearance, but here, Hades is absent, and Persephone takes a central role. Why?

Let me explain.

SPOILERS AHEAD

Let's start simple. Who is Persephone? The answer to that is complicated, and thats the point. In the modern understanding, Persephone is the wife of Hades, and that's pretty much it. She's the goddess of spring (although not really). She exists in relationship to her husband and nothing else.

But mythologically, Persephone is terrifying. Her name predates Hades' in terms of archaeological evidence, and she has been equated with the name Kore, meaning "maiden" which, yes, is why that name gets referenced in stray gods. Essentially, Persephone is old, but she had a nickname that people used instead of her actual name.

My theory of this is because you don't want to say the name of a death goddess or she'll notice you, but that is mostly because OSP proposed that idea in their video, and I liked it. Check it out for more detail on Persephone.

The point that I'm going for here is that Persephone is multi faceted in nature but has been whittled down to a 2D archetype in general knowledge. And that's how she is introduced in Stray Gods, she's mean and unpleasant and fits into the "so obviously the killer that she's probably a red herring" archetype. But she gets more complex as a character the closer you look.

Anyway, let's examine this song.

The visuals are phenomenal. Take this shot, for example. Persephone stands raised above everyone else, with her symbol glowing behind her, symbolising how her influence is enormous and that this challenge will be tough. It's also colouring the rest of the room, all of the nameless NPCs are entirely lit in purple, a colour associated very clearly with Persephone. She is in control of this scene. It's also worth noting how small and indistinguishable grace is here, she fades in where Persephone stands out. Grace is weaker here. Thats some cool visual storytelling right there.

Also, The Underworld is a dope as all hell name for a club. (She's queen of the club called the underworld. So, she's queen of the underworld).

Similarly, this is cool. Its a bridge, symbolising connection, or a crossing. As Grace argues and fights with Persephone, she crosses into Persephone's world and starts to understand her more.

This shot is just cool, not much else to it. It's confronting Persephone with herself and her emotions about Calliope, cast in the colours of a sunrise as she forces Persephone to mage a choice about what to do in the future.

"If she had something to say, would you turn her away?" "Please don't do this."

This neatly shows that at this point in the song, Grace has "won". She has succeeded in the challenge, but neither combatant looks particularly happy. The reason for the victory dominates the camera, the connection has been formed because of Calliope.

"You hear that? Silence"

I am a sucker for the simple things. A blank stage with a single image on it is all you need to win my heart. This shot is my favourite in the song. It's the moment when you finally get through to Persephone, if you do that. (I'm not telling you how to get here, work that out yourself). What do you see when you finally get through all of Persephone's walls and defences? What do you hear?

Silence.

Persephone stands before you in an enormous ribcage, where the heart should be. It's overgrown, and empty, and the rest of the body has disappeared. There is just enough there to know that there is a hole, a void.

Phantom Pains sets up a metaphor of anatomy. Specifically, anatomy that has been removed or lost. And here that metaphor is again, showing the wounds at the heart of Persephone. This is a character who knows loss and trauma and betrayal, who is trapped by the memory (I wonder who else is like that).

In one ending, this area is where you get the explanation of Hades' absence. Persephone killed him.

Stray Gods is a story about family, about how, when it goes well, it can be amazing, but when it goes badly, things get dark. Of course, Persephone would be included in that story, she is part of the archetypal dysfunctional family in Greek mythology. But like the myth, this character is more complex than that. Stray Gods is also about moving past trauma, overcoming it, being more than it, and Persephone's characterisation in the entire musical embodies that philosophy.

Previous - Next

#rants #literary analysis #character analysis #literature analysis #what's so special about...? #greek mythology #stray gods #stray gods persephone #stray gods challenging a queen #stray gods the roleplaying musical #stray gods the musical

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #3 – Monstress Volume One: Awakening by Marjorie Liu and Sana Takeda

Monstress is one of about three comics I’ve ever considered myself an unequivocal fan of. I, alas, lost track of things during a hiatus a while back, and got to the point where I barely remembered where I was or what was happening. So, as a palate cleanser between longer books, I’m making it a project for the first chunk of the year to reread this from the start until I’m caught up again.

This is a very high concept series – a matriarchal dieselpunk fantasy world vaguely inspired by 1920s/30s East Asia with a strong art deco aesthetic. The world is divided between the Arcanic Courts – kingdoms ruled by the animalistic ‘Ancients’ and populated by the Arcanic descendants of their half-human children – and the Federation – a human nation-state dominated by witch-nuns who derive their influence from being able to render down the corpses of said Arcanics into magically potent ‘lilium’. Also there are insubstantial projections/ghosts of titanic tentacle-ey monsters that wander across the landscape sometimes. And a genocidal war ended in a stalemate a decade ago after a city was destroyed by something that no one on either side understands. Oh an in addition to the anthromorphic animal Ancients there’s also just normal cats, except they’re sapient and capable of speech and also necromancy. The book really throws you into things and a decent chunk of the first volume is just introducing and establishing the rules of the world.

The actual plot follows Maika Halfwold, an Arcanic who can pass for human except for the giant occult tattoo on her chest. The story follows her abandoning her girlfriend and voluntarily getting herself enslaved and brought to the mansion/mad science laboratory of a powerful witch-nun so she can break out, fight her way through it, and interrogate her at gunpoint for information about the giant gaps in her memory of when as a child her mother worked with the witch on an archaeological dig. Things escalate from there due to a shard of an enchanted mask and an eldritch abomination that had been slumbering with Maika’s body who is awoken by it. The balance of the volume is spent with her, an incredibly untrustworthy cat, and a vulpine arcanic child who she more or less accidentally rescued from slavery as they try to escape the manhunt after them.

So there’s a lot here, and I really do love almost all of it. Most obviously, the art is just gorgeous – I mean, I’m an easy sell on dieselpunk/fantasy 20s stuff, but genre trappings aside the detail and use of colour is just incredible, and even the less detailed panels do an amazing job capturing expressions and emotion. Basically every aspect of character and environmental design is just very deliberate as well – aesthetics reflect character, and scenes are full of little background details that help sell and fill in the world. But fundamentally just very pretty, an aesthetic pleasure to behold.

Of course, one of the things a whole page of artistic flourishing is devoted to is a flashback of Maika – a starving enslaved orphan during the war – eating the stomach of another child who’d died before her to keep herself going. This is a book that just about exults in brutality and brokenness – ‘there is more hunger in the world than love’ is basically the tagline of the entire volume. This is a world on the verge of a genocidal total war, rife with slavery and human sacrifice, and it pulls absolutely no punches about depicting that (so, so many dead children). With, like, one-three exceptions everyone is flawed and compromised and betrays something they care about when their backs are against the wall. You really and truly can’t trust anyone.

You can see this clearly with Maika herself. She’s just, genuinely an incredibly unpleasant person to be around. Responds to feeling unsure or anxious by lashing out, all but incapable of showing affection in any legible way, too wrapped up in her own mountains of bullshit to even notice what anyone around her has going on until it’s shoved right in her face, paranoid and suspicious and more comfortable with violence than uncertainty, has 100% gotten people killed multiple times due to lack of ability to get over her own (mountains, abyssal, soul-crushing) trauma – really the list just goes on. In her defence basically everyone is actually out to get her (sadly the paranoia and suspicion do not in any way actually make her more difficult to deceive or betray). Anyway, I obviously love her, and the supporting cast is very nearly as good.

Just, generally this is not a series where suffering is ennobling – fear and shame and trauma and a desperate need to cling onto what power or privilege you can drive people as much or more as sympathy for or solidarity with others going through the same things they have. The fact that the Federation is run by a bunch of genocidal religious fanatics doesn’t mean the Ancients ruling the Arcanic Courts are good, or even necessarily that they care about the lives of their subjects beyond their own power and pleasure. It could easily tip over the edge into monochrome nihilism, but it actually manages to toe the line very well.

Though like, despite everything I just said, it does do the oddly common modern genre fic thing where there’s brutal unsparing depictions of colonial plunder and oppression but also everyone’s an intersectional feminist. Not as much as some, but the race-war is between humans and arcanics with no one seeming to care on whit about intraspecies ethnicity or race, and the setting is matriarchal in the modern implicit glass ceiling way a modern American corporation is patriarchal, not the way a midcentury warlord state or fascist empire is patriarchal (not that this means there aren’t graphic threats of rape or depictions of what’s clearly sex slavery just that being the one holding the lash isn’t really gendered).

So yeah, overall happy to report that the first volume of this still absolutely and entirely holds up – and considered as a work on its own the first volume really coheres far better than I’d realized when I was first reading this in one mad rush. Very much looking forward to continuing on to volume 2.

#book review #monstress #comic #sff #lesbian space atrocities #Marjorie Liu #Sana Takeda

[dairy-farmer]

Have I tried to do research on incubuses to write this, yes...

Did I not like the research I did and made it all up in my head, yes again....

Well, although this is an incubus ask is there any proper sex in it, unfortunately no

Will I send this anyway, absolutely yes...

Tim has been an incubus since birth

The magic emitted from the parchment found by Jack and Janet in one of their excavations entered the body of Janet, who was pregnant at that moment, causing some changes in the fetus

Fearing that something would happen to their baby, they talked to the elders of the village where they found the scroll and tried to get as much information about it as possible

The spell was created by a man who found the person he loved in someone else's arms. According to the idea in the mind of the person who created the magic, his lover had been captured through sex and removed from him. In order to correct this, he tried to turn his body into a soul that would be desired by everyone, but he died before he could fully succeed

The point where he failed was actually too simple. Normally, Incubus souls are desired by the other side, and the soul would fulfill its nourishment with this desire, even though it did not need it very much. However, although the baby formed as a result of this magic would be desired by the other side again, he would not be able to live long enough without introducing the fluids formed from people's ejaculation into his body

Jack and Janet didn't quite know what they could do. Their son had been born with a pair of black wings that suited him very well and a long tail that moved depending on his emotions. As parents, they did not want their baby to try to taste semen or orgasm fluid at an early age from strangers, so they continued to stay with Tim for several years and tried to feed him every time their little baby sat on their lap and started to put his teeth on their skin

Within a few years, Tim began to slowly learn to control himself. When he was old enough to go to school, he was able to hide his tail and wings and continue his life without feeding for several weeks

And Jack and Janet, every time their son grew up and learned to control himself more, they increased the duration of their trips abroad a little bit and left Tim alone in the big mansion

It wasn't because they didn't like their little baby, but being trapped in Gotham for years to satisfy Tim's hunger was suffocating them now, and they wanted to get back to the excitement they had experienced thanks to their archaeological excavations

On one of the trips where they left Tim alone, the little incubus accidentally discovered another of his powers when he felt that he was going to starve to death

To be able to enter people's dreams...

The first dream he entered was none other than Dick Grayson, who was living in the Wayne Manor at that time and his hormones were through the roof as a result of puberty

Tim had learned that he could also take on the images of different people during that first dream

After that, he began to spend his time usually entering Dick's dreams. Of course, there were also times when the young boy followed Batman and Robin using his little wings to fully understand the time of his sleep and learned their identities, but this information did not interest Tim so much at that moment

Dick's departure from Gotham after a fight with Bruce led to a new discovery of Tim

The more distance there was, the harder it was for Tim to enter into their dreams

In response, he began to find himself in Bruce's dreams. Probably due to the fact that he was older, Tim did not have a lot of opportunities that he could use for sex, but he still managed to get enough semen into his body to feed

Maybe that's why Jason's young body's arrival meant that he was having a really good amount of food

However, everything began to mix up with the murder of Robin by the Joker. Tim had been unable to reach his parents for a long time, Dick had an even bigger fight with Bruce and said he would never return to Gotham again, while Bruce had begun to see nothing but dreams of losing Jason which caused Tim to cry from the pain

Perhaps that's why his purpose of being Robin was different from everyone else. For normal incubuses, maybe the person they wanted didn't mean anything, but for Tim, connecting to certain people meant not being able to get food from anyone other than them that would help him survive

His body could also choose to accept different people, but this was a complex process(If there is a first-degree kinship to the person he first connected with, sudden attachment would occur) and would be impossible to do after a certain age

The murder of his family, Jason's coming back and him trying to kill Tim which in a way would get Tim out of his dreams, Bruce's death which even though he knows he's alive, and where Dick took Robin away from him and Damian's threats on Tim's life...

The soul inside Tim refused to have desires for people who refused to desire him in a sense, but there were no other people Tim could feed on. He was 17, so the last age he could choose someone different and connect with, even if by force, he spent proving that Bruce was alive

His body was burning, and during the slightest carelessness, his wings and tail would have appeared. Although Tim could have sex in real life until the distrust between them decayed, he didn't want to bother anyone, and the thought of other people touching his body made his stomach uncomfortable

One of the times when he masturbated to eliminate the pain in his pussy in his own apartment and did not need to hide his normal body, Dick caught him in this state

Thinking that his body had been seized, his older brother immediately took him in his arms and tried to take him to the cave

Under normal circumstances, Tim would have tried to get rid of his brother's arms, but right now he wanted to live his last moments happily without anyone finding out his secret, because that little touch ignited the desire in his body

He remembered that his parents had said at the time that it was dangerous for other people to realize that he was an incubus, and he wept into the heat that he would never experience again, while tears soaked Dick's uniform

It was only a matter of time before they kicked Tim out of the family. They would realize that he was really an incubus and they would hate him for using them

But that didn't happen. On the contrary, his family looked at him with sad expressions in their eyes as they listened to what Zatanna was telling. They squinted their eyes with regret while listening to how Tim could not enter their dreams due to the problems that had arisen between them and that he would die if he did not feed decently for a while

And this made Tim very angry. He didn't want their pity, or the thought that they would show him love and desire his body just because he was going to die made him sad

As a result, he fled from the manor...

Others were feeling extremely frustrated over this escape attempt. Even if Tim couldn't get into their dreams, especially as an incubus how could he not feel the desires that kept them up every night? Hunger should have dulled his senses

And even if they caught Tim, what were they going to do? They didn't want to try to force sex and further increase Tim's already insecure feelings, but if they waited any longer, it might have been too late

As a result, after bringing Tim to the manor, they began to prepare drinks consisting their semen

And since Tim got into the habit of drinking it constantly, after a certain period of time, he began to lose control over his movements due to a state of excessive satiety, just like in his childhood with his parents

While Bruce was working in his office, he ignored the meeting opened on the computer, went under the table and started sucking his dick, which he pulled out of his pants

He ignored the image that was open on TV while the movie was being watched and covered himself with the veil he shared with Dick, bringing his little pussy together with his big brother's cock and letting everyone hear the dirty sound caused by sex

He let Jason fuck his pussy hard by decking him between the wall and his muscular body or made Damian's first experience by sitting on him and jumping on his little boy's dick

He felt relieved. The pain in his body disappeared, and he even began to be able to re-enter his family's dreams

It was a complete feast...

the LORE packed into this yesssss!!!!! incubus tim is so good especially his family realizing they've been starving and neglecting him and tim FINALLY getting his fill of all the cum he needs!!!!

#answered asks #asks #anonymous #brutim #dicktim #jaytim #damitim

[etoilesbienne]

hey, you can 100% ignore this if responding brings up too much pain, but ; ; i just want to tell you i relate so fucking hard, i haven’t really seen anyone else expressing pain to the extent that i personally feel it so i started wondering if i was alone in it, but—it hurts. it hurts so fucking bad. i haven’t been able to stop crying for the days since it happened, and there’s just a constant pain in my chest. it’s just real, genuine grief. it feels like losing people that you loved, getting furious on their behalf because of how they were treated. i didn’t think i would have to say goodbye, both to people who made me so happy and to one of the biggest reasons that i watched qsmp. maybe another reason it’s different because we talked to them often in pomme and dapper time, that it feels so much like losing people you cared about, but losing ramón hurts like hell too. i don’t know, i haven’t had this kind of grief and crying in a long time. i thought maybe that level of emotion was parasocial and “weird”, but knowing i’m not alone eases that thought a bit, i guess. people who primarily watch other pov’s telling us it’s okay to take a break do not understand that there is no break to be had. it’s over, just like that. it’s worse thinking about how other people don’t really seem to understand or feel the extent of what’s happening and think it’s just criticism that comes from being a “hater”, not from hurt, and it makes me feel crazy too. sorry for the wall of text, but i promise we’re not crazy, and that your pain is justified and you’re always welcome to talk to me about it if you want to, i’m here.

ive taken all day looking at this message and looking at fandom content, and i just... yeah. it's hard. everything about this situation sucks with the inaction all of us are stuck in. I don't know what the move forward should be. I don't know how I can make this positive for myself anymore. I'd love to share headcanons aus story ideas, all that stuff while my main streamer is on break, but I don't know if he ever plans to be returning to the server, and the eggs I cared so much about just being gone. Where do I go from there. It's like real actual grief because it feels so unfair and so preventable and it hurts so much to keep. It's so unfair how they got treated. I'm tired of being told to take a break to deal with the grief because there is nothing to come back to. qsmp was my break. It's how I would relax after spending so long on archaeology and anthropology work. I understood it. It was fun. It just hurts.

Thank you for the message though, I hope its okay to post publicly

#neg #crit #discourse #qsmp neg #qsmp crit #qsmp discourse #asks #vent #<- i guess. sorry to tag your ask like this but like. ahhhhhh #Misery... misery...

[everythinginyou]

Everything In You: A Petrigrof AU

Now that the Fionna & Cake is over, I know a lot of long-time petrigrof fans are underwhelmed or outright sad about how things turned out in the finale. Regardless of how it turned out, I'd like to interest you in an 18+ fanfic I've been writing since the first episodes dropped, where after a thousand years of longing, Simon Petrikov and Betty Grof are returned to their respective human bodies again.

Simon has succeeded in his mission to retrieve Betty from the cosmic mind-prison of her fusion with GOLB. The only remains of the magic that once consumed them are the memories of what it took to get here. The long fight is over, the tears were shed, the cheers and sentimental reunion words were shared, and now it's time to get on with the rest of their lives. Here is the Happily Ever After they've been waiting for. What happens now?

CHAPTER SELECT:

[Chapter 1]

[Chapter 2]

[Chapter 3]

[Chapter 4]

[Chapter 5 (COMING SOON!)]

Tags/CW & More Info under cut:

[Read on Ao3]

Future themes to explore: founding a university, academic life, married life, archaeological research, travel, managing work/life balance, rediscovery (of the world & each other!), dealing with trauma, hurt & comfort, managing expectations & boundaries, physical & emotional intimacy, future-planning, family-planning, pregnancy, parenthood, found family, etc.

Tags/CW: age difference(?), light angst, hurt & comfort, first time (sort of), dry humping, unprotected sex, missionary position, creampie, impregnation, breeding, cowgirl position, tent sex, quiet sex, femdom

#petrigrof #simon petrikov #adventure time #simon and marcy #simonposting #simon adventure time #fiona and cake #adventure time simon #betty grof #fionna and cake spoilers

[transmutationisms]

hii, do you have any reading recs for where to start in terms of the history of medicine? thank you so much and i adore reading your succession analysis

if you're new to this subfield i would recommend starting out by just thumbing through the cambridge history of medicine (2006, ed. roy porter). you don't have to read every word in here, but definitely the introduction and any chapters that look particularly relevant to your interests. there are also some medical chapters scattered throughout the cambridge history of science volumes. cambridge volumes are often limited to europe and north america, and they're generally not methodologically daring, so you don't want to get stuck on them forever. but as a starting point, they can help you start to recognise a few influential names in the field, and give you a sense of what the history of medicine 'canon' is & draws from.

after that you can start to get more specific. history of medicine is a bit of a misnomer field in that it contains a few distinct-but-overlapping subject areas: histories of diseases themselves (this will cross into history of biology, paleo-virology, molecular archaeology, genetics, &c); histories of sickness (often drawing from affect theory, disability studies, and history of emotions); histories of medical practice and practitioners (philosophy of health and medicine, labour history, studies of class and discipline formation, military history); histories of public health (broader population thinking, archaeology and anthropology, history of hygiene, history of state formation and biopolitics); histories of medical devices and instruments (history of technology, material history, economic and industrial history). you'll also serve yourself well if you have some sense of specific time periods and places you're interested in—not that i'm telling you to be close-minded, but it just helps if you have some idea of what you're looking for.

you are more than welcome to come back and ask about a more specific sub-topic :-) since you've basically given me free reign, i'll just toss out a few histmed books i've particularly enjoyed, in no particular order:

medicalizing blackness: making racial difference in the atlantic world, 1780–1840, by rana hogarth (2017)

the expressiveness of the body and the divergence of greek and chinese medicine, by shigehisa kuriyama (1999)

doctoring traditions: ayurveda, small technologies, and braided sciences, by projit mukharji (2016)

plague and empire in the early modern mediterranean world: the ottoman experience, 1347–1600, by nukhet varlık (2015)

killing the black body: race, reproduction, and the meaning of liberty, by dorothy roberts (1997)

hearing happiness: deafness cures in history, by jaipreet virdi (2020)

pasteur's empire: bacteriology and politics in france, its colonies, and the world, by aro velmet (2020)

contagion: disease, government, and the 'social question' in nineteenth-century france, by andrew aisenberg (1999)

colonial madness: psychiatry in french north africa, by richard keller (2007)

curing the colonizers: hydrotherapy, climatology, and french colonial spas, by eric t jennings (2006)

ideals of the body: architecture, urbanism, and hygiene in postrevolutionary paris, by sun-young park (2018)

#history of medicine

[mytalemyworld]

Alaz: Asi?! Are you okay? Did they do something to you? Asi: Don't touch me! Don't touch me! Why did you come? You killed Yaman. Don't touch me! I said kill me! But you killed Yaman! God damn you! I hate you. I hate you! Alaz: Asi…don't hate me, okay? If we die, we will die together.

When she said she hated him, he looked so miserable.

Oh my god i cannot take it i cannot take anything.

Zafer: Have you heard of the couple that died 2800 years ago and was found in an archaeological dig in Iran? A very epic love story. They were found dead in the place where they hid to escape the war around them. The woman hugs the man, the man kisses her, etc. They just died together. So, I started to see such potential in you, too. I am very touched.

Alaz already positioned himself in front of her. We love 1 protective husband.

You know you're legendary when even the villain expects from your love so much. Lol. The guy is a little obsessed with them I don't know, he said they were epic!

Btw I think he was talking about "Hasanlu Lovers".

Asi: You are touched? Are you human? Do you have any emotion? Zafer: You were rebellious in your childhood too, right?

Oh. THIS WAS INSANE. He was going to attack him! Don't talk about her childhood, her traumas, he will get mad.

#yabani #asi x alaz

[skulduggery-pleasant-bp9]

Playing with a Coroner and a Detective is not wise - Skulduggery x Male!Reader Universe

Part 9 – The Vault

As they were outside, Ghastly and Skulduggery had their disguises back on and stared at something. M/n looked around quickly, but in a way, no one noticed, while his Sister started to panic. Then he saw the man and he pointed at him for Stephanie.

The man came to them, like he had all the time in the world. Stephanie came closer to her Brother’s side, who, was very close to Skulduggery. He looked at his Sister and gave her a calming smile. She didn’t return it.

“Mr. Pleasant, Mr. Bespoke..”, greeted the man as he reached them.

“Mr. Bliss”, they greeted back.

Stephanie inspected the man. He radiated out power. His pale blue eyes looked at her and M/n seemed to stiffen up slightly. Then his eyes went to M/n.

“And you two must be the siblings, which all the people are suddenly interested in.”

Stephanie couldn’t make a sound. She didn’t know, what she should have said, but she knew, her voice would have sounded high and thin, if she would have tried to speak. This Mr. Bliss had something on him, that awakened in her the wish, to get very small and cry.

M/n felt her unease and stepped in between her and Bliss, shielding her from him.

“Hey, whatever you are doing, stop it, yeah ? My Sister is at unease and that is not funny. If you use some stupid spell like this China, then stop it.”, M/n growled out slightly.

Mr. Bliss chuckled and looked at him.

“It don’t work on me, Sir.”, M/n deadpanned.

“Interesting...”

“I haven’t seen you in a while. I’ve heard, you have withdrawn from business.”, Skulduggery said, distracting all three of them.

M/n hated Mr. Bliss’ eyes. They seemed as empty as a void. No emotion left in them. He looked at Skulduggery.

“The Elders asked me to come back. We live in a time, full of restlessness.”

“Really ?”, Ghastly asked.

“The two men, that were watching Serpine, were reported missing two days ago. He is up to something, that the Elders aren’t supposed to know of.”

Skulduggery thought about that.

“Why didn’t Meritorius tell me anything ?”

“The truce is a card house, Mr. Pleasant. One little disruption, and everything falls into itself. And you are well known to make disruptions. The Elders hoped, that my interference would be enough of a scare, but I fear, they underestimated Serpine’s determination. They refuse to believe, that someone else could benefit from another war. And of course,, do they still believe, the Sceptre of Ancients, as a Fairytale.”

M/n looked at Bliss in confusion and wonder.

“So, you think the Scepter is real too ?”, he asked.

He looked at M/n.

“Oh, I know that it exists. If it can do all the things, that were told in the Legends, I don’t know, but as an object does the Sceptre very well exist. It was discovered in the youngest past, by archaeological excavations. As much as I know, did Gordon Edgley pay a high amount of cash, to get it into his possession, because it was a part of his researches for a book about the Faceless Ones. I think, he was determined to prove its sincerity, and after he succeeded, did he realize, that he can’t keep it, nor give it away. Gordon Edgley was with all his mistakes a good man, and if he had to assume, that the Sceptre had the destructible abilities, from which we’ve heard of, he surely had the feeling, that no one should own it, because it was too powerful.”

Stephanie found her voice now.

“Do you know, what he did with it ?”, she asked.

“No.”

“But you believe that Serpine is ready, to risk another war ?”, Skulduggery asked.

Mr. Bliss nodded.

“I think, in his eyes the truce did serve its purpose, yes. I can only imagine, that he waited for this moment for a while now, to seize the power, to uncover all secrets and get the Faceless Ones back here.”

“YOU believe in the Faceless Ones ?”, Stephanie asked.

“Oh yes. I grew up with that knowledge and I kept my belief in them since. Some of us just abandon the Stories, which are told about the Faceless Ones, others see them as educating fables and again others see them as bedtime stories for children. But I believe in them. I believe, that we were ruled by other entities once, which were so unbelievably evil, that even their shadows fled from them. And I believe, that they waited very long for their return, so they can punish our infraction.”

Skulduggery crooked his head.

“The Elders would listen to you.”

“You have to play by their rules. I found out, what I could, and gave all my knowledge to the only person, that knows, what to do with it. Everything else is up to you.”, Bliss replied.

“With you on our side, everything would be way easier.”, said Ghastly.

A small smile ran over Bliss’ face.

“When I have to step in, I will.”, he replied.

Without a ‘Good day’ he turned around and left. They stayed rooted there for a while until Stephanie spoke.

“He somehow was scary.”

“That’s what happens, when you barely smile. Mr. Bliss is, purely physically speaking, the strongest man on this planet. His strength tops everything.”

“So he is actually really scary ?”, she asked.

“Oh yes, very.”, Skulduggery confirmed.

They went to their cars.

“What do you think ?”, she asked Ghastly and Skulduggery as they arrived at the cars.

Skulduggery shrugged his shoulders, while Ghastly looked in deep thought.

“A lot of smart things.”, the Skeleton answered.

“Do you also think, the Sceptre is real ?”

“It seems so.”, Skulduggery said.

“If Mr. Bliss said it exists and that it was recently found too, then I do believe him. Bliss wouldn’t lie about that.”, Ghastly replied.

“So we have to get going and take a look at your collectibles now, right ?”, M/n asked.

Ghastly nodded.

“Why ?”, Stephanie asked her Brother.

M/n turned to her.

“Get your phone out and call me. We will drive to wherever Ghastly’s collectibles are and I will explain.”

She nodded and they got in. Then his Sister called him and he accepted, then turned on the speaker.

“Turn on the speaker.”

“Already done.”

“Okay, Skul, you drive first, so I just have to follow. Now listen, Sister. As this Bliss guy said, the Elders deny that there is anything wrong. They are too scared to do anything from assumptions and accusations only. They want evidence. We know now that Uncle G had the Sceptre last and that was most definitely the reason he was murdered. We need proof that it exists, so we need to find it and get our hands on it first, for that we need to find the key, which we still don’t know its location of. Last, but not least, we have to destroy it. We have to make the Sceptre nonexistent, and for that to happen, we need to go to Ghastly’s family’s collectibles, look through everything and try and find answers. There must be something that can tell us how to destroy it.”, M/n explained while they drove on the road.

“Okay...why do I have a feeling you are keeping something from me ?”, she asked suspiciously.

“Because I am thinking. Bliss said that two spies, which were on Serpine’s ass, went missing two days ago, just like that. I think I have to pay a visit to my workplace and ask my Boss about recently found corpses. I want to find out, if they accidently came into our hands. I will also have to re – inspect Uncle G’s body. I want to make sure that he was murdered and if yes, what I have to look for and if I can draw the same murderer to all three corpses, if the spies are there. That counts as evidence too, doesn’t it ? But I will need other people as my Team. I can’t work with my old Team on that. If they see anything suspicious, they will report it and I can’t make up so many lies that I will lose sight of my own truths.”

“But wasn’t Uncle embalmed ? That means everything is out, right ? Blood and everything.”, his Sister asked.

“Sis, I forbid them to do that, for this exact reason. The blood and everything is still there, which also means I will have to work with the stench the body will emit, but I have no other choice and it wouldn’t be my first time dealing with that either. Trust me, I know what I am doing.”

“God, Uncle hopefully won’t haunt you as a ghost.”

M/n sighed heavily.

“Like I said, if he decides to curse me, for disturbing him, so be it. I HAVE to figure this out.”

“Do you really think you have to do that, Corrupted ?”, Skulduggery asked.

“Yes, I do. We need all the evidence we can get, to wake those old people up from slumber land, so let me do, what I can. I didn’t study Autopsy for nothing.”

“Very well then.”, Skulduggery gave in.

Then there was a short moment of silence.

“How many people do you need ?”, Skulduggery asked M/n.

“At least three. Why ?”, M/n asked.

“I have someone in mind...”

“Who ?”

“Kenspeckle Grouse. He is a doctor and very smart. He might be able to help you. I would like to join too.”, Skulduggery answered.

“Maybe I should join too then.”, Ghastly mixed in.

“If you all go there, then I will too.”, Stephanie said.

“Sister, you won’t come along. You are twelve years old, for fucks sake. You don’t want to see cut open bodies and how I take out organs and run tests on everything. God, Mom would KILL me if she finds out that I let you even WATCH a series about such things ! You would get nightmares. Forget it.”

“I want to come along, if you won’t let me, I will tell Mom your actual job !”, Stephanie threatened.

M/n froze at that and glared at the road.

“IF you come along, you WILL listen to me, understand ? You disobey me and I will ground you for a long while. You got that ?”, he said darkly.

“Yep !”, she chirped.

“Good.”

“But how are Skulduggery and Ghastly going to hide their faces ?”, she asked.

“Let that be my worry. I have an idea.”, M/n replied with a smile.

Then he hung up and they continued to drive.

“What have you planned ?”, Ghastly asked.

M/n smiled.

“I never tested them on Mages before, so don’t expect it to work without flaws. Maybe I need to adjust a few things, but...I made something that project illusions over your body. The device is small and has a good battery. It can stay alive for over 12 hours, before you have to charge it again. I am unsure of what to call them yet. Maybe ‘cover up devices’ or something. You’ll love them, if they work.”

“Alright...but they won’t explode, right ?”

“They won’t.”, M/n replied, laughing.

“Then I am willing to try them out.”

“Good. Oh ! And please don’t tell my Sister that I am tinkering on stuff like this. It is bad enough that she knows that I am a Coroner. She doesn’t need to know that I am crafting stuff too...”, M/n muttered.

“Because she will blackmail you ?”

“Yep, one of the many things. The other would be her constantly asking me, to make her something she can gloat about... No thank you. As much as I love her, she can’t always expect ME to do everything.”

“Tough love, eh ?”, Ghastly asked with a chuckle.

M/n chuckled too.

“Very tough love.”, he confirmed jokingly.

“What else can you do ? You studied Autopsy, what else ?”, Ghastly asked.

“You will keep it a secret from everyone ?”, M/n asked back.

“Sure will. Now spill the tea.”

M/n chuckled.

“Officially I had three scholarships. One was Autopsy, the other was Mechanic and the last one was Robotics. I wanted to test myself, I suppose. I did all three of them at once and Uncle Gordon supported me. He was the ONLY one who knew. He arranged everything and all my scholarships were scheduled in one day. After I came home late at evening, I studied all three things at once, let Gordon test me and then I got, if I was lucky, at least two hours of sleep. I never really felt stressed or tired, even though I should have. At weekends I studied hard and slept longer, catching up on my sleep, but still, it should have been terrible, yet, it was entirely relaxing to me.”

Ghastly looked at M/n in awe.

“Wow, respect, Corrupted.”, Ghastly complimented.

M/n chuckled.

“What else did you do ? You said these three were ‘Official’. Was there anything that was unofficial ?”

“I mean, my driving license was. I learned sewing a bit too. I learned first aid and how to help in absolute emergencies, like, someone is bleeding out, I know how to slow it down properly. I studied a bit of medicine, I studied chemicals and liquids. I studied a lot in books, used rarely the Internet, and put my knowledge to tests. All of this, Gordon was aware of. He got me the books, he explained things I didn’t fully understand and he helped in a few things. Heck, he even taught me how to fight, stuffed me into boxing classes and another fighting sport, so I can defend myself. I guess, I learned a little bit of everything at this point. Even how to cook and clean properly.”, M/n explained, shrugging his shoulders.

To him it was no big deal, it never stressed him out. He could be put under immense pressure and he wouldn’t feel stressed. Ghastly though, was in utter shock and concern.

“Don’t you think, your Family made you do too much ?”, the tailor asked.

“Not really. Why ?”

“Well, most kids, like you, enjoy their free time a lot and don’t cope well under pressure and tasks all day.”

“Ghastly, I grew up way faster than other kids. And while it is true, that I rarely had free time, I was always asked if I was okay with everything they wanted me to do. I could have denied any time, but refused to. It’s not like they forced me. I always want to put myself under immense pressure, learn more and more interesting things and I want to find out where my limit is. Until now, I haven’t found it.”

Ghastly looked at M/n in worry, but didn’t want to poke around any further. He knew Gordon Edgley and he knew that he would never have put a child under immense pressure, if the child wouldn’t have asked for it.

Soon enough they arrived and M/n parked his car next to Skulduggery’s. They got out and M/n raised an eyebrow.

“It is hidden in the Museum ?”

“Yes, it is.”, Ghastly replied.

“How clever.”, M/n said dryly.

The two men chuckled, while the siblings were not that amused. Then Ghastly led them inside, with Skulduggery. They paid for it and then Ghastly led them away to a certain door. It was opened by Skulduggery and Ghastly entered first, then M/n and Stephanie.

Ghastly let a flame appear in his hand and together they all went down the stairs. Stephanie started to shiver, which M/n noticed. He put his left hand on her back and rubbed it. She looked at him and smiled a thankful smile.

Soon they entered a hallway, with heavy doors on both sides and they continued to walk, until they reached a door with a shield and a bear on it. Ghastly stood there and searched around in his pockets, after he found, what he was looking for, he fumbled around on the door. Soon it made a soft click and the door opened.

“Come on in.”, Ghastly said.

The three of them entered and Ghastly entered lastly. Skulduggery clicked his fingers and suddenly candles were burning on the walls in the chamber.

“Does all of this have something to do with the Sceptre ?”, Stephanie asked.

M/n looked around with wide eyes of awe. The chamber was filled with high stapled, heavy, thick books, artifacts, statues, paintings and wood carvings. He even spotted an armor of a knight on one of the walls, it was leaning on it.

“It all has something to do with the Ancients.”, Skulduggery told Stephanie.

Ghastly only nodded.

“That’s why there has to be something about the Sceptre too. That the chamber was so full, I didn’t expect though.”, Skulduggery added.

M/n snorted, while Ghastly gave Skulduggery a triumphant smirk.

“I had a very studious Family.”, Ghastly said jokingly.

“Won’t anyone hear us down here ?”, Stephanie asked worried.

“No one will. These Chambers are sealed. The sound seal is one of them. The other one is a very complex lock.”, Ghastly answered her.

“In other words, you could even scream bloody murder and no one would hear us.”, M/n deadpanned to his Sister.

“Oh, I knew that !”, she yelled at her Brother.

“You didn’t. You were confused as fuck, what a sound seal was. Even I could see it. And it’s fine, not many know what that is, I mean-”, he got interrupted.

“Well, sorry that I am not as fucking smart as you, asshole !”, she yelled slightly angry.

M/n looked taken aback at that. Ghastly and Skulduggery looked at them and Ghastly seemed worried. M/n’s shock and hurt only flashed for a second in his eyes, then he seemed cold and unbothered again, yet all three of them saw the short show of emotion. Stephanie covered her mouth in shock and regret.

“M...M/n, I’m sorry... I didn’t mean it. You know I didn’t, right ?”, she asked softly, reaching out to touch his arm.

He jerked it away and took a few steps away from her. He looked at the floor.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”, he muttered and pulled his hood up.

He hid his face under it and then turned away from her.

“It’s not ! I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I know you just want me to understand things properly. You just wanted to help.”

“I said it’s fine ! Leave me alone !”, he said violently.

She shut up and took a step back from him. She hurt him badly with her insult. She never snapped at him before, she knew how sensitive he was to insults from Family. God, Stephanie wished she could wash her mouth out with soap right now.

“Let’s start looking around. The faster we are done, the faster we can get back to my home, figure out if the corpses are there, inspect them and then I can mind my own business.”, M/n said with a very soured mood.

Ghastly was worried for him. That was a low blow from his Sister and it hit him right in the heart.

M/n was silent the whole time, they have been down there. They discussed a painting and solved a little puzzle box, in which M/n was very interested in, but as soon as he saw his Sister looking, he looked away and ignored them. In the Puzzle box was an echo stone. Skulduggery activated it and there appeared an older man, they asked him questions, while he also talked a lot about other things.

He answered them their questions. Who made the Sceptre, who made the Crystal in it, if the Sceptre can be destroyed, if the crystal can be destroyed and where it may be now. As he said that if Gordon was a wise man, he would have brought it back to where he found it, or placed it to someplace similar to it, in Skulduggery’s head went up a light bulb and he knew where it was.

The Echo stone then lost all powers and the man, called Oisin, disappeared again. Ghastly was in shock. So the Sceptre really existed and Gordon really had it last.

They left the Vault and then the Museum. M/n just jumped into his car, turned on the engine and waited for Ghastly to get his ass inside the car. He was not bothering to talk with his Sister.

“I think you hit a very sensitive spot.”, Ghastly muttered to Stephanie.

She lowered her head.

“I know that I did so. He...Corrupted doesn’t care if someone calls him bad names outside of Family and friend circles, but if it was someone from inside that...if it was used as an actual insult, he gets really hurt. I was just...I HATE that he is so smart and I am so stupid. He has to explain the simplest things to me, yet...he never gets irritated to do so. I just...I was angry with myself that I can’t catch up as fast as he can and understand everything as well as he does. I snapped and accidently let it out on him...”, she muttered.

“He will be silent with you for a while, if I remember what Gordon told me about him.”, Skulduggery said softly.

“He will be. I might be ignored for a few days...”, she admitted in guilt.

“We’ll see about that. Maybe I can get him to listen to me and then we will see. He likes talking to me.”, Ghastly said with a small smile.

She looked at the tailor.

“You can try your best...”, she muttered and then got into the Bentley.

“See you at Gordon’s.”, Ghastly told Skulduggery.

The Skeleton nodded and then jumped into his car. Ghastly got into M/n’s Firebird and softly closed the door, then put on the seatbelt.

“Are you okay, Corrupted ?”, Ghastly asked calmly, as M/n started to drive.

“Just dandy.”, he said with a sour mood.

“Be honest with me, please.”

“She didn’t mean to. It happens, I also snap like that sometimes. I just need time to sort my emotions out. I’m fine, Ghastly.”, M/n insisted.

“Are they a rollercoaster right now ?”

“They are. I am sad, hurt, angry, and all I want to do, is hide away, right now. I need a bit time and then I am back to normal, no worries.”

Ghastly looked at him with concern and then looked at the radio.

“May I turn on the radio ?”, he asked.

“You won’t like the music. I have a disc inside with my own music. I don’t like the news, nor the music from there. They interrupt it always way before it is done playing.”, M/n answered.

“I think I won’t hate it.”, Ghastly assured.

“Do what you want, I don’t mind.”, M/n said, shrugging his shoulders.

Ghastly turned on the radio and almost instantly did a song play, Ghastly wasn’t familiar with. M/n knew it though.

“NCS and the song is called Ricochet.”, he said.

“NCS ?”

“No Copyrighted Sounds. They make Music that are not copyrighted, helps YouTube content creators to use it as background music or even memes, without getting in trouble.”, M/n shortly explained.

“Huh. But it ain’t bad. I thought you were into heavy Metal.”

“Hah, those times are over. I was into that as I was nine to eleven years of age.”, M/n said with a small smile. Ghastly smiled. At least M/n wasn’t all too soured anymore.

#skulduggery pleasant #male!reader #not the canon au #read warnings above #my au #skulduggery pleasant x reader universe #ghastly bespoke #Stephanie Edgley #Part 9 – The Vault #Playing with a Coroner and a Detective is not wise - Skulduggery x Male!Reader Universe

[the-scarlet-witch-22]

My Tweed Coat Ricochets (Agatha Harkness x Reader) Chapter 2

Summary: After a disastrous first encounter with your new colleague, you try to settle into your new job as an archaeologist at The Westview Institution.

Word Count: 2.2K

A/N: Hi besties, here’s chapter two! We’re going for a sort of Indiana Jones and eventually Mamma Mia-ish romcom vibe. Disclaimer- I am not a historian or archaeologist. I’m a violinist. I’m just typing this up as I go along, haha. But I hope you enjoy this next chapter! I should hopefully be updating weekly, I have a pretty busy job so if there’s ever a delay that’s why :) Thank you for reading!

Chapter Two: The Last Great Archaeology Dig

There was nothing more peaceful than aimlessly wandering through a museum. With the abundance of exhibits and the stream of visitors flowing in and out, it felt as if the ancient worlds were coming to life before your very eyes. Growing up you had always looked forward to the occasional school trip to the museum, but never in your wildest dreams did you imagine you’d end up working for one of the best institutions in the world. You’d spent most of your morning getting settled in your office, making note of how you wanted to fill the space over the coming weeks.

There was an underlying sense of dread thinking about the staff meeting Stephen had scheduled. It wasn’t because you weren’t looking forward to meeting your new colleagues- you were. A crumpled white blazer you angrily tossed on the ground caught your eye, reminding you of the real reason you didn’t want to go. The mere thought of Agatha Harkness had you seeing red- and it wasn’t just the wine stain. You had encountered plenty of strong personalities over the course of your career, but none had infuriated you as much as this woman managed to within a day. You normally prided yourself on your calm disposition, but there was something about her that had you feeling emotions you never thought were possible.

You weren’t sure what it was about her, as your brain replayed your two brief, but memorable interactions. Perhaps it was her arrogance, with the way she wasted no time snobbishly judging you based on your appearance. Or maybe it had something to do with the conceited idea that you were following her, as if you would ever do something like that. The way her eyes had narrowed at you, the striking blue color seemingly darkened like an impending storm rolling into the wine dark sea. You could get lost in those eyes, and- wait a second. What were you even saying?

Pushing any and all thoughts of Agatha out of your brain, a quick glance at your watch left you alarmed to find the staff meeting was starting in a few minutes and you had no idea where it was. Stephen had sent a rather lengthy email you only half read, and you mentally slapped yourself for not paying more attention. The corridors all appeared to blend together in a rather confusing labyrinth, and you rounded yet another corner when you heard a light hearted chuckle from behind you.

Turning around, you found a woman staring at you, amusement twinkling in her blue eyes. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and she looked at you with some sympathy. “You must be the new hire?” As you nodded she continued. “I thought so. Y/N, right? I remember Stephen mentioning you were joining us. I’m Maria Hill, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

She held her hand out, and you quickly shook it, pleasantly surprised at how friendly she was. Although, you guessed most people here were nicer than Agatha. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Sorry, I don’t really know where I’m going.”

Maria gave you a sympathetic glance. “I remember my first few weeks here. It gets better, trust me.” She guided you down another hallway before adding, “How has your first day been?”

Shrugging, you thought of the whole amount of nothing you had accomplished so far. “I’m still getting settled in. To be honest, I can’t believe I’m here.”

Nodding along, Maria led you down another long hallway, and you wondered just how large this place was. “It can be a lot to take in at once, but most of the team is great. You’ll fit right in.”

You wanted to inquire what she meant by saying most of the team was great, but you’d reached the end of the long corridor which held an open doorway holding a spacious conference room. Maria entered first, leaving you to follow suit, trying to swallow the nerves building up in your throat. The room housed a large rectangular table in the center, and there were already a few people there. Each of the walls housed a variety of pictures; upon closer examination you realized they must be a collection of various excavations the team had done over the years.

Turning back to the table, your eyes scanned the room and you let out an internal sigh of relief upon seeing that Agatha had not arrived yet. Besides Maria and Stephen, with the latter setting up at the head of the table, there were three other chairs occupied. A brooding man with long black hair sat alone in the corner. He was scribbling in a brown leather journal, and gave you a brief, disinterested look when he caught you staring. The other two, a man and a woman, were sitting across from Maria and engaged in quiet conversation. The woman had long auburn hair that was braided, whilst the man wore a pair of silver glasses and had strawberry blonde hair.

Glancing around at the empty chairs, you were mentally choosing a seat when Maria waved you over to join her. Taking the seat to her right, you set your belongings down before saying, “Thanks, I wasn’t sure where to sit.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Maria reassured you. “Have you met Wanda Maximoff and Victor Shade?”

The two people sitting across from you ended their conversation, giving you their full attention. The woman, Wanda, gave you a warm smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Y/N, right?”

You nodded, pleased at how they also appeared to be friendly. “Yes, it’s lovely to meet you both.”

“Well you certainly don’t look like a clumsy baboon,” Victor commented lightly, and your eyes narrowed in confusion, while Wanda whacked his arm. Clearing his throat, he held out his hand to shake yours. “Ah, right, my apologies. Haven’t had my afternoon coffee. It’s nice to meet you.”

Maria appeared to be just as confused as you, but before you could ask for clarification Wanda and Victor returned to their previous conversation. A few moments later, Agatha came trudging in, looking as unpleasant as ever, followed closely by another woman you didn’t recognize. The woman had straight jet black hair, and bright green eyes that shone like emeralds. They sat towards the end of the table, near the man with the long black hair, and you swore you could feel Agatha glaring daggers into your back. Stephen appeared pleased with the turnout as he stood up, clapping his hands together once.

“Thank you all for joining us this afternoon. I’ll try to keep things brief. First, I’d like to welcome the newest member of our team.” Stephen motioned at you, and you offered a strained smile, feeling the muscles in your lower back tighten from the anxiety. “Y/N will be an excellent addition, and I hope all of you make her feel welcome.” It appeared that his last words were directed towards one person in particular, as it appeared everyone in the room seemingly glanced at a bored looking Agatha.

Clearing his throat, Stephen continued. “Onto the last bit of business, everyone but Y/N should be familiar with our new project, being fielded by Dr. Shade and Dr. Stark, yes?” Mostly everyone, excluding Agatha, nodded. “Victor, would you like to give an update?”

“Of course,” Victor opened a large binder that was in front of him. “Tony has been overseas for the past few weeks getting the rest of our findings in order. As many of you know, my research over the past decade has been solely dedicated to locating the Tesseract.”

You were fairly familiar with Victor Shade, but had never read any of his journal articles over the years. You had, however, read more on Tony Stark. His research and findings on ancient civilizations along the Nile were groundbreaking. Victor had taken a brief moment to look over his notes before continuing. “The Tesseract was rumored to have been a sought after relic. The carvings we found appear to depict it having some sort of legendary power. Unfortunately, there is no last known location, and up until last month it was thought to be a myth.”

“In the past we always assumed the Tesseract was the only relic of its kind, but during our latest excavation we uncovered what appears to be a writing tablet with six engravings etched on it.”

Pulling an iPad out of his bag, he fidgeted with it for a moment before the flat screen tv on the far wall turned on, and pulled up a picture of the carving. Everyone peered at the screen with intrigue, even Agatha appeared to be paying attention. “Now, with all of the findings and research Tony and I have conducted since we uncovered this, we’ve stumbled across a few other clues to their locations.”

The screen changed to a 3D model of the Earth, with six glowing circles around it. “With everything we’ve put together, as well as notes from previous journals, we’ve concluded that the six relics are located within the red circles. I was made aware that Agatha is going to be leading a team in Delos next month, and since we are fairly certain that is the location of one of the relics, we thought it would be imperative to begin there.”

“You are not allowed to hijack my excavation, you high tech toaster,” Agatha snarled from her seat, and as you rolled your eyes, you swore you heard Wanda sigh from her seat. Of course.

“Agatha, no one is going to be hijacking your research,” Stephen interjected, clearly trying to diffuse whatever was going to happen next. “But bringing a few extra sets of hands to widen the search is a good idea.”

“This could very well change the way we view almost every ancient civilization throughout all of history,” Victor added, seeming unphased by Agatha.

“Thank you, Victor. Now, I know some of our team is already in Greece preparing for Agatha excavation, however with the new timeline I thought sending a few more people would be beneficial,” Stephen explained. “In addition to Agatha and Victor, I’d like to send Y/N.”

Your eyes met Agatha’s simultaneously, and you both glared at each other. Great. Agatha shook her head. “I’d rather be working with someone I know, like Hela or Loki.”

The man with the long black hair, Loki, shook his head. “I’m going to be in South America until October. Unless you’d like to trade places?”

Stephen sighed, rubbing his temple. “Agatha, you cannot pick and choose which colleagues will be accompanying you to Greece. As long as there’s nothing else, why don’t we wrap things up for today. I’ll have more information regarding the excavation later in the week. Thank you everyone.”

Everyone took their time filing out, and you noticed Stephen and Agatha quietly arguing, mostly likely about you. Returning to your office, you packed up your belongings for the day until your gaze once again fell onto the Merlot stained blazer and you suddenly had an idea. Packing the blazer in your bag, you left and passed a vexed Agatha, and you pretended not to notice how nice she smelled.

Later that afternoon you found yourself in one of your favorite coffee shops in the city. Nestled one block away from your apartment, it was the perfect stop you needed on your way home from a slightly stressful first day. Ordering your usual, you sat at a table in the corner and thought about the excavation in Greece. You still had to look over Victor’s notes, but the dig and research sounded exciting. The only downside is that Agatha was leading the excavation and sounded less than pleased at the prospect of you joining her. Your brain also went back to what Victor had said before the meeting started, something about you being a clumsy baboon? You had a sinking suspicion that Agatha had been behind that.

“Iced chai with oat milk for Y/N?” The barista called out, and you walked up the counter to grab your beverage when you saw familiar blue eyes glaring at you.

“You have got to be kidding me,” You mumbled to yourself as Agatha came up to you.

“It really feels like you’re following me,” Agatha said in a cold tone, eyeing you suspiciously. “What are you doing here?”

“I left work before you did,” You pointed out, not in the mood to argue with her. “And if you must know this is my favorite coffee shop in the city. I come here all the time.”

Agatha gave you an unreadable look before turning around and walking away. Nice to see she was warming up to you. Taking your drink back to your table, you watched the archaeologist settle in at a table near yours. The two of you ignored each other for the entirety of your visit, but once you finished your drink, you opened your bag and looked at Agatha’s blazer while a new plan brewed in your mind. Eventually she got up to get more coffee, and you discreetly dropped the blazer off on her chair with a note before leaving.

I’ll have to save up my money to buy that plane ticket to Greece

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #marvel au #agatha harkness fanfiction #wandavision au