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#and has this been the natural conclusion of the last three years

malinthebodyguard · 1 month

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Young Royals is anti-monarchist propaganda (always has been)

I think it’s fair to say that most of the fandom was quite happy with the finale. However, I’ve seen a handful of posts by people who were unhappy, specifically those who were unhappy with Wille giving up his place in the line of succession. These criticisms range in everything from dismissing Wille’s choice (Wilhelm has made a harsh decision without thinking of the consequences, this won’t actually make the media circus around him go away), to those disappointed in how the monarchy in general was represented (Wille could have modernized the institution, no one in the show attempted to consider how the monarchy could be good, actually). I don’t want to invalidate anyone’s feelings about the finale. If you didn't like it, that’s more than ok and I don’t want to argue with anyone about their taste.

But when it comes to criticism about Wilhelm giving up the throne, I do find myself frustrated at what I see as a fundamental misunderstanding of what this show was trying to communicate. Young Royals, plain and simple, is a story that denounces the incompatibility of antiquated and hierarchical institutions (Hillerska, the monarchy) with equality and justice.

If you’ve had the displeasure of being my fandom friend you’ll know that I’ve spent the last 3 years yelling about how this show is about abolishing the monarchy. I even wrote a lengthy fanfic with the sole excuse of having Wilhelm arrive at this conclusion. Still, I knew that whatever statement the show wanted to arrive at, we’d only really be getting to it at the end of the show.

Seasons one and two were setting up all the characters on the chessboard for the end: Wilhelm is the Crown Prince, although he does not want to be. He and Simon are in love, but Wilhelm’s role drives a wedge between them. Erik’s legacy and August's spot next in line are keeping Wilhelm in his place.

From episode one, I think the show was telling us about the many things that are wrong with the monarchy, but I don’t think it’s until season three that these discussions become more explicit. Is this why some people were disappointed by the ending? Maybe so. Still, I wanted to look at how season three in particular answers some of the questions or issues people are bringing up regarding both the monarchy and the Wilhelm’s choice.

What do you like about the monarchy?

Season 3 Episode 4 is the first time we hear an explicit discussion about why the monarchy could potentially be a good institution. I’ve seen some people complain that the show didn’t give this idea enough thought.

I completely disagree with this take: the short conversation Wille and Simon have in this episode is succinct, but still effective at presenting both arguments in this debate. A longer and more drawn out conversation would have been a bit unrealistic and probably boring to watch. These are not academics having a debate, but two teenagers who are talking about what for them is emotionally charged.

There’s also no need for a longer, more detailed discussion. Wilhelm does provide a very good answer to the question: The monarchy is there to unite the people. To be a neutral party in situations when the government cannot or will not interfere.

A quick civics lesson: In parliamentary democracies, the monarch serves as the Head of State.

This role is predominantly representative, although in many places the government is formed in the name of the monarch. This could, theoretically, grant them some political power-- since they could technically reject the winning party from forming a government. However, in most parliamentary monarchies, the King or Queen simply has to accept whatever decision is made based on election results.

However, the value of the Head of State is precisely in its apolitical nature. Regardless of who’s in power, the head of state is a neutral ambassador of the nation, both in and outside of their country. Their job is diplomatic and representative, and one that is thoroughly divorced from politics. This is what Wilhelm meant when he said that the monarchy was there to ‘unite the people’. Whenever I’ve spoken to pro-monarchy folks about their beliefs, they cite this as the reason why they like it.

It’s easy to see why Wilhlem would latch on this as his main argument to defend the institution. I don’t think there is anything inherently bad about having a separate head of state that represents the country. I don’t think the major grip with this issue is the having a head of state, but the fact that the head of state is a hereditary position. Simon says this himself twice in this episode: the issue is not that the head of state exists, but that the head of state is not an elected position. Furthemore, the head of state is a role that is imposed on a person not by their talent as a public speaker or negotiator, but by a simple accident of birth.

The job’s legitimacy or importance should not be above any individual’s right to autonomy and self-determination. Furthermore, considering that taxpayers are the ones who finance this position, shouldn’t they be able to elect who it is?

Let’s imagine a scenario where a friend tells you they’ve gone into a career because everyone in their family works in that industry, and they simply had no choice in the matter. It wouldn’t even matter if they were good or bad, they had a job in this career guaranteed from birth.

Would you not be concerned that maybe your friend is unhappy for a rather unnecessary reason? Would you not think that perhaps someone who actually wanted the job would be better suited for it? Would you think it right for a company to hire someone simply because of their family history? Would you consider any of this fair? And what is so special about monarchy that makes us have a different answer for it than we would if the question was about law or medicine?

You’ll always be famous.

Another common criticism I’ve seen is that Wilhelm will inevitably regret his decision, especially once he realizes that public scrutiny will not be going away. This is true, Wilhelm will likely always be a figure of public interest. But to me, this has always been a negative consequence of the monarchy, and I have a hard time seeing this is a valid reason why he should stay in it.

From the second we meet him, we know Wilhelm is uncomfortable with both the public attention and the scrutiny placed on him. However, this goes a bit further than that. I’d argue than more than the scrutiny itself, Wilhelm is weighed down by having to keep a public image. Because, remember folks, Wilhelm is not merely an awkward teenage boy with acne and a crush. No, no, Wilhelm is the State. Wilhelm is going to be a publicly-funded representative of the nation . This means, of course, that there’s a narrative, as he mentions himsef, that needs to be put forward. One that’s generic, serious, and unproblematic:

From the get go, Wilhelm is uncomfortable with the inauthentic and performative aspect of his role.This is a constant we see with Wilhelm in seasons one and two: every ‘performance’ he has to do fills him with nausea, anxiety, or some sort of discomfort.

In season three, Wilhelm begins acquiescing to this performance. Uncomfortable as he may be, for most of season 3 he’s accepted that this is his role. However, the attention this season shifts from Wilhelm to Simon, who’s now the one facing public scrutiny. The difference is that, unlike Wille, there’s no role for Simon to play. Nothing about who he is or what he believes is compatible with the public image the monarchy is putting forward. The only thing he can do in this situation is disappear, and Wilhelm is tasked with having to ask that of him.

I know a lot of people were exasperated at Simon’s very bad and clumsy social media presence. I’m not gonna argue that my boy wasn’t being a bit cringey, because he absolutely was. But I think the larger commentary here has more to do with the expectation that these two teenagers have to censor and edit themselves to comply with a particular PR image.

Ultimately, the criticism that Wilhelm will always be famous leads us straight back to the institution. Why does an underage boy have the same PR expectations as a politician? Why is a teenager dating his classmate + being cringe online justification for doxxing him? Unfortunately, no abdication is really going to undo any of this, and things are certainly going to be crazy once Wilhelm announces he’s stepping down .

However, this time around both he and Simon will at least have the agency to decide what they want to do with their public image, including the decision to disappear from the public completely if that’s what they want.

Queer representation

This a sentiment that has been in the fandom for some time now. This was the main argument why some people wanted Wille to stay in the monarchy. Sure, the institution has always been about bloodlines and tradition. But wouldn’t it be so nice to have Wilhelm as a symbol for the queer community? I’ve always found this idea a bit shallow. I’m not sure how much of a symbol of a queer and progressive country Wilhelm could be, when the whole idea is predicated on absolutely no one having a choice in the matter. Is it really impressive to accept the queerness of the guy you already had no choice in accepting?

There’s three scenes in season 3 where the potential Wilhelm -and by extension Simon- could have for the queer community come up. Farima brings it up in the first episode, but the framing here is reversed. Wilhelm isn’t serving the LGBTQ community by being a queer Prince, but the monarchy is using Wilhelm (and his queerness) to appear progressive.

The show, however, does humor this idea with the May 1st photo. We see what Simon and Wilhelm could potentially do for the community by simply existing as who they are: they’re inspirational. It gives Simon, briefly, hope that maybe something good could come out of this.

But this moment is quite literally framed by politics. It doesn't matter that Simon is not participating in that manifestation, anything that is slightly connected with politics is a challenge to neutrality of the monarchy. This same idea is stated more explicitly int the next episode, when Wilhelm is reviewing the options for his charity.

Ultimately, any action significant enough to be truly impactful, would be bordering the limits of what could be considered political. He's got to stick it out with these quite frankly boring and limited themes, all for the sake of staying on the very narrow lane of things that are not political.

The weight of the crown.

Stories about Kings and Queens usually carry the same fundamental tension of duty vs self.

In order to rule, our protagonist has to sacrifice themselves, usually for the sake of their country and people. The Crown is an excellent example of this type of story. Sacrifice in that series is framed as something noble and selfless.

Young Royals started out with this same fundamental tension, but the main difference is that Young Royals has framed this debate as a question:

Why should Wilhelm give himself up, his happiness, the love of his life, and his mental well-being? What’s so important and valuable about this institution that requires this sacrifice?

Wilhelm’s journey is about accepting and voicing his answer. He doesn’t want to be Crown Prince, he doesn’t want to be King.

But by virtue of taking part of this journey with him, we’re able to examine this question from a different perspective: Is this institution valuable enough to justify all of this? I think the show is inviting all of us to evaluate this situation and arrive at the conclusion that it isn’t.

Even someone like August, who wanted this, is weighed down by the realization of just how much the crown weighs. Of course, a big part of the fandom probably doesn’t live in countries with parliamentary monarchies. Still, considering the worldwide popularity of the British Royals, for example, I still think it’s a worthwhile exercise to question the validity of these institutions. Are they really worth sustaining? And if they’re not, why should we continue to drag them on into the present, citing tradition?

#young royals #prince wilhelm #Wilhelm #wilhelm yr #simon eriksson #Wilmon #Politics in Young Royals #august horn #yr meta #my and

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creatingblackcharacters · 1 month

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🌹Ice's Lazy Loc Wash Routine🌹

I wanna preface this with two very important things:

I do not retwist my own locs! It would take far longer if I did. I have the tools and the means, and I know how to do it. I just hate doing it 🤣. It takes patience and arm strength and I lack the will. When I have the money I just schedule a retwist. Usually about every three months (which is longer than usual)

This is the way EYE do it! This is one experience out of countless, so don't assume my way is THEE way. There are people that will probably scream at me through the screen. But alas... It is "lazy" Loc wash day for a reason. And I do still care for my hair, and it's healthy and thriving for seven years (as of this Wednesday) 👍🏾

Okay? Okay.

Washing

The misconception about locs is that they are dirty. They're no "dirtier" than any other type of hair, nor do they require dirt to lock. That's a lie, and a racist one at that.

That being said, locs will end up holding the weight of life lol. Skin, sweat, dust, pollen, smells (and for me, bc I have dermatitis, scabs); all those things will end up weighing your locs down. Some people will do an Apple Cider Vinegar and Baking Soda wash to detox their locs.

However, I use this!

Essentially it's water, apple cider vinegar, orange peel, and some essential oils in a spray bottle, so I can spray it directly on my scalp and locs and massage it in deeply. Let it sit for a bit. Because I only wash my hair every 2 weeks or so, it's fine, but I wouldn't do this if I was washing it more frequently as it could mess up my scalp pH. Again, I have painful dermatitis, so it helps me get closer to my problem spots. Does it burn? Yes. It's working 👍🏾

Then I use this soap bar, which has things like coconut oil, aloe vera, eucalyptus, tea tree, almond, lemongrass, and more in it to scrub my scalp. You're supposed to rub it into your hands and scrub it in, so naturally I put the bar directly on my scalp. Be better than me. Smells AMAZING though and leaves my scalp clearer than it has ever been.

Medicated Shampoo

I use a medicated shampoo last. While that sits, I bathe 👍🏾 Bathe well, too 👍🏾 Please make sure your characters are bathing when they wash their hair 👍🏾

Once I'm done, I gently pull my locs apart (they WILL start tangling at the root IMMEDIATELY), then I wrap my hair in a beach towel. You're supposed to use t shirts because they're softer on curls, but I don't like water dripping on me while I get dressed. I put on easy to wear clothing. Tits loose clothing. I gotta be comfortable.

Medication

So if you know me, this is something I complain about ALL THE TIME. And it's how dermatology does NOT cater to Black patients! Even my shampoo says "for 30 days, wash every night". I'm Black with locs. My shampoos last for months bc that is impossible without me sacrificing my entire night, every night. Even if I had an Afro, we're still not supposed to wash our hair every night for fear of stripping the natural oils.

So I have to DEMAND I be given a medicated liquid solution. No petroleum based products!! A solution is the easiest way to reach my scalp. Does it burn? Yes. It's working. 👍🏾

So if your character has a skin issue (dermatitis, psoriasis, exzema excema eczema) on the scalp... Solutions are the easy way to go.

Moisturizing

I promise this isn't free ads lmao, I just happen to be experimenting with this company and I like what I've seen so far. This is a real lite oil spray with rose water and essential oils, and it cools my scalp.

Aloe Vera, the goddess of healing. Also cools my scalp and addresses those burning, pink spots from my dermatitis.

Drying

Drying depends on the length and thickness of your locs, and the temperature. Mine are shoulder length, pencil thick. Today I dried at real high heat (unintentionally) and it only took about an hour. At a lesser, safer heat, about two. This hair dryer bag is LIFE fr.

Conclusion

If I don't have anywhere else to go (and I don't, bc I plan my loc wash days like this) I spray my scalp with oil one more time, put on my loc sock, and then I'm done 👍🏾

Total time today: about two hours. Normally 3 at a lower dry temp. Not bad at all.

#creatingblackcharacters #black hair

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rouiyan · 10 months

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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?”

✧ 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

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starlingflight · 2 months

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Ginniversary Drabble 6

Prompt - N42 - it is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife

AO3 or read below:

Is The Chosen One Choosing Marriage?

As famous witch and occasional novelist Jane Austen said, ‘it is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife’, and today it appears even the Wizarding World’s most eligible saviour is not exempt from the basic laws of nature as Ginny Weasley, Holyhead Harpies star Chaser, and long-time girlfriend of Harry Potter, Auror and defeater of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, steps out bearing a new, and rather eye-catching piece of jewellery.

Weasley, 20, set tongues wagging as she left the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade late last night accompanied by longtime friends, esteemed Auror, Neville Longbottom, and lauded Magizoologist, Luna Lovegood; sporting a ruby and diamond ring which could be seen from across the street, and left none but the most oblivious in any doubt as to the size of Potter’s fortune [pictures page 4].

Sources from within the Hogsmeade establishment say that Weasley and friends were seen enjoying a round of drinks, over which she flaunted the ring for the admiration of her companions, accepting enthusiastic congratulations, and a hug from Longbottom that some suggest may have been too familiar.

There was no sign of the illustrious Mr Potter in attendance, but this can come as no surprise as sightings of the couple together outside of Weasley’s matches are rare, leading many rather optimistic readers, to speculate on several occasions previously that the pair had parted ways.

In an interview with popular wireless host, Lee Jordan, last year Weasley stated, “we’re not concerned with the headlines. As I’ve said to my brothers on many occasions, mine and Harry’s relationship is between us, and it’s no one else’s business… Now, let’s talk about Quidditch.”

Potter and Weasley were first officially spotted together in the Summer of 1998 [pictures page 5], though sources from their Hogwarts days advise the relationship has been going much longer than that [full relationship timeline, page 6].

“Weasley got her claws in him back in our fifth year,” said Romilda Vane, former classmate of Ginny Weasley. “She still had a boyfriend when she snogged Potter in front of the whole common room. It was quite pathetic actually.”

Other sources have debunked the suggestion that there was overlap between the beginning of Potter and Weasley’s relationship, and any of her previous romantic partners, of which there were apparently many.

Dean Thomas, up-and-coming artist, and one such conquest, has stated, “I’m only going to answer this once, Ginny and I were over before anything happened with her and Harry. We weren’t right for each other, we both knew it, and we’re both now with the people we’re meant to be with. We remain good friends, and, for the love of Merlin, I would like to be excluded from this narrative.”

We will, of course, let our readers draw their own conclusions.

Despite the rumours that abound about the couple's sordid past, the future apparently looks bright for Potter and Weasley, though no official statement has been forthcoming from the supposedly happy couple. When asked for comment, both Weasley’s and Potter’s representation declined to give one, leaving us here at Witch Weekly no choice but to speculate on if, and when, the pair will make it down the aisle.

#drabble #harry x ginny #hinny #witch weekly

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blackswaneuroparedux · 1 year

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Les aspirations les plus absurdes et les plus téméraires ont parfois conduit à des succès extraordinaires.

- Vauvenargues

St. Moritz has been a famous health resort in Engadine since the 19th century. At first, it was only frequented by spa guests, before the village developed into a high alpine sports centre, and for a time it was a playground for the rich and famous. There’s still some of that element present but not as in its hey day of the 70s. For nine months of the year it’s just another picturesque village in the gorgeous Swiss Alps, with Lake St. Moritz lying at its heart.

Crucially it is quietly forgotten by the outside world. Residents can breathe and go about their daily chilled out lives. For those precious nine months it was great to hike and ski there as my boarding school wasn’t too far away from getting there. But the other four months of the year, the high season, it gets flood with skiers and altogether more showy crowd.

The frozen surface of the lake, which can only be described as a desert of snow, now serves as a symbol of the resort itself. From nine months of natural bliss to four months of chaos and madness. Every time the ice lends its surface to polo tournaments, horse races, and the wealthy and beautiful make the pilgrimage down the mountains from their grand hotels, St. Moritz seems to transform. St. Moritz’s newest ‘gimmick’ for the past three years or so has been to serve the International Concours of Elegance St. Moritz - or The ICE St. Moritz - as a kind of classic car museum with an adventurous character.

Since the first ever The ICE St. Moritz in 2019, historic rally cars have been exhibited to the sports car-crazy public on the opening day, before demonstrating their horsepower on the ice racetrack on the second day of the event. However, the fact that The ICE is taking place on Lake St. Moritz, of all places, is no coincidence. In 1985, a group of Scottish and British sportsmen drove their vintage Bentleys to St. Moritz to celebrate the centenary of the Cresta Run (an eccentric and high spirited toboggan amateur race). As part of the festivities, they drove their cars on the racecourse across the frozen Lake St. Moritz.

This year, however, the ICE St. Moritz evolved slightly differently. For the first time, the event was held on two days: Friday 24 and Saturday 25 February. On the first day, the lake was transformed into an open-air museum, where the jury evaluated the cars on display from an aesthetic perspective. Then, on the second day, the actual race took place, whereupon the jury evaluated the classic cars from a performance perspective.

This year there were five category winners. In the ‘Open Wheels’ category, the 1958 Maserati 420M/58 “Eldorado” held its own. Meanwhile, the ‘Barchettas on the Lake’ category crowned the Ferrari 500 Mondial Series II from 1955 as the winner. My personal favourite, the aforementioned Ferrari 250 Testarossa ‘Lucybelle’ emerged as the winner in the ‘Le Mans 100’ category. As expected, Lancia Strato’s HF Zero of 1970 came out on top in the ‘Concept Cars & One Offs’ category. Last but not least, judges crowned the 1958 Bentley S1 Continental Drophead Coupé as the winner of the ‘Queens on Wheels’ category.

The evening gala took place at Badrutts Palace, which towers over the city like a castle with its high stone walls. In the stimulating semi-darkness and under shimmering candlelight, riders, collectors, enthusiasts, the public and media from all over the world celebrated the conclusion of one of the most anticipated competitions in the Engadine. Overall it’s spectacular fun and contrary to what one might believe it really does draw the car enthusiast crowd rather than the snob mob. It’s a very chilled event and bags of fun.

#ICE st moritz #vauvenargues #quote #french #sportscar #racing #racers #driving #drivers #ice #st. moritz #snow #switzerland

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twothpaste · 6 months

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Y'see, no, y'see, what I mean is like

Claus starts the very first battle with 42 HP (the number 42 is associated with death in Japan). He loses his shoes as he ventures to his doom at the Drago Plateau (another piece of Japanese death symbolism). He re-emerges as a nigh-silent, apparently emotionless revenant - with a broken, disjointed heartbeat. Some Tazmilians speak of him as if he's already obviously dead, and even suggest Flint oughtta give up on his lost son. Which is cold and painful to hear, but does reinforce the game's consistent theme of moving on from grief. This perpetual tension between clinging to the past out of love & hope, and coming to terms with a bygone loss.

When Hinawa's ghost speaks to Claus, she says, "You must be so exhausted." Personally, I get the sense this implies a deathly weariness beyond just how overworked n' stressed out the kid is (especially considering the person saying it is a ghost herself). But more importantly, she tells him, "Come to your mother." Which would be… kind of a deranged and horrible thing for her to ask of him, if he wasn't already supposed to be dead. She calls to him from beyond the grave, and asks him to join her at last. And he does, without question. Recognizing he's been kept alive against his will this whole time, a tormented spirit that was never permitted to move on, trapped in a robotic corpse that's been twisted beyond repair.

His three-years-delayed death, though heartwrenching, brings the story's motifs of grief and acceptance to a natural conclusion. Flint has to finally let go, Lucas has to find peace with it. You can't re-animate the past, or fix anything by selfishly pursuing it. In fact, you may just wind up zombifying its image into something corrupt, something hardly recognizable (Porky does this constantly 🤧). Only by letting it lie can you honor it, and begin moving toward a better future.

'Course, this is just my impression of what Itoi's intentions were with Claus. One of a bazillion possible interpretations, and by no means the most definitive. Even on the off chance I'm totally right about what he was goin' for, he's a chill dude who's stated plenty of times he welcomes fans to find their own meaning in these games. That's kinda the point of narrative art, after all. I personally feel like the story hits harder if Claus' suicide was yet another reckless choice he made, rather than a necessary course of fate. Interpreting it instead as a second tragedy all its own - with its own slew of implications - rather than a conclusion to the first. Lettin' the character be more than just a sacrificial symbol. That's just me, though. 🤸‍♂️

But altogether I just love how many ways this game can be read and re-read. How much it has to offer, if you peel back the layers and inspect it a little differently. And how other fans are always drawing my attention to different angles, makin' me reconsider it in new and compelling ways.

#2thtalks #in other news my roomie & i spent all day looking for our favorite very orange chipotle sauce and couldn't find it in stock anywhere #🥕

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transparencyboo · 3 months

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For the last two weeks or so I've been playing the Mega Drive dungeon crawler Shining in the Darkness. I've recently been going through all the various action-RPGs the system had to offer and kinda found myself lusting for more, so I expanded the scope.

Shining in the Darkness had one of those cover arts I vividly remember seeing in game stores during the 90s, I understood already back then that whatever this was would be too complicated for my feeble preschool brain, but it had a shiny glossy allure that still beckoned to me with promises of daring adventures and grand battles. Questions lingered in my head: Who is that evil bastard zapping sparks at Cavin from the Gummi Bears? Why has the king entrusted the safety of his kingdom to a meagre boy and his two misfit friends?

Well, it turns out that big bad guy is called Dark Sol, the bane of all game difficulty discourse, and the reason the king has enlisted three poor kids is because there is no one else to rely on after your daddy went missing. Everyone else just sorta gives up along the way.

My initial conclusion of this game was to commend my young self for the striking assessment, my five year old self would never get anywhere in this game between the English text, abstracted navigation and number crunching battle mechanics. Shining in the Darkness is a bona fide classic dungeon gauntlet endurance simulator, where you traverse vanishing point block tunnels and encounter enemies. I've played one or two games like this before, like the original Phantasy Star, but this time a new desire struck me. I wanted to draw maps. Maybe I'm just getting older and more patient, leading me to wilfully ignore easily available resources online.

By my recollection, this is the first time I've dedicated myself to playing a game like this. Usually I just resort to my sense of direction, which I've gathered seems to at least be above average, since anytime I go anywhere with anyone I always end up playing shepherd so they don't get lost. Worst case scenario I'll just fall back to mapping efforts by online heroes from years past. For Shining in the Darkness I persisted blindly about halfway through until I admitted to myself charting a map of the labyrinthine caves would be a lot easier. Luckily, the game allows you to spend 1 MP to see a chunk of where you've walked, meaning I could get neatly organized segments to copy by hand.

Perhaps my biggest takeaway from this endeavour was how much of the game experience was expressed through this map project. I spent just as much time slaying beasts as I did counting tiles and filling them out with my pencil. It became a natural counterbalance that provided vital pacing to the game mechanics. Walking, fighting, charting. In turn, through the principle of learning by doing, I gained a more intimate familiarity with the environments by just replicating them out on a sheet of paper. I found that while the map helped, I actually didn't need it much for backtracking because my drawings had helped me remember the layouts of the corridors anyway.

I guess the lesson learned is that while old design sensibilities may appear to be arcane and cumbersome when easier solutions exists, the obfuscation is part of the fun. The game hands me an intentionally hard to navigate world, shows me that it's fully capable of displaying maps of it, but still asks me to provide that dimension myself. Through doing this, I discover that drawing maps is both surprisingly enjoyable and cognitively stimulating. I realize that had I downloaded some pre-packaged maps online and used as my bible, Shining in the Darkness would've been a vastly different experience, one of monotonous meandering through endless fights while confidently striding along the known path.

Perhaps that's why the game was called Shining and the Darkness in Japan, it doesn't flow as well as the western title, but at the same time it poetically reflects this act of discovery. I am Shining, the game provides the Darkness, we work together, we must unify to become whole.

As for Dark Sol, he turned into a big monster boy and was vanquished by a spunky cartographer child and her two cohorts. The unknown has been made known and the kingdom is once more saved.

/Kiki

#shining in the darkness #shining force #sega #mega drive

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thisisnotthenerd · 1 year

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bands of iron, bands of gold

Elody finds out about the siege from a messenger. Snowhold struck while her forces were scattered, holding back the rapid encroachment from the north.

“The women and children have gathered–,” he says, “--gathered in the cellar of the keep while the guardsmen defend from the parapets. They say the prince is with them, with so few guards to spare.”

“And what of the progress?” she pores over slowly shrinking territory on a map that changes every hour. The prince is with them.

“The castle walls have not been breached, and the keep remains unmolested. The people of Greenleigh are afraid, but hidden. They cannot last much longer without aid.”

“I will send all that I can, but we are more than a day’s ride out. Their forces here may yet seek to join the siege, and there are not enough soldiers even now to hold the line.”

“Whatever you can spare, your highness.” The prince is with them.

Prince Gerard is hidden in the keep of Castle Greenleigh, with the women and children of a falling kingdom.

As the troops under her command march back to the heart of Greenleigh, Elody cannot help the impulse to hold her mace. The gold, far less burnished now, dulled with the blood of enemy combatants, is far from the simple trinket it once was. This is not something that can be left to fall in a pond, to be found by something more than a frog. The weight of a kingdom rests in her hands, scepter and orb made a weapon of war.

She snaps back to attention as the verdant flags of Castle Greenleigh flutter on the horizon. The sigil of a lily flutters in the wind, torn to and fro as beings of ice and wind batter at the walls of the keep. The stones fall with every mile she pushes forth.

When all is said and done, the survivors emerge from the keep, eyes seeking the light and wincing at the brightness of the winter sun after weeks of darkness. One by one, they emerge from a battered keep, seeking the comfort of home.

She does not wait to see if he comes up, safe in the hope that he would not have left the castle.

The call to search comes hours later, when no one has seen the prince in over a day. Those that stayed with him only recall the reflection of bloodshot eyes in a shadowed corner, and the reassurance that war could not reach them dying down in the final days.

In all the rubble and destruction, there are many bodies–but none that she knows, warped as it has become.

Prince Gerard is gone, gone with the winds that battered the keep for days on end.

She sends scouts to search in the guise of monitoring the changes in borders as the Snow Queen sends her inhuman armies. Many people have fled Greenleigh in the wake of the battling soldiers, but there is no prince to be found among them.

The pond is her last resort–maybe the only place left in Greenleigh that has not truly been touched by war. It is a feeble hope that this worry might be allayed by whatever is there.

But indeed, there is only the pond she remembers from nearly twenty years ago–frozen over in the dead of winter, the frogs and fish far beneath the ice.

War has never stopped for love–why would it now? She cannot afford the time anymore than she can the heartbreak, buried as it is.

Prince Gerard is gone, gone like her parents, gone like the peace that Greenleigh cherished for decades.

Whispers of battles fought across the Neverafter reach Greenleigh as fast as all tales of war spread, rapid enough to know the nature of the danger only after the conclusion of the battle. Undead armies in the north, giants in Marienne, missing princesses and dead princes in faraway Elegy.

Jubilee is her closest ally in this ever growing war–the old king is solemn as he fights in the name of fiddlers three. When the kingdom falls she offers him a place in Greenleigh, if only for a moment’s respite. He thanks her, but leaves in the night for the Blackwood Forest.

After a while, she stops hearing from Old King Cole. At first, she sends scouting parties down the road to Shoeberg to track the latest caravan. The people who flee may brave the haunts of the Blackwood to find refuge in Shoeberg’s prosperity, as the world falls apart around it.

She goes herself on impulse, wanting to know what happened to the old king.

A ways off the path, she finds furniture, misshapen and warped into the proportions of men, wandering the Blackwood in search of flesh and blood, the magic that changed them fading into the air.

A day’s ride after she passes the border into Elegy, she happens upon a town, abandoned and falling apart as all things do in the Neverafter.

The remains of the fairy who made men of objects are easy to find in the outskirts of the abandoned home of the princess of Elegy. A large rotting pumpkin sits at the heart of a battlefield, surrounded by the rogue enchanted furniture. The fresh bodies are more unnerving than the silence of the clearing, disturbed only by the creaking of wood and metal joints that bend in strange and fractal ways.

The first is an old man–past the prime of life, limbs spread at odd angles–crushed by the enchanted creatures. He has the look of a budding witch, magic tinting the air around, but a strange lack of personal effects.

The second is that of a young woman in a tattered gown and small tiara. Her bow lays at her side, quiver emptied into the enchanted onslaught. The scavengers have already started to come for her far more than any other. When Elody moves the bow to try and see what felled this girl, this young princess far from the land of her birth, foreign briars creep up the wood towards her seeking hand. They do not grow from the cursed ground but seemingly from the girl herself.

The sight of a mutilated little girl is jarring; the various chests and tables surround a canyon in which she is the only occupant, presumably drawing fire from her allies. Had Elody and Gerard married earlier, she could have borne a daughter the same age as this girl in a red cloak, bearing the ax of a woodsman far larger than her.

The puppet left under the table must be the toy of the younger girl, abandoned on the battlefield. Shaped like a marionette’s attempt at a little boy, it reeks of fading enchantment magic and something else, darker than the innocent face would have her believe. The only thing marring the toy is a missing nose, ripped from a wooden face with clawed hands that do not match those of the martyred girl.

The cat in boots is peculiar, and sticks in her memories of Marienne, of a humble boy rising to become the Marquis de Carabas with the aid of a trickster. This little animal, mangled by magic, is far from the estate now, no title nor land to speak of. She would not have noticed it save for a little blue cape now stained with blood.

The fairy’s corpse is odd–the progress of rot and death more advanced than would be expected for something that could not have died more than a few days prior. At a glance, the magic sustaining her and the furniture is seeping into the blackened earth and spreading from the clearing with a vengeance. Elody brandishes her mace and approaches the fairy, hoping the magic is not a sign of the fairy’s life returning, when she sees it.

A glass shard, torn from a greater structure and bloodstained buried in the chest of a man whose eyes she recognizes, warped as they are. Gerard.

He looks more froglike than the last she saw of him, at the dinner table arguing that war could not reach them in the castle. His crown rests on his brow between bloodshot human eyes, ill-sized for a frog’s head. His hands, membranous and viridescent, are flayed where they desperately pull at the shard. The shard pins his body to the earth–much as she tries to remove it, she cannot without taking it into herself.

She walks from the battlefield, mace stowed and Gerard’s wedding ring on her right hand.

Prince Gerard is dead and gone, taken by the times of shadow. Not in Greenleigh, but in a forest, far from home, condemned again at the hands of a fairy.

#dimension 20 #d20 neverafter #neverafter #elody of greenleigh #neverafter elody #gerard of greenleigh #neverafter gerard

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budandtender · 10 months

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Cannabis: A Multifaceted Plant for a Multitude of Uses

Introduction

Cannabis, a plant that has been a part of human history for thousands of years, is experiencing a resurgence in popularity as its myriad of uses become increasingly recognised. From its strong fibres used in textiles and paper to its nutritional and medicinal properties, cannabis has proven itself to be a truly multipurpose plant. This article will delve into the various aspects of this versatile plant and explore how it has been utilised throughout history and across cultures.

The History of Hemp: A Material with Unmatched Strength

One of the most well-known uses of cannabis is in the production of hemp, a material derived from the plant's strong fibres. These fibres have been used for millennia to create durable cloth, rope, and paper. The Vikings, known for their seafaring prowess, utilised hemp to construct sails for their ships, enabling them to voyage from Scandinavia to Nova Scotia. In the United States, Betsy Ross sewed the first flag from hempen cloth, and the Declaration of Independence was written on hemp paper. Even the now obsolete German currency, Deutsche Mark, were once printed on hemp paper.

The use of hemp extended beyond these applications, as seen in the Netherlands, where windmills were built specifically to crush hemp stalks. This demonstrates the importance of hemp in various industries and highlights the plant's incredible versatility.

Cannabis as a Nutritional Powerhouse

While the strength of its fibres may have initially attracted humans to the cannabis plant, its potential as a food source likely played a significant role in its widespread cultivation. Cannabis seeds, or hempseeds, are packed with essential nutrients such as polyunsaturated fats, essential fatty acids, and proteins. These qualities qualify hempseed as a functional food, meaning it provides health benefits beyond basic nutrition.

For over three thousand years, Asian cultures have utilised hempseed as both a food and a medicine. Despite the prohibition of cannabis products in the United States, hempseed has been allowed for use in food over the last two decades. This highlights the recognition of its nutritional value and potential health benefits.

Cannabis Resin: A Source of Medicinal and Psychoactive Compounds

The resin produced by the cannabis plant is another aspect that has garnered significant attention due to its medicinal and psychoactive properties. The compounds found in cannabis resin, such as THC (tetrahydrocannabinol) and CBD (cannabidiol), have been the focus of breeding efforts to increase their production. These efforts have led to the development of various cannabis drug chemotypes around the world, with some cultivars producing only THC, others producing both THC and CBD, and a few expressing propyl THCV (tetrahydrocannabivarin) and/or CBDV (cannabidivarin).

The medicinal uses of cannabis resin have been widely researched, with evidence suggesting its effectiveness in treating conditions such as chronic pain, epilepsy, multiple sclerosis, and more. The psychoactive effects of THC have also led to the recreational use of cannabis, which has sparked debates surrounding its legalisation and regulation.

Environmental Benefits of Cannabis Cultivation

In addition to its myriad uses, cannabis cultivation offers several environmental benefits. Hemp plants are known to absorb large amounts of carbon dioxide, making them an effective tool in combating climate change. Furthermore, hemp requires fewer pesticides and herbicides than many other crops, reducing the environmental impact of agriculture.

Cannabis can also be used as a source of biofuel, offering a renewable and eco-friendly alternative to fossil fuels. Additionally, the fast growth rate and low water requirements of hemp make it a sustainable crop, capable of providing resources without causing significant strain on natural resources.

Conclusion

Cannabis is a truly remarkable plant, with applications ranging from textiles and paper to nutrition and medicine. As society continues to recognise its numerous benefits, it is likely that the cultivation and use of cannabis will only continue to grow. By embracing this versatile plant, we can harness its potential to improve our health, industries, and environment for generations to come.

#cannabis #cannabismedicine #cannabishistory #medical cannabis #cbd #feelgreatagain #cbdoil #budandtender #health #endocannabinoidsystem

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hugsandchaos · 1 month

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Magical Meal

Summary: As the second day progresses, Danny and the Chain have two questions regarding Danny’s situation. Is he going to be sick? And how bad is it going to be?

Word Count: 5,291

(I apologize for deleting the previous version of this chapter. I’d forgotten about a couple paragraphs that took place in the morning, but now I’ve corrected that mistake. Other than that, not much has changed. Thank you all!)

Jazz pressed the red button to open the Fenton portal and took a few steps back as the metal doors split in two. The eerie green glow of the portal shined onto the ship used to travel in the ghost zone. Inside, sitting in the pilot seats, were Sam and Tucker.“If you don’t find him by 11:00 tonight, come back. We’ll have no choice but to let my parents know.” Jazz said, raising her voice a little so she was sure that she was heard.

She really wanted to go as well, but some of the ghosts knew Sam and Tucker better than they knew her, and someone had to make sure her parents remained calm until they confirmed that Danny was indeed missing and not just in the ghost zone for some reason. Still, it upset her that she couldn’t join the search. Already, before Sam and Tucker had even left, Jazz wanted to receive a text from one of them saying that they found him and that he was alright.

The two nodded with determined expressions and turned the ship on. If Jack and Maddie weren’t having a breakfast date, she’d worry about them being heard as the engines fired up. She watched as the ship began to hover off the ground, then before long, flew right into the portal.

As a sort of mini celebration that the school year was finally over, the three of them had planned a sleepover at Sam’s house, but Danny never arrived. The last message they’d gotten from him was that he was heading towards an abandoned house they’d stumbled upon a while back for a little bit. When he didn’t arrive for hours and didn’t answer his phone, they texted Jazz asking if she knew anything. She texted back saying that she thought he’d gotten there by now. That immediately caused intense worry on both sides.

The duo immediately went to the abandoned building, despite how late it already was. After all, the service was bad out there, so that could be the reason why their messages weren’t even delivered to his phone. They didn’t find a single trace of him. Several more attempts to contact him later, each one slowly growing more and more desperate, they told Jazz about the situation. Despite the growing anxiety in each of them, they did a surprisingly good job at keeping level heads and came to the conclusion that he might be in the ghost zone.

Jazz was told that Frostbite, one of their allies in the ghost zone, had explained to the young trio that portals between the two realms can naturally open up and close. That, along with how the ghost zone is constantly shifting and cellphone service isn’t exactly the best in there, made the idea that Danny could simply be in the ghost zone and likely heading towards one of the lairs of their allies to find his way back not too hard to believe.

Still, the fact that he’s been gone since last night was worrying. Thus, Sam and Tucker showed up at the house the next morning after Maddie and Jack left saying they were going to the ghost zone. Jazz tried to convince them to wait a little longer since he could show up at any moment or at least let her go, but after another thirty minutes, there was no more stalling them.

Once the ship went through, Jazz closed the portal and frowned.”Please just be a little lost.” She murmured hopefully.

~~~~~(Back With The Chain)~~~~~

When the sun climbed higher into the sky after breakfast, so did the anticipation for what might happen to Danny. Nothing yet, though. Still, Hyrule didn’t want to assume that he’d be completely alright. Not when he ate something that no one, not even Danny himself had any clue about how it would affect him an hour or two ago. Hyrule had practically given him a mini lecture about letting him know if he started showing any symptoms of anything.

He knew from personal experience how badly eating something completely new could go, and Twilight having that one incident with eating too much magic in one meal combined with the fact that pretty much everyone in the group was stubborn to admit when they’re hurt or sick made Hyrule really worried. The sun was getting pretty close to its peak, and by now, the forest was awake. Animals chittered and chirped away as they left their nests and burrows to start their day.

Danny politely assured him that he would tell him if he started to feel sick and thanked him for his worry, but if the traveler was being honest, Danny was being more confident about this than he was. Hyrule was split between feeling like he was going to be as alright as he claimed since he’d actually handled everything that’s occurred in the last 24 hours better than most people probably would and had shown himself capable of handling his own wounds, and being a bit doubtful because of some certain eight heroes being so stubborn in the past.

Even making their health worse a few times.

The rest of the morning was slow and calm compared to yesterday’s events. Perhaps as a chance for everyone to calm down, including Danny. There probably wasn’t a single person there who didn’t notice how he’d grown a little nervous when Wind asked what his world was like. Like he didn’t want to answer it. Then he got distracted by simply glancing at the stars. The way he looked at it with pure admiration and wonder almost tricked them into thinking that it was his first time seeing them.

It would’ve been an extremely concerning piece of information about their temporary member, because like the rest of the group, Hyrule jumped to the conclusion that this being his first time seeing the night sky would mean he’s been kept inside his whole life. Possibly even locked down, held against his own will, but Danny sheepishly explained that because of the amount of lights used for the many roads in his village, it wasn’t the easiest to see the stars at night the way he was seeing them now.

Hearing that was a relief to all of them, and seeing how it helped him relax, they let him return to his stargazing and enjoy the moment before it was ruined for him. He was practically in a trance well past everyone had went to sleep.

Now, Danny seemed to be finally waking up as he wrote down probably everything that Warriors, Legend, Twilight, and Wind were telling him about the most common monsters in a “spiral” notebook. It was hard to tell since his alphabet was completely different. The heroes kindly gave him his personal space, but Wind still sat to his left while Twilight was on his right. Warriors and Legend both remained in their spots on a boulder as they chimed in at random points. Hyrule was watching with Time and Four.

As planned earlier, Sky and Wild had left for Skyloft an hour ago. Danny hardly seemed surprised by their method of traveling, only joking about how they must not get altitude sickness.

“And this is a keese. They’re not very dangerous, but they bite and are very annoying.” Wind said, showing Danny a drawing of the monster in question in the dirt. Danny looked at it slightly puzzled, probably because of its appearance.“Fire keese can set you on fire, though. They’re easy to spot, they’re on fire themselves.” Wind added.

“So they decide to make me suffer with them? Rude.” Danny said half jokingly. Wind smiled and nodded as the human who looked to be only a few years older than him started writing again.

“Very rude.” He agreed.

“There are also ice ones.” Twilight said. Danny nodded in acknowledgment as he wrote.

When he was done, Wind decided to ask the question Hyrule himself would like to know the answer to.”So if you don’t have monsters, you just have animals?” He asked.

That seemed to be better than his first question about Danny’s world since all he did was nod again.“Yeah. We don’t have Keese, we have bats.” He replied. He looked up from his paper expectantly, but Wind and Twilight seemed to be wondering the same thing.

Bats?

”There are tons of different species, and most are insectivores, but there are some bats that eat fruits. There’s one called the vampire bat that drinks blood, but mostly from sheep and cows. Their bodies are also pretty tiny, anyways, so I doubt they pose any threat when feeding. Sometimes I wonder if they even notice the little guys on them. They kind of look like that drawing, but I don’t have any pictures to show you.” Danny explained. He flipped his notebook over onto a new page.”A lot of them look kind of like this.” He said as he started to draw.

Wind and Twilight both leaned in a little to try to get a good look at the drawing, but didn’t try to get up and move closer. Legend almost stood up, presumably to get closer, but changed his mind quickly and sat back down. Hyrule felt himself lean forward as well, just as curious as the others. After a few minutes, Danny put the pencil down on his lap and held it out to show both heroes on either side of him first.

“It looks like it has the head of a puppy.” Wind pointed out.

Danny nodded.“Some do. That’s why they’re nicknamed “sky puppies” by several animal lovers. Except the biggest one, which I think lives in the Philippines.” He turned the book to show it to Twilight.”They’re nicknamed “flying foxes” because of their face, size, and the orange fur on their bodies. They’re fruit bats, by the way.” Danny said, turning the book to then show the rest of the group.

The drawing looked a lot like a Keese, but as Wind had mentioned, it looked like it had a puppy’s face. The wings also looked bigger, maybe a little too big for its body. A drawing mistake maybe? Or maybe it wasn’t a mistake and that was the actual wing size. Who was the traveler to decide when he’s never been in Danny’s world?

Although, if he really didn’t have monsters in his world, none at all, then he might be completely new to the concept of having to kill something to defend himself. He might not have gone on some adventure like the rest of them, not one where the world was at stake and left every member there with scars. Both physical and ones that no one really likes to talk about.

The traveler looked down at the ground while the rest of the world carried on without him. Hyrule didn’t think what he went through was anything bad compared to the others, but now he was worried that Danny might return to his world with bad memories.

The traveler didn’t want that. He wanted this young stranger to return home, safe and sound, with no regrets or memories that would infect his dreams. To maybe one day be able to tell his loved ones about his experience with a smile on his face and excitement and fondness in his voice. There was no doubt about it. Just like Sky said, they were going to protect him, but they were still going to teach him how to at least use a sword as a precaution once his injury is better. Speaking of his injury...

“Hey, Danny? How’s that injury doing?” Hyrule asked, looking up from the ground and smiling.

Danny perked up and looked as if the traveler had accidentally woken him up or snapped him out of a trance, ceasing his repeated pencil tapping instantly.”Oh, it’s healing well, thanks. Should be completely healed by the day after tomorrow.” He replied. Hyrule’s eyes widened a little. He’d seen the injury, and he’d seen Danny stitch it up and wrap bandages around it. A cut like that would take a lot longer than that to heal without any sort of magic to help speed up the process!

“That fast?” He asked, keeping most of his surprised out of his voice. Danny looked at him weird, as if it was common sense, then his expression shifted. He must’ve not realized wounds don’t typically heal that fast until now. Then again, maybe wounds do heal that fast where he’s from.

“I.. guess?” Danny said.

“Do all humans heal fast?” Wind asked. He glanced between Danny and Twilight.

“I’m not sure if it’s considered fast, but a wound like this should take anywhere between 3 to 18 days to heal, so I’d consider myself pretty lucky.” Danny said.

That was a slightly surprising bit of information, but it wasn’t too different from how hylian wounds heal.“Oh, then that’s good to hear.” Hyrule said. Danny nodded, probably agreeing that it’s a good thing, and covered his mouth with a hand when he yawned. He looked back down at his notebook and flipped it back over. He picked up the pencil with his right hand and started shaking it and tapping it against his middle finger again. He looked down at the notebook and used his left hand to hold the side of his head, waiting for the next monster to be described to him.

Warriors decided to take the lead for this one.”Another really common one is the Deku Baba. It’s a carnivorous plant that’s as tall as Time and a head that’s pretty much just one big mouth. The ones in my world are poisonous, and the best way to defeat them is to stun them with your shield and then slice their stem in half.” He explained. Danny wrote everything down.

After that, he moved his hand to press it against his forehead. He started to lean on himself and closed his eyes.“Uh, what else is there? Are those all the most common?” He asked. It was a little hard to tell if he was actually going to be paying attention or not. Was this the magic causing something? Or was Hyrule already looking too far into things?

“Your face is turning a little white there. Are you okay?” Four asked. Okay, so Hyrule wasn’t the only one who thought that.

Danny opened his eyes again and brought his head back up. He looked at Four.”Come again?” He asked.

~~~~~(In The Sky)~~~~~

Sky smiled feeling Sun’s arms wrap around him and returned the gesture practically on instinct. Her yellow hair, which smelled of sunflowers and felt like a smooth, thin veil when he pressed his head against her’s, stood out against the blue sky and endless sea of clouds behind Sun. He felt her head rest sideways on his shoulder. She was trying to enjoy every second of their last hug for a while, just like he was.

“Come back safe again.” She said softly. Sky nodded.

“That’s the plan.” He joked.

“If you two are done being lovey dovey, I’m ready to interrupt and give my “see you later”s too.” Groose chimed in.

The mood immediately lifted from something soft and bittersweet to a feeling more lively. It could be described as the moment suddenly becoming less of a potential farewell before Sky went into what could potentially end his life if he wasn’t careful, and more like he was actually about to go somewhere less dangerous and just really far away. Sky almost laughed a little at it and regrettably ended the hug.”Yeah, you can say your-- Wait, what did you say?” He asked.

Groose clearly held back his laughter, probably caused by the way that Sky’s face flushed with embarrassment when he finally processed what the tall redhead said. To make it worse, Wild snickered from the edge of the wooden platform extending a short distance off the island.

Well, Sky wasn’t amused one bit.

“We weren’t being lovey dovey.” Sky said annoyed.

“We weren’t?” Sun asked with a feign innocence. Sky whipped his head towards her so fast that he thought for a second he’d accidentally snap it. Wild cackled at this, and Groose’s shoulders shook with muffled laughter, as well as Sun’s.

“I’m just joking.” Groose said, letting a small laugh escape his grasp when he started speaking. He stepped forward and pulled Sky into a hug. Sky was lifted off the ground a little, but that wasn’t the point right now from his perspective.”In all seriousness, I agree with Zelda. Please come home in one piece, and without new scars. As cool as they look, getting them isn’t fun.” Groose said.

Sky let out a dramatic, angry groan and hugged back. He wasn’t acting upset about the hug. It was the teasing, and he was happy everyone knew that. Groose hasn’t always been the best with social cues and hints.”I don’t want scars either.” Sky said. He was promptly put down and almost stumbled getting his footing back. He felt a hand pat his shoulder.

“It’s a deal, then.” Groose said.

Sky nodded and smiled as he started walking towards the wooden platform where Wild was. He felt almost refreshed and was now a little more determined to finish this journey.”Alright. See you two later!” Sky called out. Instead of doing some cool jump, Sky walked straight off the platform and knew that Wild had followed close behind. Sky grabbed Wild’s arms and brought him closer so he could grab onto his back, then brought his fingers to his mouth and let out a loud, sharp whistle.

Flynn let out a loud squawk before he came up from beneath them both. With practiced ease, Sky held onto his loftwing, careful not to pull his crimson feathers. Wild swayed a little, but remained on the large bird, which was a big improvement from last time. The wind grew louder and blew past them stronger as Flynn flew towards the opening in the clouds.

As they approached the opening, Flynn dove down closer towards the clouds below. Sky slowly, but confidently stood up and held a hand out for Wild. The less experienced hero gratefully accepted and stood up, but was even slower and shook a little with unease. Sky smiled and waited for him to be upright.

“Ready?!” Sky yelled over the wind.

Wild gave him a slightly nervous, but very determined and excited smile.“Ready!” He said with a nod.

When they were almost right above it, they both jumped and reached for their cloths. Sky looked up at the opening as he fell through, the circle quickly growing smaller as he fell.”I’ll see you soon, Flynn!!!” He yelled to his bird. The responding squawk was just loud enough for Sky to hear.

“How sweet.” Wild said teasingly.

Sky rolled his eyes and gripped the corners of his sailscloth, which he used as his cape.”Oh, shut up.” He said. He and Wild both looked down at the ground and waited until they were a little closer to the ground to raise their items above their heads.

The sailscloth and glider carried them calmly towards the camp. Both let go and let themselves fall the rest of the way when they were close enough, rolling as soon as they touched the ground in order to lessen the impact. They stood up and walked towards the camp.

“We’re back!” Sky announced. When they got close enough, the two quickly noticed something was up. The temporary member was sitting against a tree in the shade, with his bag kept close to his chest as if he was holding it protectively while his head rested sideways on it. Hyrule was leaning on the same tree, but on a different side, and occasionally glanced at Danny with worry.“Is everything okay?” Sky asked.

Time turned to them.”Most of us think so. Hyrule, probably not as much.” He replied. Sky and Wild noticed Warriors and Twilight were sparring a few paces away from the camp, and Legend was watching them with Four. Wind was sitting next to Time, doodling in the dirt in boredom, and Epona was laying down nearby.

“Danny started showing symptoms about an hour ago. He swallowed something that he said should help him and moved to sit in the shade. I honestly think he fell asleep.” Wind explained.

Now that they knew what was going on, both felt more at ease with the situation. Wild took a double look at the slate to make sure that he had all the food they’d gotten from Skyloft.”So I’m guessing we’re waiting until he’s better to look for the portal? I vote for it, traveling while sick is never fun.” Sky said.

“When have we not stopped when a member was sick?” Time asked. Wild walked over to the now extinguished campfire and relit it to start on lunch. Funny enough, a small growl was heard from Wind’s stomach. The poor sailor’s face grew a little bit red in embarrassment.

“Fair point.” Sky said. He walked over to where Danny was sitting. Hyrule perked up a little seeing him come over and put a finger up to his lips. Sky shook his head and knelt in front of the dark haired human. Under the shade, it might look like it blended in from a distance, but since it was darker than the shadow cast onto him, it stood out up close. His face was also a little pale, but other than that, he seemed alright. Hopefully whatever medication he had for himself will work.

Despite the traveler’s disapproving look, Sky reached out and lightly tapped his shoulder.”Hey.” He whispered. To his relief, it was enough to wake him up. Unfortunately, his face wasn’t the first thing the young human saw and when he registered his hand on his shoulder, he smacked it off. Sky quickly retracted his hand and Danny looked up at him as his bag fell off his lap and landed sideways from the movement.

Danny squinted his eyes at him for a second before his eyes widened a little and he seemed to recognize him.”Oh, I’m sorry.” He apologized.

“It’s fine. How are you feeling?” Sky asked.

Danny made a noise and shrugged, grabbing his bag again.“Not the best, but definitely not the worst. What about you?” He asked. He put the bag back in his lap and rested both arms on it. He seemed ready to go back to sleep, a feeling Sky was very familiar with. And he totally wasn’t jealous that Danny got to nap and he didn’t. What are you talking about?

“Good. We grabbed some food that doesn’t have as much magic in them.” Sky said. Danny gave them a thumbs up and a small smile.

“Thank you for letting me know.” He said, sounding more tired than grateful, but the gold light that glimmered ever so slightly above his head told Sky otherwise.

The hero smiled.”No problem.” He said. He then stood up to go to Wild and see if he wanted any help.

~~~~~(Slight POV Change, Because No One Likes Not Being Given A Warning)~~~~~

Over with Warriors and Twilight, Twilight had managed to throw Warriors over his shoulder and held his sword next to his opponent’s head. It obviously wasn’t a real threat, but it was also obvious that Twilight won. Warriors looked up at him and let out a tired breath. Twilight’s stoic expression, which was honestly sometimes scary on the kind ranch hand’s face, lightened up into a smile. He put his sword away and walked around the captain. As Warriors sat up, Twilight held out a hand.

At the same time, a smug Four accepted a blue rupee from Legend, who looked less than pleased.

The two silently parted ways, with Twilight walking over to join Time and Wind and Warriors going to sit with Four and Legend.

“Seriously? You lost me a blue rupee.” Legend complained.

“And I lost a sparring match.” Warriors said.

With Time and Wind, Twilight was met with positivity more than negativity.”Nice.” Wind commented.

“Thanks.” Twilight said with a nod. He walked past both of them and sat down next to Epona. When he came closer, Epona perked up and watched him, but she wasn’t on alert. She was happy. When he sat down, Epona seized her opportunity and shifted her position to lay her head down on his lap.

Twilight raised his arms up in surprise when he notice her begin to move. He kept his arms up, palms facing down, and once Epona had her head resting in his lap, she took a deep breath before closing her eyes to relax. The ranch hand’s eyes widened slightly and his mouth was agape.

Twilight was shooketh.

Epona’s head was a little heavy on his legs, but it wasn’t a kind of heavy pressure that was uncomfortable. This one was soothing. It was always more comforting and tolerable when it wasn’t an object leaning on Twilight, but a person or animal. He often felt like he could just shout in pure happiness when an animal chose to use him of all choices as a pillow or place to rest on for their nap, as odd as it may be. And right now, a moment that didn’t happen as often as one would think, especially in a situation like this adventure, he thought he was going to explode.

Twilight practically forgot about the rest of the world as he slowly lowered his arms and used one hand to gently pet her. He only remembered to close his mouth when he smiled.

~~~~~(Slight POV Change + A Short While Later)~~~~~

Wild finally finished with lunch, egg tarts for everyone, and only had to stand up straight for it to be silently announced to all. He took his plate first and walked away from the food before it could be practically swarmed. Wind was second to get his food, followed by Four, Legend, Warriors, and Hyrule, who grabbed the extra one made for Danny. Finally, Time stood from his seat after he knew everyone got their food, and the only one aside from him who didn’t was going to be a while.

“I don’t think Twilight’s going to join us for a minute.” Time said. He pointed behind himself with his thumb, and the rest of the group turned to look past him.

Twilight looked up from where he was seated on the ground with Epona’s head resting on his legs. One of his hands had been petting her, but he stopped when he looked up.

”Huh??”

Some of the members couldn’t help but laugh a little at how he’d been so focused on Epona that he probably didn’t even notice that lunch was done.

“That’s sweet.” Hyrule said.

Wind looked up at Wild.”Can we document this?” He laughed. Wild wordlessly pulled out his slate and held it up, but instead of saying no or hiding his face in embarrassment, Twilight smiled for it and even gave a thumbs up.

Everyone was unanimously quiet for the click that signaled that the moment had been captured, then continued laughing.“Does it look good?” Twilight asked. The fact that he was going along with everything and even posed for the picture made the whole thing even better. Wild nodded and was soon crowded slightly by Wind and Legend. He didn’t mind much, though, and happily showed them the picture.

“Oh, yeah. It’s a good picture.” Legend said.

The grand finally came soon after everyone’s laughter had died down. Twilight seemed alright waiting a while before getting up so Epona could enjoy her nap. The camp was relatively calm with a hint of new liveliness in the atmosphere, when it was interrupted by a stomach growl coming from Twilight. Epona woke up when she heard it and began to sit up.

“No, wait!” Twilight muttered. His voice had sounded so small and defeated that Wind almost choked on the piece of egg tart in his mouth. Four, Wild, and Legend tried to stifle their laughter. Wind managed to swallow it before laughing again. Twilight’s heartbroken expression made Hyrule feel a little bad for wanting to laugh, but Wild just patted his shoulder and handed him a small plate. Twilight accepted it.”Thanks, cub. The world can be a cruel place.” He said.

“And you guys call me dramatic.” Warriors commented.

Only a few steps away from the camp, Hyrule knelt in front of Danny. Now that he was close up, he realized that he didn’t look as pale as before. In fact, he looked a lot better! Hyrule smiled a little. Having seen how Sky handled it earlier and how it turned out, he decided he’d try just talking first.“Danny.” He said.”Hey, Danny. Hey.”

Surprisingly, and thankfully, that’s all it took before he started to stir. Hyrule smiled a bit as the human opening his eyes.”Hey, Wild made lunch. It doesn’t have any magic this time. I hope you’re hungry.” He said.

Danny stared at him pretty blankly for a moment, but that hardly mattered. He was most likely still waking up and was just taking a moment to process what Hyrule had just said and decide on an answer. After a moment, he nodded.”Yeah, I could eat. Thank you.” He said. Danny stretched his arms up and rubbed his eyes.

“Alright.” Hyrule said. He set the plate down next to Danny, then stood up and took a seat leaning against the same tree, but on the right side. Well, right if you count Danny as straight ahead and use the tree as the center. Danny yawned and briefly covered his mouth with his hand, then looked down at the plate of food and picked it up with the fork.

“Never had it b’fore, actually.” He said. Hyrule glanced at him. From what he was told, egg tart was a pretty common dish in most... well, Hyrules. Then again, maybe he didn’t live there, like Twilight and Wind.

After another moment, everyone just enjoying their meal, Danny spoke up again.”How long was I asleep for?” He asked.

“Not too long. Probably an hour, and then another thirty to forty minutes after Sky woke you up.” Hyrule replied. Danny hummed in acknowledgment.

“...Which one is Wild again? The one wearing blue and that short, grey-ish cloak?” Danny asked.

“Yeah, that’s him.” Hyrule replied, taking another bite.

A few seconds later, Danny spoke again.”This is great. Thank you.” He said. After that, the camp finally dipped back into silence. Well, as silent as it could be in the middle of a forest.

Once everyone was done, the group returned to their own thing and Wind approached Danny.”You’re looking a lot better. Do you feel anything?” He asked. Danny smiled a little.

“Yeah, I’m feeling a lot better. Thanks for asking.” He said.

“That’s good to hear.” Twilight commented.

Danny turned around, probably to say thanks or something, but stopped when his eyes fell on Epona.“Is that a horse?” He asked.

Twilight nodded and almost laughed. Danny’s reaction was pretty similar to Wind’s and Sky’s reactions. Danny realized he asked a stupid question and his face turned a tiny bit red.”Yeah, Epona’s a horse. Is this your first time seeing one?” Twilight asked. Everyone was less awkward about the question knowing how insane other worlds could be.

Danny lifted a hand, palm facing the ground, and shook it side to side.”Sort of? I’ve seen them in pictures and such, but not in person. That’s probably the fourth most ridiculous thing I’ve ever asked.” He replied.

“Don’t feel bad. Wind and Sky never saw a horse until we met, so we don’t think it’s weird.” Legend said, hoping it would help. Danny jumped a little, probably having not noticed him until now, but took his word for it and nodded.

(“You guys put together two protests in one night?”)

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allthebrazilianpolitics · 10 months

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Is Lula Anti-American? It's complicated.

It’s the question in Washington that won’t go away: “Is Lula anti-American?” Since returning to Brazil’s presidency on January 1, Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva has repeatedly caused alarm in the U.S. capital and elsewhere with his comments on Ukraine, Venezuela, the dollar and other key issues. An unconfirmed GloboNews report in June said President Joe Biden may have abandoned any intentions of visiting Brasilia before the end of the year because of frustration with Lula’s positions.   

The question causes many to roll their eyes, and with good reason. Three decades after the end of the Cold War, some in the United States continue to see Latin America in “You’re either with us or against us” terms. Washington has a long record of getting upset with Brazil’s independent stances on everything from generic AIDS drugs in the 1990s to trade negotiations in the 2000s and the Edward Snowden affair in the 2010s. A large Latin American country confidently operating in its own national interest, neither allied with nor totally against the United States, simply does not compute for some in Washington, and maybe it never will.  

That said, there is a long list of reasonable people in places like the White House and State Department, in think tanks and in the business world who are perfectly capable of understanding nuance — and have still perceived a threat from Lula’s foreign policy in this, his third term. The list of perceived transgressions is long and growing: Lula has repeatedly echoed Russian positions on Ukraine, saying both countries share equal responsibility for the war. In April, Lula said blame for continued hostilities laid “above all” with countries who are providing arms—a slap at the United States and Europe, delivered while on a trip to China, no less. Lula has worked to revive the defunct UNASUR bloc, whose explicit purpose was to counter U.S. influence in South America. He has repeatedly urged countries to shun the U.S. dollar as a mechanism for trade when possible, voicing support for new alternatives including a common currency with Argentina or its other neighbors. Lula has been bitterly critical of U.S. sanctions against Venezuela–”worse than a war,” he has said—while downplaying the repression, torture and other human rights abuses committed by the dictatorship itself.   

For some observers, the inescapable conclusion is that Lula’s foreign policy is not neutral or “non-aligned,” but overtly friendly to Russia and China and hostile to the United States. This has been a particular letdown for many in the Democratic Party who briefly saw Lula as a hero of democracy and natural ally after he, too, defeated an authoritarian, election-denying menace on the far right. And for the record, it’s not just Americans who feel this way: the left-leaning French newspaper Liberation, in a front-page editorial prior to Lula’s visit to Paris in June, called him a “faux friend” of the West. 

To paraphrase the old saying, it’s impossible to know what truly lurks in the hearts of men. But as someone who has tried to understand Lula for the past 20 years, with admittedly mixed results, let me give my best evaluation of what’s really happening: Lula may not be anti-U.S. in the traditional sense, but he is definitely anti-U.S. hegemony, and he is more willing than before to do something about it. 

That is, Lula and his foreign policy team do not wish ill on Washington in the way that Nicolás Maduro or Vladimir Putin do, and in fact they see the United States as a critical partner on issues like climate change, energy and infrastructure investment. But they also believe the U.S.-led global order of the last 30 years has on balance not been good for Brazil or, indeed, the planet as a whole. They are convinced the world is headed toward a new, more equitable “multipolar” era in which, instead of one country at the head of the table, there will be, say, eight countries seated at a round table—and Brazil will be one of them, along with China, India and others from the ascendant Global South. Meanwhile, Lula has lost some of the inhibitions and brakes that held him back a bit during his 2003-10 presidency, and he is actively out there trying to usher the world along to this promising new phase—with an evident enthusiasm and militancy that bothers many in the West, and understandably so.

#brazil #politics #brazilian politics #foreign policy #mod nise da silveira #image description in alt

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doublestarsystems · 10 months

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Crowley loves this universe so much. He loves creating a thunderstorm to watch Nina and Maggie fall in love just as much as he loved lighting up the cosmos.

Here's what I think:

I think Aziraphale doesn't realize this. Whether it's because of his Religious Trauma or the fact that Crowley doesn't let people see him happy/excited, Aziraphale doesn't believe a demon like Crowley is capable of feeling love for the universe. This is in part why Aziraphale wanted Crowley to become an angel again, because he desperately wants Crowley to be happy in the way that he was when Aziraphale met him. But the thing is, he can be, and often is- he just DOESN'T SHOW AZIRAPHALE THAT SIDE OF HIM. So Aziraphale thinks that Crowley will only be "happy again" as an angel, and Crowley is misinterpreting this as Aziraphale thinking that Crowley isn't GOOD enough. Side note though: Aziraphale knows Crowley can be happy (like when he's rescuing Aziraphale), but he hasn't seen that unfiltered JOY from Crowley in so long. He has a lot of unpacking to do before he understands that angels aren't the only occult creatures who can be joyful and content.

Miscommunication is a theme of this season. At the start of the season, they have communication difficulties. "I think your exactly means something different than my exactly", etc. The conversation they had in the last ten minutes should have been twenty different conversations, but they were speedrunning it all because of the circumstances they were under, and their overwhelming fear of being vulnerable with eachother in that way. A love confession was always doomed to be very difficult between them, because of the nature of their relationship, 6000 plus years of not communicating, and a lack of letting their walls down to let eachother grow together.

In season three, they both need to realize so much shit.

Crowley needs to realize that Aziraphale is in an abusive relationship with Heaven. The Metatron is essentially a figurehead of this abuse that Aziraphale is experiencing (that's why I think they chose for the Metatron to appear as a fatherly figure, possibly even our flawed idea of what God looks like). I think Crowley and Nina should have a chat, and Nina should explain to Crowley how much time it takes to rewire your mind after being in an abusive relationship.

Aziraphale needs to come to HIS OWN CONCLUSION that Heaven is not a fixable institution. This might require an arc of him trying his damned best to fix something made to cause harm. The harm of abusive relationships do not disappear when someone wonderful confesses their love to you (cough cough Nina and Maggie cough cough)

Crowley needs to realize that running away would not end well for either of them. It's not in their nature. They love Earth. THEY CREATED THE FUCKING SOLAR SYSTEM WHEN CROWLEY SHELTERED AZIRAPHALE WITH HIS WING IN THE OPENING SCENE. They can't abandon Earth together.

Aziraphale needs to realize that the Crowley he loves deserves to be as he is (this connects to him needing to understand that Crowley can be happy and joyful without being an angel.)

The important thing to hold on to is that neither of them have malicous intentions towards eachother. they love eachother so god-damned much, they love EARTH so god-damned much, but no matter if you're a 10 year or a 6000 year slowburn, you ain't getting no-where without some fucking character growth.

thank you for reading my thoughts. currently good omens is 98% of them.

#good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #gos2 spoilers #gos2 #gos2e6

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everlastiingiimmortals · 2 months

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Theory: History of the Laurel Wreath Galaxy

Fair warning that I went nuts with this one and am absolutely reaching in some cases. Also, this will contain leaks about the upcoming Sigonia relic set lore, so please keep that in mind!

I established in a prior HC post that Ratio, as far as I'm concerned, is from the Laurel Wreath Galaxy. However, it was while thinking about this that I realized I missed something crucial from a Memory Bubble in the game: Rationality's Fall was a direct consequence of the Mechanical Emperor's War (referred to hereafter as MEW).

We learn from this bubble that the Philosopher's Union was overrun by robots after they massacred all of the philosophers, as well as destroyed most of the planets in the galaxy, before sentencing the Philosopher King Aurelius to his death by the Union's own laws and demanding he drink poison. We also learn that he does in fact do this, and this part of the war is what is known as Rationality's Fall, supposedly.

We also learn from Fu Xuan through Glimpses Into the Beyond that it was in fact Aha's followers who infected the robots with a virus called the "Philosopher's Poison," overthrowing the mechanical army in the Union with irony and a taste of their own medicine.

Naturally, this sent me down a long and spiraling rabbit hole, trying to place the time of this event.

My conclusion: Fucking Ancient.

You see, we know from Baiheng's journal that Screwllum is at least 800 years old in the Star Calendar, as Planet Screwllum had already been established during her travels. Do we know how many Amber Eras (AE) that is? No. Is there any sort of means of comparison or consistency for AE? No. Do we know how long the Star Calendar (SC) years are? No. But it's different from the Trailblaze Calendar, which is the closest to the Gregorian Calendar, and I guess we can assume that based on the Xianzhou's inspirations, the Star Calendar would be more similar to the Lunar Calendar. Regardless! This doesn't help us with the Amber Eras, but it's a nice point of reference all the same given that the MEW had been happening since before 3287 SC. The year now is around 8100 SC. Furthermore, we can't really tell whether Screwllum established Planet Screwllum while Rubert I was still alive or not, but it is implied to have been after Rubert's death, given the Anti-Organic Equation still infects machine life to this day and Screwllum isn't... exactly sure of the circumstances of Rubert's death. We do know that it happened many years ago, as it was "countless Amber Eras" ago. I'm going to choose a nice round number, overestimate how long the war lasted, and say maybe 5000-ish SC. That gives us 3000 years to the modern year.

So Rationality's Fall happens some time in this era, long before 5000 SC, and much of the Laurel Wreath Galaxy is destroyed as a result. What happened to the survivors?

This is where the theory gets wack.

We know that the people of the Laurel Wreath Galaxy were a space-faring people, as they were able to travel to the center of the Galaxy to engage in the Philosopher's Union with the King. Those that could escape likely did, traveling to other planets to seek refuge. I don't think it is too far of a stretch to suggest that Sigonia may have been one of those places.

Situated near the convergence of three major star clusters, Sigonia-IV has long been subjected to stellar winds from multiple stars, earning its reputation as the "eye of the storm" throughout the Cosmos. The planet's surface environment is extremely harsh, leading many civilizations to either migrate to other celestial bodies or succumb to natural disasters.

Such a harsh environment would not necessarily lead to widely available resources for space-faring -- we see this as it is with Belobog, a perfect in game example. Nor is it exactly an optimal location to settle in either, but when faced with the alternative of certain death, who wouldn't consider it? They were desperate. Is it not possible to consider, then, that perhaps the Laurelian escapees sought refuge on Sigonia, only for many of them to find they were unable to adapt to the environment and thus move on, while others attempted to survive? I posit this theory for a few reasons:

Ratio and Aventurine obviously share similar eyes, and yet only Aventurine's are commented on as being Sigonian (yes, I know this could be because of Ratio's dumb headpiece, but he also doesn't make any sort of indication towards the similarities himself, so hush).

We know from the Sigonia relic lore that the Avgin genocide was relatively recent, happening in modern history as Aventurine was just a boy when it occurred. This gives plenty of time for the Laurelian settlers to undergo genetic divergence and ultimately evolution to adapt to Sigonia's environment (under high evolutionary pressure, adaptation can happen fairly quickly as well, so at least 3000 years ish of extreme evolutionary pressure is admittedly nothing to sneeze at).

This is admittedly something I believe is more of a funny coincidence than anything, but I love to chew on regardless due to my fascination with the evolution of language, is that αυγή (avgí) in Greek means dawn. If you know, you know.

So by the modern year, the Sigonians and the Laurelians are genetically distinct enough to not be recognized as similar people, but the Sigonians could, theoretically, trace their lineage back to the ancient Laurelians.

To give a general recap of the Laurel Wreath Galaxy with this context:

The Philosopher's Union has expanded throughout the entire galaxy, championing as one of the most profound galaxies for critical thought and where countless philosophers flock to vie for a seat in the Union.

The MEW occurs, taking with it much of the galaxy, destroying the Union, and killing the last Philosopher King, Aurelius (who, by the way, was named after the Roman Emperor). This is the incident known as Rationality's Fall.

The survivors who could flee did so, some of them eventually settling on Sigonia. Those who survive evolve and adapt to the harsh environment, or perhaps remain stranded on Sigonia and must make do.

Aha's followers introduce the Philosopher's Poison into the robots in the Union and overthrow them.

Eventually, life in the Laurel Wreath Galaxy recovers and stabilizes, now with robots joining their ranks, though the Union remains a vacant amphitheater -- more an ancient monument than anything else. Nobody takes up the throne of the Philosopher King.

The IPC encounter Sigonia and try to profit, as they do.

Fast forward to the modern era, where Ratio and Aventurine are born.

...and the rest is history, if you know your lore and your leaks.

Admittedly, I do have a bone to pick with this theory, outside of the blatant overreaching, and that is Rationality's Fall. From the Curio it's my understanding that Rationality's Fall was a civil war wrought by the folly of man, and yet every other source I see, like the Memory Bubble, implies an invasion of the Union by Rubert's followers. I see two possible explanations here, one of which is more heavily likely than the other:

There were two Rationality's Falls: one by the robots invading and another after that WAS the civil war, which was man and machine alike. This is unlikely, weird, doesn't make sense, and thus I don't think this is the case.

The robots were in fact native to the galaxy and revolted after being subjected to the Anti-Organic Equation. This is more likely and a method Rubert used for converting machines to its cause, and thus it makes sense. It's possible the robots of the Laurel Wreath Galaxy didn't have sentience until the MEW, so there's little conflict here.

I had a hard time admitting to the second possibility because it meant needing to adjust my prior headcanon somewhat and it still doesn't sit right with me given the initial description of civil war, but I'll address that here:

I maintain that Ratio was from the Laurel Wreath Galaxy, and perhaps a warmongering trait still remains within his blood, but maybe it is because of this trait of his people that the Laurel Wreath Galaxy was so focused on by Rubert during the MEW in the first place. We know Rubert accused organic life of being flawed in calculation, leading to their own end and destruction, and thus needing to be eradicated. Does this not sound familiar? Rationality's Fall, the collapse of mankind, which prides itself on the ability to think and reason -- that is rationality, not calculation and probability -- and thus the world's impurities, in this case, is not referring to arrogance nor ignorance, the original philosophy of the Union, but to rationality itself, to mankind as a whole.

So, fast forward once again to the modern era. Where does this leave Ratio? A descendant of survivors who managed to stay on what few habitable planets of the Laurel Wreath Galaxy remained. Someone with personal ties and reason to care so much about the Philosopher's Union and its history. Someone who, inflamed by curiosity and with an insatiable hunger for knowledge, ends up chasing the very same philosophy that the Union, which no longer exists, prided itself on. If the previous era of the Philosopher's Union were the Roman Empire, with all of its Ancient Greek associations as well, then Ratio's era -- Ratio himself -- is the Italian Renaissance, the revival of ancient Greco-Roman culture, and thus one could argue the inheritor of the Philosopher King's legacy.

#Willow Rambles #//about; (DOCTOR OF TRUTH)#hsr leaks #shout out to starry for the ανγή thing she found it first #i'm still miffed on the rationality's fall thing but it's like w/e #this is fine as is. i'm happy with this take all the same #i mentioned this to ventium also but as a tidbit like #re: all the latin in ratio's kit and everything i imagine it to be the equivalent to how it was during the renaissance #where latin was like the 'learned' language that showed you were educated #ratio grew up speaking whatever greek equivalent (and maybe the italian equivalent too) and learned latin from his mother and in school #holy shit how many words is this.... 1.6k WOWIE!! not my longest but still a chonker #anyway it's past 3 am here HAHA i'm going to pass out

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lulu2992 · 8 months

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From the Inquisitor to the Baptist: The Evolution of John Seed

So who was John Seed, the Inquisitor? And most importantly, who is John Seed, the Baptist?

All the sources and references indicated by the superscript numbers will be given in the last post.

Part 5: Conclusion

It took more than three years to develop Far Cry 5. A lot can change in three years, and as a matter of fact, when it comes to John Seed, a lot did change.

In terms of his appearance, it seems the idea has always been for him to look stylish. He’s always had a dark beard and slicked-back hair, and although its color has varied, a shirt. Then came his vest, sunglasses, watch, coat, earring, belt, and key, and his outfit steadily evolved to become the one we know today. Many tattoos, for the most part inspired by the seven deadly sins or religion in general, gradually appeared on his hands and arms as well.

Before he became “the Baptist”, his title used to be “the Inquisitor”, and although this term is nowhere to be found in Far Cry 5 (or even in its files, from what I’ve seen), John’s Gate was renamed “The Inquisitor’s Grave” in Far Cry New Dawn. Indeed, canonically, his bunker is his “grave” because John either lost his life right outside of it or trying to reach it.

But in my opinion, the Inquisitor didn’t die in Far Cry 5; he was already long dead when the game came out, and the most important and meaningful changes John underwent during development were not of a physical nature.

In terms of his personality and morals, he’s always been a violent man, and while he still brutalizes people in Far Cry 5, evidence suggests he went from a threatening, conceited, hypocritical, and primarily sadistic individual to a more polite-looking, subtle, emotional, and tortured person whose ego is clearly not a big and strong as it seems, or as he wants others to believe.

When he was still called the Inquisitor, John seemed self-assured and to always have everything under control, like nothing could affect him or his (high) opinion of himself, and other people’s feelings didn’t matter. Now, as the Baptist, this air of confidence is more of a facade; he’s emotionally immature, tends to easily lose his temper when things don’t go his way, and his sense of self-worth greatly depends on what he believes his brother Joseph’s opinion of him is.

The Inquisitor looked like an insensitive, somewhat stereotypical torturer (and killer) who, although he seemed to have faith in the Project, would often use it as an excuse to cause harm and satisfy his dark urges. He was cruel and selfish, would never accept responsibility for his actions, and was mainly driven by his desire to inflict pain. The Baptist still hurts and mutilates others, and he may still take satisfaction in what he does, but what apparently counts more for him now is the result. He’s convinced himself that his childhood trauma was in fact a positive and freeing experience and that it could benefit other people, so in his own indisputably unhealthy and harmful way, he tries to “save” them.

The Inquisitor would indulge in his luxurious ranch, think some rules didn’t apply to him, and mostly care about himself and his own pleasure. The Baptist is a perfectionist who doesn’t hesitate to put his comfort aside to achieve his goals, refuses to put himself “on a pedestal”, and can work tirelessly to make his brother proud; this is what drives and obsesses him.

At first glance, it may look like John is still the Inquisitor, and I think it’s interesting that most of the things that can help us see him in a different light (Joseph’s eulogy for him⁵⁵, the message at Seed Ranch⁵⁶, the letter to Terry⁵¹, Hudson’s line⁴⁴) are usually found after his death. In his final moments, John looks heartbroken that the Junior Deputy could never “understand”, “believe” in, and “care” about what he thought he was doing all along: saving people... and that included the two of them. His last words? A prayer for their soul.

It’s only when he’s gone that we’re able to comprehend who John Seed truly was, to see the person behind his carefully crafted image of a self-assured, self-controlled, and strong man. Only when it’s too late can we fully realize that, under the surface and behind the violence, was a deeply flawed individual but also a beautifully complex character, full of contradictions, who knew he wasn’t perfect and spent most of his life trying to meet others’ expectations, or at least what he believed those were, but usually ended up causing much suffering to many people in the process, including himself.

The Inquisitor essentially was a monster without a heart; the Baptist is just a human who never managed to fully open his.

Thank you for reading ♥ Find all sources and references in Part 6!

#far cry 5 #john seed #joseph seed #the deputy #far cry new dawn #far cry 5 spoilers

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hypnotiiize · 1 year

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𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘺𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦’𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘺

𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: i got this idea at the literal last minute so i wrote this in a day which is literally unprecedented for me so YOU RLLY JUST GOTTA DEAL W ME IM SAWRY

He’d been standing in the aisle for fifteen full minutes before he finally huffed and widened his arms, sweeping up as many gifts as he could manage.

He peered over the mountain of presents with one keen eye, struggling his way over to the cashier. The seventeen-year-old there just blinked at him warily, too tired from figuring out Calculus to be amused by him. He bent at his waist, his lips pressed into a line as he carefully laid everything on the black conveyer belt.

The seventeen-year-old’s eyes darted from the man to everything he’d laid out, her lips a little turned up as she asked dryly, “Is that all?”

Richarlison hadn’t heard the bite in her tone, too busy questioning if he’d gotten enough to make the woman on his mind happy. “Yes!”

“Great.” She grabbed a heart-shaped box and pushed it past the scanner.

Richarlison only processed her words just as she’d scanned the very first teddy bear. “Do you think it’s enough?” he asked unsurely, positive that the teenage girl would know more about love and gift-giving than him.

The girl, Kayla by the looks of her nametag, scoffed in return.

Richarlison’s eyes widened as he assumed the worst. A scoff could mean nothing good. “No?”

“I mean,” the girl backtracked at the dread in his voice. She shrugged. “It depends on how many girlfriends you have. If you have about six, you should be fine,” she quipped, shaking her head at the Ain’t Shit nature of even the most handsome, tall, and brooding of men.

Richarlison shook his head cluelessly. “But… I don’t have a girlfriend.” Did he have to have a girlfriend?

Kayla’s hands paused on a stuffed turtle. “You don’t? Then why are you getting all this stuff? Not that it’s my business, I’m just really nosy,” she added sincerely, glancing to him as she scanned the special edition Twizzlers.

He had to fight to catch his breath at the thought of his valentine. “It’s for my,” he paused for five long seconds, contemplating his relationship (or lack thereof) with the woman of his dreams. The balls of his cheeks were pink when he finally said, “Friend.”

“Yeah, it’s for your… friend,” replied the seventeen-year-old, making a show of hesitating just as long as he did. His bashful gaze fell on a stuffed elephant as he nodded. “Well, if it’s just for one friend, this is more than enough. It might even classify as wealth hoarding if you get anything more.”

Whatever that meant.

“I’m not sure what she would like,” he confessed in a murmur, gnawing on his lip.

Kayla shrugged. “Just call her and ask.”

“I can’t do that!” he rasped quickly, a little shocked that she had even suggested such a thing. “I have to surprise her. She has to be surprised,” he whispered the second bit to himself, definitive in his conclusion.

Kayla shrugged again. “Well, then, these are fine. She’s gotta like one of ‘em.”

“I hope so,” he breathed.

“I hope so, too, random man. I hope so, too.”

On his way home, as he juggled three large bags, he watched a man stop at a vendor on the sidewalk. The man, whose greyed tufts of hair protruded from underneath his Kangol hat, was beaming as he communicated with the seller. Richarlison watched as the man gently lifted a bouquet of carnations and then strolled away, stopping beside a woman before kissing her on the cheek and handing her the flowers. The woman gasped deeply with joy, and suddenly Richarlison was making a beeline toward that very vendor.

He was contemplating holding the bouquet of flowers in between his teeth when he spotted a baby in a store holding the gift– the very one that he knew he had to get for the woman. He had to walk through the front door sideways to fit, and still, he was not deterred; he navigated his way through the aisles easily, finding the present he knew was hers and even some that caught his eye. By the time Richarlison reached his home, his wallet had lost a considerable amount of weight and he was holding seven shopping bags.

He was sure it was worth it.

She found him on his street just as the sun began to set, handing out valentines to anyone that would walk his way. He smiled sweetly at her as she sauntered to his side, her own smile uncontrollable as she watched him hand a little girl a teddy bear.

“What, the whole neighborhood’s your valentine?” She laughed as she wrapped her arm around his torso in a hug.

He reminded himself not to blush at the heat her presence generated in his chest, his heart dancing to her the familiar beat that her proximity brought on. “Well, some people don’t have valentines,” he said after a second, regarding the nature of the holiday. “So... I guess so!”

(Plus he had about two hundred dollars worth of merchandise that would’ve gone bad after sifting for the gifts he wanted to give her, but it would take him years to tell her just how much he’d splurged that day.)

She craned her neck to make eye contact with him, and he was sure his heart stopped right there. “You’re really sweet,” she praised quietly, just for him to hear.

He was begging himself not to blush. “So are you.”

“Wait, speaking of sweet,” she began, moving away from him to open her purse. He mourned what was once her presence as she said, “I have a lil’ something for you.”

He had a lot of something for her, but– and his inner voice stumbled over itself in his head at this– not in that way. Unless–? No, no, not in that way.

“Don’t feel bad if you didn’t get me anything.”

He got her Target’s whole catalog but he was currently giving it away.

“Here.”

She placed a white box in his hands and just before he opened it, Richarlison could only feel grateful for the text he’d gotten yesterday from one of his ever-prying teammates, asking who his Valentine was, as he may have forgotten altogether.

He lifted the top and found himself staring at lightly-dusted squares of what he predicted was bread. She leaned closer to peer inside the box with him.

“They’re beignets. You ever had one?” she asked goodnaturedly.

“No, I haven’t,” his voice threatened to crack with his reply as he became overwhelmed with the fact that she had thought of him– on a day like that, no less. He would wonder, later, what that could possibly mean, though at that moment he had to remain as stoic as possible lest he expose the fact that he was head over heels for her.

He eyed the treat she’d given him, humming as he realized that they reminded him of something. “They’re like from that movie… Sapo, sapo,” he repeated softly under his breath, his mind racing to recall the word in English.

Her grin broadened as her eyebrows raised. “Are you talking about The Princess and the Frog?”

“I think so.”

“Well, does it have a princess and a frog? A little green guy?”

“Yes!”

“That’s the one! Rich, I love that movie! What you know about that?!”

“My sisters and cousins really liked it,” he explained.

“That’s what I was thinking of when I made you these,” she noted, laughing sweetly as she tapped on the top of the box with the pad of her finger.

His chest hurt from his heart beating so quickly. “You made these?” he asked after a moment, pausing to ensure that he had cleared the nerves from his voice.

“I made them,” she confirmed proudly.

He was having trouble catching his breath. “For me?”

“For you.”

Don’t faint, don’t faint.

She pressed on upon the lack of response from Richarlison, gesturing wildly with her hands as she spoke, “I was kinda bored and I was like ‘hm, I wonder what Rich is doing’ and then I realized that it was about to be Valentine’s Day, so I was like let me be nice to him real quick and– oh my God?”

Her confused words had been muttered against the fabric of Richarlison’s sweater after he’d wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest in a quick motion– way too quick for her to duck back, as he was sure she would. Richarlison was sure she could hear how fast his heart was pumping. He himself could hear his heartbeat reverberating in his head; he could feel it in his fingertips that clutched the white box she’d given him.

“You crying?” she wondered, wrapping her hand around his muscle in an attempt to clear her airways. He was simply too big to hug her in that way, she was sure she’d almost suffocated.

“Shhh,” he countered, and she giggled against his bicep. “Thank you. That’s really nice.”

She sighed as if in awe of herself. “I know.”

The two stayed outside until the final chocolate box was handed out, and then five minutes more when a group of kids came by asking Richarlison if he could give them money for the store. This was not her first time watching him cough up money to kids as if they were bullies in the eighties, and she doubted it would be the last– Richarlison would give a kid the shirt off his back in zero-degree weather. The kids chorused pitchy goodbyes to the both of them before speeding off, leaving them to turn to each other and laugh a little at their eagerness.

She did not say what she wanted to say: that he looked handsome and his generosity was giving her heart palpitations.

He did not say what he wanted to say: that she looked beautiful and he wanted to place his hands on either side of her face to pull her lips to his… And also that he was kind of sure he’d accidentally given one of those kids a fifty.

They stared at each other until their eyes began to sting. When they entered his home, just as sky morphed into a dark hue of blue, she found his couch covered in presents.

“There’s more?” she asked in shock. She moved toward the sofa and tilted her head at the sparkly gift bag smack dab on the middle cushion, reaching out to rub a gentle finger against the red glitter there. She glanced to Richarlison. “Is this one even yours, or is it your roommate’s?”

Richarlison had thought of how he would give the presents to her fleetingly throughout the day– he found, however, when faced with the woman of his dreams he couldn’t form any semblance of thought. He stood before her kind of stoically.

She scrunched her face up. “Wait, do you even have a valentine? I didn’t ask.” This was, of course, due to her apprehension regarding whatever his answer would be. She pressed her lips together as he teetered a little side to side.

“I don’t have a valentine,” he said a bit haltingly. “Do…” he gulped, “Do you?”

She blinked at him. “Do I have a valentine?”

“Do you have a valentine?” he questioned simply, losing feeling in his fingertips from his nerves.

“No, I don’t think I technically do.”

He would ignore the ‘technically.’

“Because I,” he started shakily, crossing the room in two easy strides and stopping a few inches away before her.

This was it, the moment he imagined: striding over to her in a silver suit, sitting on a stallion— her knight in shining armor— and romantically declaring that, that big, sparkly gift bag was hers.

In real-time, he choked. “I, uh… Hey, this is yours,” he said, pointing to the present.

He was shocked to find that she was still gasping deeply despite his lackluster approach. She appeared rocked by his words as if she had truly not been expecting him to think of her, her mouth agape and a hand over her heart. He was unsure how she could even think such a thing, as his every thought began and end with her. He could not fathom the fact that she did not know how important she was to him, and this, in turn, shocked him.

“It’s mine? You got me something?” Her wide eyes searched his desperately, though she knew Richarlison would never play with her that way.

His brown eyes fell to his shoes, confident that if he looked at her for a second longer he would turn beet red. He could already feel the tips of his ears scorching, begging him to press an ice pack against them.

Her hand lifted up hesitantly before she laid her warm palm against his clavicle and he was sure he was knocking on heaven’s gates. She pressed there, turning him toward her as her left hand grabbed his right arm. She wrapped his arm low around her waist and pulled him against her, his heart mere inches from her own.

She smelled like his childhood. She smelled like sweet treats and the Sun and water balloons. She smelled like everything he’d ever known, and he decided he would do everything in his power to keep her with him.

“Thank you, Rich,” she whispered against the skin of his neck. “It means a lot.”

His cheeks burned and he no longer cared to hide it. “It means a lot to me, too.”

She snaked her fingers into the hairs at the nape of his neck and tightened her hold there gently, pulling away in the next moment to assess the gift bag. She sat to its right and he sat to its left, his lip caught between his teeth as he watched her peek inside. She closed two fingers around the tissue paper and delicately tugged it onto her lap. Richarlison promptly reached over and gathered the jumble of reds and pinks from her legs, placing it beside him on the couch just as she pulled out a bouquet of wine-colored roses.

They were wrapped in white paper, a pink bow tied around them for good measure. There was a pang somewhere in her chest at the realization that they were placed in a heart, with the rose in the middle not even being a rose at all— instead, smack dab in the middle of the deep red bouquet, laid a jasmine flower the color of a pearl.

She recalled being in his room many times in passing, and each time her eyes would find the jasmines placed on his nightstand. She would chuckle each time she saw them, and he would give her the same excuse, “I think they’re pretty.”

“Oh my God,” she said before she could think, sweeping a finger along one of the petals of the white flower.

“That one is from my room,” he told her, and then laughed. “I almost broke my vase.”

Her gaze snapped to the man on the couch, wide and amazed at something Richarlison was not too sure of. “You put this together yourself?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered easily, shrugging. He had not yet caught the glossy sheen zipping across her irises, too caught up in elaborating, “The roses were really beautiful, but they were missing something more. And I like jasmines. They’re pretty. I wanted to give you something really, really beautiful and pretty.”

(There was a flash in which she thought of that one Nicki Minaj verse, in which she rapped about putting something on a man’s sideburns.)

“Do you like it?” Richarlison asked, studying her pretty face to find her blinking hard to get something out of her eye— Richarlison guessed maybe a dust particle had gotten in.

“I love it,” she mused.

His heart fluttered at her praise. “There’s more in the bag,” he said, taking the flowers from her so that her hands were free.

She plucked the next gift from the bag: a huge heart-shaped box of chocolates. She laughed when Richarlison reached over her and grabbed a chocolate for himself the moment she pried it open, his sweet tooth notorious to the point that he had even ended up grabbing the box from her to keep eating as she craned her neck back to the bag.

When the final gift was out, and she’d settled it on her lap, Richarlison watched as she cupped her hands over her mouth and chuckled loudly. He smiled, too, grateful that he had anticipated her reaction so accurately; he’d expected her awed laughter and had been looking forward to it ever since he’d bargained with a baby for it.

Okay, so he bribed the baby.

Okay, so the baby got away with a hundred-dollar bill.

Whatever.

“Stop,” she breathed, shaking her head with a grin. “Stop.”

She brushed a finger against the lines on the stuffed toy before her– yellow, black, yellow, black, yellow, black, until her finger landed on the smooth material of its pink heart-shaped wings. It was a bee holding a fluffy red heart between its tiny arms and grinning at her lopsidedly. Bee Mine! Read the toy, and she swore her temples were beginning to ache from how hard she was smiling.

He’d been calling her Honey for weeks, having found himself enamored with the emoji she’d pressed into his phone the very first time they met. He parted his lips to say this to her, to tell her that the plush bee represented the nickname, though when she shoved the gift bag off the couch and crawled into his lap— wrapping her smooth arms around his neck in a tight embrace— he assumed that she’d probably made the connection herself.

She pressed her lips against his cheek once and then twice before saying, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Rich,” and kissing him there a third time.

He was sure he’d been hallucinating, though the feel of her waist underneath his hands threw a wrench in that theory. Still, he felt nonplussed; there were many dreams of him in which they’d always end up in that same position, her poised in his lap with her arms around his neck. He had to blink a few times to snap back to reality. He was a little dazed as he tightened his fingers around her midriff, having to fight to catch his breath at the feeling of her ribcage constricting. She was real and alive and in his lap. He was tempted to FaceTime all of his friends and go on a long tangent.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he breathed.

She did not wish to go home, and he did not wish to be apart from her. Thus, the answer was simple: the two ate beignets and watched The Princess and the Frog, her arms thrown across his torso in an effort to both fit on the couch.

As the Voodoo Priestess on the screen sang about digging a little deeper, he laid his cheek against her slicked bun and smelled the sweet treats and the Sun and water balloon. He smelled everything he’d ever known, and then some. Richarlison’s gaze flitted from the screen to the woman tucked into his side, and for the first time in a very long time, he did not feel absolutely foreign in the country that was not his own.

#richarlison andrade #richarlison x reader #richarlison fluff #richarlison x black reader #x black fem reader #x black reader #x oc #valentine #valentine's day #football imagine #princess and the frog

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