#america isn't the land of the free

[eightw]

this is how we decide who gets to live where, how we decide who gets to call themselves indigenous? this is the magic, pro-palestinian solution? 23 and me tests for all the people who 'deserve' to live there.

#fuckng adding 'land back' at the end #as if this aligns at all with what indigenous people in north america are fighting for at all #'if you have to kill for land it isn't yours' stupidest ya novel nonsense sentence ever #for context this was in response to someone saying 'there is no simple solution to this stop acting like there is' #and for the record. im pro palestine. but if you have to resort to THIS to make your points on why palestine deserves to be free #you're fucking insane

[redvelvetwishtree]

#the first pic makes me so fucking angry #there was also a video where imported zionists from new york or wherever (because #because israel isn't a normal country and they have to being people from abroad to populate stolen land) so yes some zionists were... #...waiting for Palestinians to be evicted and ran into their houses to take over their land... #like literally... #woke western people love shoving colonialism and related concepts everywhere even when it's unnecessary #but will let shit like this happen in broad daylight #i don't understand the world at all #somehow i thought joe biden and kamala harris would be better #but just like everything else in america they are just woke enough for the shallow american society #they'll make headlines for doing stuff for rEpReSenTatIoN and twitter and tumblr will explode with praise #coz performative wokeness is all that people over there know #ugh i have so much more to say but I'll just stop #can't be bothered to crop the screenshots either #palestine #israel #free palestine

[theonyxranger]

Funniest fucking take I've seen today. Pack it in lads england isn't an empire anymore this guy said so.

#nyx post #that's like if i said america isn't an empire like what #guys come on we call it the land of the free that means we don't have any territories that dont want to be here #and dont infringe on anybodys rights!

[hotvintagepoll]

FINAL POLL OF ROUND 1

Propaganda

Hedy Lamarr (Samson and Delilah, Ziegfeld Girl)—Look. I'm sure someone has already submitted Hedy Lamarr because she was spectacularly beautiful, and a very strong lady too: she fled both an abusive marriage AND nazi persecution at a very young age and rebuilt a life for herself pursuing her love for acting all on her own!! Her career as an actress was stellar; while she began acting outside of Hollywood (her very first movie, Ecstasy, won a prize at the Venice Film Festival), she conquered American hearts very quickly with her first movie in the US, Algiers, and then just kept getting better and better. If all this isn't enough, she was also an inventor: her invention of the frequency-hopping spread spectrum radio transmission technique forms the base of bluetooth and has a lot of applications in all kinds of communication technologies. I think that deserves a prize, don't you?

Sonja Henie (Thin Ice, Happy Landing)—no idea if she counts, she's a famous skater more than anything else, but count her for the lols and i'll send you some thin mints

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut]

Hedy Lamarr:

The only person you can find both on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and in the Inventor's Hall of Fame--her radio-frequency-hopping technology forms the basis for cordless phones, wi-fi, and a dozen other aspects of modern life. She was also passionate in her efforts to aid the Allies in WWII (unsurprising for a Jewish-Austrian Emigree to America), and her name served as the backbone for one of the best running jokes in what is possibly Mel Brooks' best movie. Look, Louis B. Mayer apparently believed he could plausibly promote her as "The world's most beautiful woman". Is an entire website full of people going to be less audacious than one Louis B. Mayer? I didn't think so!

Described as "Hedy has the most incredible personal sophistication. She knows the peculiarly European art of being womanly; she knows what men want in a beautiful woman, what attracts them, and she forces herself to be these things. She has magnetism with warmth, something that neither Dietrich nor Garbo has managed to achieve" by Howard Sharpe, she managed to escape her controlling husband (and Nazi Germany) by a) Disguising as her maid and fleeing to Paris or b) Convincing the husband to let her wear all of her jewelry to a dinner, only to disappear afterwards. Also she was particularly clever and helped develop Frequency-Hopping Spread Spectrum (I can't really explain it but anyway...)

One of the most beautiful women ever in film, spoken by many critics and fans. Beautiful shapely figure, deeper seductive voice, and often played femme fatale roles. She was also brilliant and an inventor. Mainly self-taught, she invested her spare time, including on set between takes, in designing and drafting inventions, which included an improved traffic stoplight and a tablet that would dissolve in water to create a flavored carbonated drink, and much more.

Her depiction of Delilah and Samson and Delilah just lives rent free in my head. The woman was gorgeous.

Gorgeous and brilliant pioneer of modern technology and the middle part.

#sonja henie #hedy lamarr #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 1 #ALL POSTS UP HOORAY

[thedreadvampy]

I mean fundamentally the thing about Israel/Palestine that makes people uncomfortable is not that "it's complicated" it's that it's extremely fundamentally morally simple, it's just difficult

there is not a morally acceptable solution that will be accepted by the expansionist Israeli government or its allies in Europe and America

the balance of power has remained basically the same since Balfour handed the country over. Israel has the power to displace and kill Palestinians without accountability because it's backed by the majority of major world powers. there's fundamentally no back and forth of power. Palestine and its people were sold from the control of the British to the control of Israel for the political convenience of a bunch of people on different continents. there's no retribution or wrestle for power. Israel has had power over Palestine for decades and Palestine, despite Palestinians occupying the land for millennia, has never had power over Israel.

the fundamentals of the situation are discomforting because Israel is in many ways the last surviving bastion of the type of turn-of-the-century colonialism which the contemporary economy of Britain, America and much of the West is rooted in.

that's why the media and political classes are so invested in the Israeli party line - not because Israel ~controls the media~ or whatever but because the fundamental existence of Israel is the interests of the British ruling class, for example. It is in the interests of the British ruling class that we accept as a basic precept that there are Civilised and Uncivilised nations, and that it is right and good and natural that the Civilised nations should be able to decide the fates of the Uncivilised nations, for their own profit, without brooking any complaint from the Uncivilised Peoples. The structure of Western capitalism requires, as well, that we accept that any number of deaths and any amount of suffering among the Uncivilised Peoples is an acceptable price to pay for the comfort of Civilised Peoples. That's why the media classes are more interested in pearl clutching that somebody slashed up a hack painting of a famously antisemitic and genocidal British lord than in the loss of swathes of priceless and irreplaceable artworks, historical relics and Human Fucking Lives in Gaza.

it isn't complicated. it's just uncomfortable because fundamentally it lays bare the basic reality of colonial capitalism, and generally we in the UK are sort of trying to pretend we're over that whole thing even though we're obviously not, politicians just try to be a bit less obvious about it. so it's discomforting to people to be faced with the rawness of Israel's open colonialism, and so those who can't or don't want to divest from Britain's own ongoing colonial endeavours end up tying themselves in knots trying to justify why it's Fine Actually.

while obviously Israel is a Zionist project so it can no more be decoupled from Judaism than the British empire is decoupled from Christianity, the conflation of Jewishness and Israel is a mostly irrelevant (and harmful) distraction from the underlying Problem With Israel, which is that it's an incredibly 19th century European style of colony in 21st century Asia, and the nature, consistency and ferocity of its colonial project has been pretty unchanged for like 3-4 generations.

but it's a very successful distraction because

a) a lot of people do actually hate Jews a whole bunch so yeah antisemitism is a genuine and legitimate fear, but it doesn't connect to the core issues of genocide, oppression and colonialism (and conflating Israel with Jewishness does play into existing antisemitic ideas of the Jewish perpetual foreigner and perpetual dual loyalty)

b) people want it to be complicated. They don't want it to be simple in a way that would create discomfort for them. We don't want to acknowledge that to free Palestine we'd have to take a hit to our own economies by not selling arms to Israel. We don't want to acknowledge that what's practiced openly in Israel is the same structure of systemic injustice underpinning almost all British and American foreign affairs, but with more of a veil over it. We don't want to challenge the underlying assumption that there are those who should rule and those who should be ruled over. But with the assertion that Israel=Jewishness, and the rewriting of history to say there's an Endless Cycle of Violence on Both Sides, Who Can Say Where It Started Really, you're off the hook! It's Complicated! Who Can Really Say?

(this Who Can Really Say thing is fascinating in itself. It's not like it's ancient history! it's been slightly over a century since the birth of the Israeli project! you can look it up! we have the news articles! we have the correspondence! this is my grandparents' generation not the distant mists of time!)

but yeah like fuck 'Israel controls the media' bullshit. It does not require a Shadowy Jewish Cabal of Puppetmasters to create mass appeasement from the media and ruling class, and if you think that's the best explanation you're fucking gross. The media and political establishment of Europe and the US are not being Controlled By The Wicked Jews. They are colonial projects. Israel is a colonial project. Their interests are aligned. It's not complicated it's So Fucking Simple. Our ruling classes, whether in Tel Aviv, Washington, Westminster or Berlin, are enthusiastically invested in the project of global apartheid. It makes them money. It maintained them power. It is in their interests to preserve the impunity of the occupying state where it shores up the civilised West vs barbarian East paradigm. It is not "too complicated" it's just huge, implacable and miserable to recognise.

#red said

[rubyreduji]

of boobs and basses — ljh

summary: jihoon gets to meet his favorite rockstar, things only go up from there

tags: smut (minors dni!), fluff, idol!woozi, rockstar!reader warnings: smoking, explicit sex, multiple smut scenes, multiple orgasms, praise, fingering, biting and marking, oral, cum swallowing, finger sucking, spanking, hair pulling, creampie, crying, choking, squirting, over stimulation wc: 13.3k an: yes the reader and her band are based off of maneskin and vic de angelis. yes there is plot (but also a fair amount of smut ok). yes i love the banner thank you for noticing. here’s the playlist for this fic

Jihoon hates flying. Not because he hates traveling or because he’s afraid of heights, no he just finds it boring. Luckily he has WiFi and he can put his headphones on and sleep through the flight.

He’s sitting next to Seokmin who seems just as restless as Jihoon is, though Jihoon is a bit better at covering it up.

“Hyung, what are you listening to?” Seokmin leans over to try and look at Jihoon’s phone. His phone displays that he’s listening to Backseat Sex by LADYKILLER. “Oh, that’s the band with that girl you’re obsessed with. The one with the boobs.”

The words out of Seokmin’s mouth make Jihoon blush and he snatches his phone away. Seokmin isn't exactly wrong though.

Y/N L/N. Bassist for the rock band LADYKILLER. Jihoon may have a giant crush on you.

You and your band are well known for your ‘edgy’ image and your sexual stage presence. It’s not uncommon to see you on stage sporting nothing but pasties and a fishnet top. Sometimes no pasties at all. It seems these days he can’t even go on Twitter without seeing clips of you performing on stage topless, not that Jihoon minds.

That’s not why Jihoon has a crush on you though. You write most of your band’s songs, and to Jihoon nothing is more attractive than someone who understands music. You also just seem like a cool person, based off of interviews you’ve done and your fan interaction Jihoon has seen on social media. The way you handle fame is very different from how idols do, he likes seeing how free you are with your self expression.

Your music isn’t normally something Jihoon would like, but he saw one of your guys’ performances on Twitter and has been hooked since. Your stage presence is incredible and the chemistry of your group adds to that.

“Hyung this music is really…intense,” Seokmin says to Jihoon. Jihoon isn’t sure how much time has passed since Seokmin last spoke to him but when Jihoon looks over he can see that Seokmin has his earbuds in, listening to one of your songs.

Ex-Fling, off of your Razor Sharp Rampage album. It’s one of Jihoon’s favorite albums. 

“You really enjoy this stuff?” Seokmin asks.

Jihoon flushes a bit, “Yeah. Their lyrics are good.”

Seokmin gives him a skeptical look. “If you say so, hyung.”

As soon as the plane lands in New York, the boys are swept away to the Radio City Music Hall. The VMAs aren’t until tomorrow, but Seventeen is scheduled to do their rehearsals today.

“You guys are a bit early, so you can just wait around and we’ll call you when we’re ready,” one of the stage managers tells the group before running off.

The boys break off to go kill some time but Jihoon stays backstage, watching the way everyone runs around getting things ready. Jihoon’s eyes scan the area around him, looking to see who else is performing tomorrow night. He sees mostly backstage hands until his eyes land on one certain person and Jihoon feels his jaw drop a bit.

This cannot be real.

Jihoon feels like he can’t breathe. This has to be some kind of hallucination or something because there is no way this is actually happening to him.

Y/N L/N. Twenty feet away from him. Dressed in cut off shorts and a tank top. Jihoon’s mouth goes dry.

He’s not sure why he’s so surprised. This is one of the biggest music events in America, and you are a popular American musician. Still, even if he was expecting you to be here, he didn’t expect you to be here. In the same vicinity as him. Even thinking about it makes Jihoon’s ears turn red. He feels like a flustered school boy again.

He was just talking about you to Seokmin and now here you are, right in front of him, looking like a dream. Jihoon gets embarrassed just thinking about how many times he’s stared at photos and videos of you. 

You turn in the direction Jihoon is standing and your eyes light up when you see him. You start to walk towards him and Jihoon can feel his heart thumping in his skull. Surely you’re not walking over to him.

“Oh my god, you’re Woozi!”

You know who he is. Jihoon wants to pass out.

“I’m a fan of your work. I’m not usually a big K-Pop fan, but I like your stuff. Especially the solo you put out. Ruby? That was sick,” you tell him. “Sorry, I’m Y/N. Bassist for LADYKILLER.”

“I-I know,” Jihoon says. He’s thankful Vernon has been helping him brush up on his English. Too bad Vernon can’t help him with how shaky his voice sounds. “I’m also a fan.”

This seems to shock you a bit and an intrigued look crosses your face. “Oh yeah? That’s cool to hear.”

“Y/N! Come on, we’ve got soundchecks!” Jihoon looks over to see one of your bandmates (Tommy, the drummer) calling for you. A bit of dejection fills Jihoon. He wanted to talk with you more.

“Ah, sorry Woozi. It was nice meeting you. I’ll see you later!” You wave goodbye to the idol before running off towards Tommy. It isn’t until you’re out of sight that Jihoon realizes he didn’t say bye back.

“Jihoon-ah! Where have you been?” His members bombard him when he finds them waiting in a green room.

“I-I think I just met the love of my life,” Jihoon mutters.

Everyone looks at him a bit incredulously. It’s Seungcheol who finally speaks up. “What do you mean Jihoon?”

“She’s here, and I talked to her. Y/N.” Jihoon feels like he’s in a trance.

“Yo, from LADYKILLER? I love that band!” It’s Vernon who says this. Of course Vernon likes the rock band with the hot bassist who’s boobs are always on display. That’s so Vernon.

“The girl who’s always showing off her tits?” Soonyoung asks. They’d get canceled so fast if the Carats heard them talking like this.

“Stop saying that about her!” Jihoon’s face is probably red as a tomato right now.

“Is it…not the truth?”

“What girl is showing off her boobs?”

Jihoon wants to curl up in a ball and die.

“Jihoon-hyung has a crush on the bassist from the rock band LADYKILLER. Y/N L/N. Her band does a lot of nude stuff,” Vernon finally explains. “Their music is sick as fuck, but probably not in any of your guys’ taste.” 

“She’s so pretty,” Jihoon mumbles.

“I hope I get to meet them too,” Vernon says. “James is so cool.” James. The guitarist. Jihoon thinks that he would get along well with Vernon.

The other members are all still staring at Jihoon and he wishes they would stop. Yes, he has a crush on a girl who is always topless. Can they please move on.

As if saved by the bell, a voice comes on one of the speakers.

“Seventeen please report to the stage. Seventeen please report to the stage.”

The boys all move to get to the stage, right as your band is finishing up. You wave at Jihoon when you see them approaching and shoot him a wink before following your band off the stage. And yeah, that definitely does things to Jihoon.

For the rest of the day and into the next Jihoon can’t stop thinking about you. He spends his whole night rewatching every one of your music videos, every interview you’ve done, and all the videos Jihoon has saved of your performances from when you were on tour last year. He might have an obsession.

Jihoon would probably have spent the whole morning doing the same too if he wasn’t taken to get ready for the award show. When the group gets to the venue they’re bombarded with cameras but once they get past those they are able to take their seats. Jihoon’s eyes scan the area quickly to see if he can spot your band, but he comes up short.

Soon the actual award show is starting and Jihoon doesn’t pay much attention to most of the awards, other than clapping when he should and noticing a few of his favorite artists when they come up in nominations or when they do their acceptance speeches.

When the time comes Jihoon gets up and goes backstage before their performance. He gets mic'd and then they’re being lined up to go out on stage. As much as Jihoon loves performing, he always finds it a bit strange to perform for people who aren’t Carats.

Jihoon does know that there is one Carat in the audience, so he dedicates his performance to you. The song goes too quickly for Jihoon’s liking and he thinks about how he can’t wait to be on stage with Carats again as soon as he can.

After their performance a few more awards are given, and Seventeen wins the award for the Best K-Pop and Joshua does all of the taking, as per usual.

Jihoon’s focus is lost again, until the announcer says a band name catches his attention.

“Next up to the stage with their hit single ‘Bruised Knees’: LADYKILLER!” The lights on the stage come up to reveal your band standing there.

Jihoon feels like a bit of a pervert from the way his cock twitches in his pants the second he lays eyes on you. You’re dressed in shiny black thigh high boots, a pleated mini skirt with a few chains and belts over it, and a button up shirt that only covers your shoulders and arms. Necklaces adorn your neck and dip down between your breasts that are out in the open. The only thing conserving any of your modesty is the silver star-shaped covers on your nipples. 

Attached to your body is your iconic bass guitar. It’s sleek in a dark blue color. The rest of your band gifted it to you right before your first tour. You look good with it. If Jihoon is being honest you look like sex on a stick and he’s doing everything in his power not to pop a boner right now.

You have a smirk on your face and Jihoon swears you’re staring directly at him. You continue to stare at Jihoon throughout the whole song, which is about rough sex and giving head, like most of LADYKILLER’s songs are about. The songs that you write.

The special thing about your song ‘Bruised Knees’ is that it’s sung by your lead singer, Luka, but also you, with you singing the second verse and the bridge and sharing the chorus with Luka. The rasp in your voice goes straight to Jihoon’s cock and he really hopes that you (or anyone else) can’t notice. 

You usually do backing vocals on the songs, but it’s rare for you to get your own part of the song and maybe Jihoon is biased but he definitely thinks you should sing more. Or maybe not because it’s really turning Jihoon on and he is in public and has a reputation to upkeep. 

When you’re done with your song you wink at Jihoon again and yeah, Jihoon really is screwed because how is it possible someone can look so good. 

By the end of the night your band wins both Best Alternative and Group of the Year. During both of your acceptance speeches Jihoon can’t pull his eyes away from you or the grin you have on your face.

When the award ceremony finally ends everyone is left to mingle. Most of Seventeen goes to greet some of the other K-Pop groups in attendance, but before Jihoon can join them, you’re approaching him with James in tow.

“Hey Woozi! Congrats on your award. This is my bandmate, James, he was wondering if he could meet Vernon?”

Before Jihoon can even respond, Vernon pipes up from behind him. “Yo! You’re James from LADYKILLER! Huge fan of your work man!” Vernon and James quickly engage in a conversation and Jihoon thinks it’s a little funny how similar the two are.

“Your performance was very good,” Jihoon tells you.

“Oh, wow, thanks! You guys too! I’ve seen videos of you guys performing, but seeing it live is a whole new experience. You guys are amazing.”

“Says the winner of Group of the Year.”

You scoff a bit embarrassed. You decide to change the topic. “Are you guys going to the after party?”

“After party?”

“Yeah. It’s basically an excuse for a bunch of musicians to get drunk together and do stupid shit. I’m only going because Tommy wanted to, but it would be cool to see you there. Your whole group too. No big deal if you don’t, but it would be nice to talk more.”

“Ah, yeah, maybe,” Jihoon says. He says maybe but he has already made up his mind that he is going to be there, even if he has to drag Vernon to go with him. There is no way he’s going to miss out on a chance to talk to you.

Vernon doesn’t take any dragging as he happily accepts to join, as it’s more chance for him to talk to the rest of your band. Joshua also decides to tag along with the promise to Seungcheol that no one’s going to get into any trouble.

Once inside the building, it’s clear this is a full on party. The air smells like alcohol and a wide variety of celebrities stand around talking to each other or dancing to the music. It doesn’t take long for James to find Jihoon, Vernon, and Joshua.

He shoots a smirk at Jihoon before telling him, “Y/N’s out on the balcony if you want to find her.” With that he leaves with Vernon and Joshua in tow. 

Jihoon isn’t sure how to take the interaction and if James is giving him a hint or not. Either way Jihoon slips through all of the bodies in the room before finding his way to the balcony. There are a few people milling around but it isn’t hard to find you.

You’re still in your outfit from earlier and you’re standing talking to another guy who’s very close to you. A cigarette is placed between your fingers and Jihoon stares as you wrap your lips around it to take a drag. The way the smoke leaves your lips and blows into the guy’s face is…quite sexy to Jihoon.

Your eyes flit away from the guy for a second and land on Jihoon. Your face lights up as soon as you see him and you quickly leave the guy to approach Jihoon. 

“Woozi! You came!” You smell like cigarette smoke and perfume and Jihoon has never been super into smoking, but the smell is intoxicating coming off of you.

“Jihoon,” Jihoon blurts out.

“What?”

“Call me Jihoon, please.”

You grin. “Okay Jihoon. Are you here alone?”

“Vernon and Joshua are here, but they’re talking to your band.”

“Ah, I see. Well then I guess you’re stuck here with me.” You send him a teasing smirk before taking another drag of your cigarette. The guy you were talking to earlier seems to realize you’re done with him and he shoots a glare at Jihoon before walking back into the building. 

You lean against the railing of the balcony and look at Jihoon with a sultry look. You look so damn good right now in your stage outfit with your cigarette placed between your fingers and the moonlight shining down on you. Jihoon is glad he’s outside because he’s already having trouble breathing and he’s sure it would be worse inside.

“So Jihoon,” you reach to grab his wrist and pull him closer, “what’s a big time K-Pop idol like you doing liking a nasty band like mine?” His skin tingles under the touch of your warm hand against his wrist and he wants to remember this feeling forever.

“I uhm…” Jihoon’s face is hot as he tries to figure out what to say to you. “I saw a video of you guys performing and I enjoyed it. I enjoy how you write all of your songs.”

“Oh? What video was it?” There’s a teasing tone to your voice and Jihoon knows what you’re insinuating. Yes, the video he watched did include you topless. But he swears that wasn’t what interested him. Before he can sputter out an answer, you laugh. “I’m teasing you. I’m well aware of the…allure of my band.” 

Jihoon wants to tell you that he thinks you’re more than just all of the sex appeal but before he can form the words he gets distracted. You’re staring at him intently, your eyes focused on his face. 

“Y/N?”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Jihoon nods. “It’s a little embarrassing to admit, but I kind of have a crush on you.”

Jihoon freezes. Did he hear that right? You, Y/N L/N, have a crush on Jihoon? 

“Ah, I knew that was weird to admit,” you mumble after Jihoon doesn’t respond. 

“No, no, I have a crush on you too!” Jihoon blurts out. 

“O-oh!”

“I’ve been so nervous every time you’ve talked to me,” Jihoon tells you. He’s still nervous. His heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest. 

“That’s…so flattering, oh my god. You’re just so talented and cool and pretty. You’re so pretty,” you say. 

Jihoon grins. “I think you’re prettier.” 

“I- I like that,” you whisper. “I’m really only called hot or sexy, so pretty is nice.” 

“You’re beautiful to me Y/N.” Jihoon reaches out to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear. “I think I’m going to die if I don’t kiss you right now.” 

You quickly stub out your cigarette before grabbing Jihoon’s hand. “Not here.” 

You pull him back inside and you two weave between people before going deeper into the building, away from the crowd. You and Jihoon find an empty hallway and you stop and face Jihoon. His hand is still clamped together with yours as you two stare at each other.

“You can uh, you can kiss me now,” you tell him in a soft voice.

“Okay.”

Jihoon hesitates, just for a second, before leaning in and capturing your lips with his. Jihoon swears that sparks fly the second your lips touch. The kiss starts out gentle but quickly becomes heated and Jihoon pushes you up against the wall, making you let out a low moan into Jihoon’s mouth.

Your fingers bury into the hair at the nape of Jihoon’s neck and you pull him closer. Your bodies are warm as they’re pressed together and Jihoon’s hands run all over your stomach, relishing in the feeling of your warm skin under his fingertips.

Jihoon swipes his tongue against your lips and you open up, letting Jihoon lick into your mouth. Your fingers tighten around Jihoon’s hair, pulling a bit, as you let out small whines from the back of your throat.

Jihoon isn’t usually one for hook-ups, but that doesn’t mean he’s completely inexperienced. He slots his knee between your legs and you automatically grind down against him. Jihoon can already feel the heat of your cunt against his leg and his cock stirs in his pants.

You two break away the kiss. You’re panting but Jihoon doesn’t take a break, leaning in to kiss at your neck. He sucks at the skin, trailing down your neck until your barrage of necklaces stops him. His hands slide up your torso to your exposed chest and he cups your tits. Jihoon kneads at your chest and you let out a soft sigh.

“How many times have you gotten off to pictures of my tits?”

Jihoon takes a shaky breath, “Too many times to count.”

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” you mumble. Your hips are still grinding down against his leg and Jihoon is sure his pant leg is wet by now. “Jihoon, I need you.”

Jihoon's cock is hard in his pants and he doesn't think he's ever been so needy before. Just as Jihoon is about to pull his cock out, his phone rings. Jihoon grabs his phone to dismiss the call, but then he sees it's from Joshua, along with about two dozen texts.

Jihoon groans and picks up the call. "What?"

"Where are you? Seungcheol says our manager is looking for us, we gotta get back right now."

"Right now?"

"Yes. Meet us at the front and if you're not there in three minutes I'm hunting you down."

The phone call ends and Jihoon sighs.

"Ah, you have to leave, don't you?" You ask.

"Yeah."

You look sad for a moment before you perk up. "How long are you guys in town?"

"A few more days. This is kind of a vacation for us."

"Great! Here." You grab Jihoon's phone out of his hand and quickly type something. "That's my number. Maybe we can meet up later in the week. Since you're blue balling me right now," you tease.

"Y-yeah, okay."

"See you later Jihoon." You press a quick kiss to his cheek. Jihoon bids you goodbye and makes his way to the front of the building, hoping Joshua and Vernon don’t notice the straining bulge in his pants.

The next day the rest of Seventeen are planning what they want to do, but Jihoon is texting you. He worries that it might be too soon to ask to see you today, since you just saw him yesterday, but you tell Jihoon you’d be more than happy to see him today.

You send Jihoon a text with an address and when Jihoon pulls it up in maps, it comes up with an apartment complex. Your apartment complex. Jihoon suddenly remembers that your band is New York City based. 

Jihoon is glad that you two will be out of the public eye, but the idea of being alone with you in your apartment drives Jihoon crazy. He really hopes you two can finish what you started last night. After all, you’re not the only one who got blue balled.

Jihoon ignores the rest of his member’s questions as he slips a cap and a mask on and leaves in one of the SUVs, giving the driver your address. Your apartment is closer to the outskirts of the city, but it’s a nicer building. Jihoon is sure that only people who have a lot of money can afford to live here, which makes Jihoon feel better about privacy concerns.

Jihoon puts in the code you gave him to get into the building and he makes his way to your apartment. When he knocks on the door you open it within a few seconds.

“Jihoon!” You grin wide at him. “Come in!”

Your apartment is nice. It’s large with lots of windows and modern interior design. 

“I feel underdressed,” Jihoon mutters. He’s in just sweats and a t-shirt.

“Don’t worry about that. I’m pretty underdressed as well.” You’re in a soft looking skirt and a tank top. You look really good. Jihoon has to look away when he notices you’re not wearing a bra, your nipples pebbling under the cloth of your shirt.

Jihoon knows why he asked you to hang out, but he feels too awkward to jump right into it. You seem to share the same sentiment as you move into the kitchen and grab two cans of coke out of your fridge, handing one to Jihoon. You two move into your living room area to the couch.

You have a few things scattered around and there’s pieces of sheet music all over your coffee table and couch.

“Sorry about that,” you tell him as you pick the papers up before sitting down. “Those are just songs I’m failing to write.”

“Failing?”

“Yeah. I can’t seem to finish them. I get ideas and then get caught up on stupid things,” you say with a shrug.

“I could look at them for you, if you want.” The words leave Jihoon’s mouth before he realizes what he’s saying. “Only if you want me to! I don’t want to overstep or-”

“No, that would be perfect! Could you? Let me get my bass!” You jump up and run into a room before emerging with your signature bass guitar. 

It’s even prettier up close and it looks loved but well taken care of. Jihoon’s gaze doesn’t falter as he watches you play. You yourself are lost in the music, focusing on playing and singing the parts of your song you have finished. Your fingers glide up and down the next of your guitar as you tap your foot against the ground to keep beat. With the sun shining through your open windows, you look beautiful like this. Completely in your element.

Jihoon has to remind himself of the task at hand and when he starts to really listen, he realizes it’s very different from the normal stuff your band does. It’s still just as explicit as your normal work, but it feels more raw and visceral. He brings it up when you’re done.

“Oh yeah, this is actually music for a solo project I’m working on,” you tell him. “I’m really not supposed to tell anyone, but I trust you Jihoon.” Yeah, his stomach does flutter a bit. “When I write I can usually just focus on all of the sexual stuff, but I’m trying to add in more emotions with it, but I’m kind of struggling a lot.” 

“What you have is good. Let me hear some of the other stuff you’re working on and we can go from there.”

That’s how you and Jihoon end up spending a good part of the day working on music together. Jihoon doesn’t mind though, he loves music and something about writing and composing with you feels right. Both of your minds work in different ways, but combined you are able to piece together the songs until they’re perfect.

It’s comfortable, being in your apartment with you, doing the thing he loves. It feels like you two have known each other a lot longer than two days. You two just…click and it makes Jihoon feel warm when he thinks about it.

“Jihoon, thank you so much for doing this for me,” you tell him after you two finish another song. “I know this probably isn’t what you expected to do today.”

“It’s okay, really. I’m really enjoying myself. I think I’d enjoy doing anything with you.”

“Jihoon,” you say softly. You’re staring at him again, with your alluring eyes that just draw Jihoon in. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” Jihoon breathes out and before he can even finish his breath, you’re leaning in. 

You cup Jihoon’s face, kissing him fiercely as you do. Jihoon nearly topples off the couch, but he grabs on to you, kissing you back. Your lips clash together as you do your best to taste each other as much as you can. As much as Jihoon loves song writing, he can’t deny that your songs are very sexually charged, and it’s definitely gotten him worked up in the hours he’s been here.

You two pull away panting, and you rest your forehead against Jihoon’s. “Do you want to…”

“Yes,” Jihoon nods, jostling your head as well. You grin and stand up, grabbing Jihoon’s hand to drag him behind you as you make your way to your bedroom, just like how you dragged him into the empty hallway last night. Hopefully today there won’t be any interruptions.

Once in the bedroom Jihoon grabs your waist and pulls you back into him, your lips crashing together. Your lips are so soft and Jihoon wants to kiss you forever. He reaches up to paw at your chest, feeling your pebbled nipple under his palm. He squeezes a bit too hard at one point and you gasp into Jihoon’s mouth and he decides he wants to get you to do that again.

Jihoon pushes you back until you fall onto the bed and he can crawl over you. He helps you tug off your tank top before leaning down to take one of your tits right into his mouth, his tongue and teeth gently playing with your nipple.

You squirm under his ministrations and Jihoon slots his thigh between your legs so you can grind against him like last time. You seem appreciative of the rough feeling of his knee against you as you roll your hips against him.

“J-Jihoon,” you moan. 

Your tits are slick with his saliva now and he tugs at your nipple with his teeth before releasing it. When he looks down at you he lets out a soft groan, his heavy cock stirring in his boxers. Your hair is already mussed a bit and your face looks warm as you stare up at him with soft eyes. Your bare chest is littered in forming purple and red marks and Jihoon watches as it rises and falls with your breaths. Jihoon can’t help but revel in the fact this is for him only. No fans or cameras or anything else to see you like this, bare and vulnerable.

Jihoon pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side, and he watches the way your eyes trail down his pale, chiseled torso. Your hands reach up for him and you pull him back down on top of you, his weight settling on your body. Your fingers trail up and down his bare skin, your mouth pressed hot and firm against his.

Your leg is thrown around Jihoon’s waist and he rolls his hips into yours, his hard cock brushing up against your wet core. You mewl into Jihoon’s mouth, your fingers digging into the muscles on his back.

“F-fuck Jihoon, please. Please touch me,” you beg, your voice high pitched and desperate, making it impossible to say no (not that Jihoon would).

Jihoon peels his body away from yours once more before hooking his fingers into your skirt and pulling it down your legs, leaving you in just your underwear. Jihoon nearly starts drooling when he sees the lacy, red panties hugging your hips. His fingers trail up your leg and he rubs a thumb over your hip bone against the rough fabric.

“I thought you said you were underdressed. You wore these just for me?”

You nod. “Thought you’d like them.”

“I do. Though, I think I’d like them better off.” With that he tugs the fabric down your legs as well, discarding them on your floor.

You gasp when Jihoon pushes your legs apart so he can get a better look at what’s between them. Your pussy is already shiny and slick with your arousal, begging to be filled by something. Jihoon reaches out and trails his fingertips against your puffy folds, prodding and rubbing in a way that’s nothing but teasing.

You squirm under Jihoon’s touch, but Jihoon just ignores you, too busy admiring how pretty your pussy looks right now. His fingers slip between your folds and dip down into your opening, only to pull back a second later. When his fingers emerge they’re covered in your arousal and he uses the slick to slide his fingers up your slit, catching on your clit. You intake a sharp breath as your body stiffens.

Jihoon grins and starts to rub your clit in gentle circles. Slow and almost lazily, his fingers go around and around with no real vigor. Jihoon can see the way your pussy is leaking, dripping down onto your bed. You’ve been letting out soft whines as Jihoon touches you, impatient for him to do more. 

After what probably feels like an eternity to you, Jihoon finally slips his fingers lower before pushing two right into you. Your cunt is well slicked up and greedily accepts the digits being slipped inside. Your walls are warm and soft around Jihoon’s fingers and he slowly drags his fingers out of you before slamming them back in. He juts his fingers in and out of you as he strokes your walls with his fingertips. 

To Jihoon it’s not much different than playing the piano the way his fingers move skillfully in precise ways to hit all the right places. In a way this is also like making music; the sound of your soft moans and pants filling the air, mixing with the slight squeak of your bed frame and the wet slap of his fingers sliding in and out of your cunt. It’s erotic and intimate and beautiful.

Below him, your body is shaking on the bed. Your fingers grasp at the sheets below you as your hips rut up into Jihoon’s palm. Jihoon’s whole hand is drenched now and his wrist is starting to ache, but he doesn’t dare stop.

“Fuck, fuck, Ji,” you mumble as your legs start to buck into the air. Jihoon pushes your hips down with his free hand and you let out a long moan as your walls clench down on Jihoon’s fingers as this thumb rapidly rubs at your clit.

Your hips roll against Jihoon’s hand for a few more seconds before your body relaxes into the bed. Jihoon stares down at you in awe. You grin up at him.

“That was…so good,” you say, still a bit breathless. “But…I think I need more. Fuck me, please?”

There is no way Jihoon is going to say no to a proposal like that. You direct him in the direction of your condom stash and Jihoon quickly shucks off his pants and boxers. He’s about to start rolling on the condom when he hears you gasp.

“You’re huge,” you say. When Jihoon looks up, you’re staring directly at his crotch. Jihoon’s aware is he…well endowed. His cock is about six inches long, but wide in girth. “Shit Jihoon, get in me right now.”

Jihoon chuckles and continues to roll on the condom before climbing back into the bed. He pushes you back against the mattress and leans down to kiss you. While your lips are still locked together he hikes one of your legs around his waist before lining himself up to your entrance. He rubs his head against your folds before finally pushing the tip in. 

Jihoon’s mouth breaks off of yours and he trails wet kisses down your neck to your chest where he latches onto one of your breasts. His hips rut into you, slowly shoving his fat cock into your desperate cunt as you dig your fingers into his triceps. 

Your walls hug him tightly and it makes his mind a bit fuzzy, his only focus being on you under him. Your scent floods Jihoon’s nose as he buries his face into your tits and he wants nothing more than to eat you whole. He mouths at your peaked nipples, nipping and licking everywhere he can, marking you with his love bites.

Jihoon swears he’s the luckiest man in the world, being able to lay here in your bed, marking up your tits. How many photos has he seen of them? How many people has he seen thirsting over you because of them? And here he is, being able to devour them all for himself.

Inside of you, his cock pounds at your walls, stretching you open. The rhythm Jihoon set is quick, but not brutal, and the drag of his cock in and out of you leaves both of you with a pleasured feeling coursing through your bodies.

“God, you’re so hot,” you moan out. “Used to dream about moments like this. I would watch compilations of you grinding on the floor to the Good to Me choreo.”

The words send a flush to Jihoon’s already warm face. He’s not sure if he should be embarrassed or find that incredibly hot. Maybe a bit of both. All he knows is that he’ll never be able to think of that song the same anymore.

Everything about you is intoxicating to the idol. Particularly in this moment though, the way you keep whimpering his name is driving him mad. Jihoon’s grip on your hips tightens as he rocks into you harder, his cock slamming into your sweet spot, making you cry out even harder.

Jihoon can feel his balls get heavier, ready to cum. He latches his mouth onto your neck and sucks hard as his fingers flit down to rapidly play with your clit. He’s hoping to get you to finish before him, but his orgasm hits him by surprise and his hips are stuttering as he releases his load into the condom. He doesn’t dare stop fucking into you though, even after he’s milked himself dry with your pussy. Jihoon doesn’t let himself rest until your body is shaking under him, your cunt clenching down as your nails dig into Jihoon’s skin. 

When you’re finally coming down from your high, Jihoon gently pulls out of you before tying off the condom and throwing it in the trash. He flops down on the bed next to you and you cuddle right into his side, pressing a kiss right to his pec.

He reaches up to rub his hand up and down your back as you two lay there in silence, pressing kisses to each other’s bare skin.

Jihoon isn’t sure how long you two stay like that, until your kisses get a bit more meaningful and suddenly Jihoon is pinning you against the bed. His cock is already half hard again and it doesn’t take much to get it to full mast.

Your second round is softer, but just as intense. There’s a more romantic passion behind Jihoon’s motions as he takes his time getting you both off. Sensual kisses are traded as you and Jihoon whisper praises back and forth.

Halfway through fucking you Jihoon has the fleeting thought that he doesn’t want this to end. You both end up cumming together, your names falling off of each other’s lips with your foreheads pressed together. It’s oddly adorable and it takes Jihoon longer to pull out of you, completely content to keep his cock in you as you two lay cuddled in your bed.

When Jihoon finally does get up to discard the used condom and get something to clean you up, the sun is starting to set and Jihoon curses. When he checks his phone, his predictions are proved right at the sight of the numerous texts from their manager and Seungcheol.

You seem to realize this as well when Jihoon walks back to the bed and starts to get dressed.

“Do you really have to leave?” You look up at Jihoon. You look so cozy, cuddled up in bed, still naked. It really makes Jihoon want to stay and jump back in bed and tangle himself up with you again.

“Yeah, they need me back at the hotel,” he says instead, a bit discouraged as well.

“You’re in town for a few more days right?”

“Yeah, until Sunday.”

You reach out and grab Jihoon’s hand, pulling him to sit on the bed. You sit up as well, curling your bare body around his clothed form. You press a kiss to his ear.

“If you find the time, you should come to my concert on Friday.” Sleep laces your voice as you talk to Jihoon. Your body is warm pressed against him and Jihoon has never been more tempted to ignore his manager in his life. “We’re having a pop up concert to celebrate our fifth anniversary. I can get you seats in our VIP sections so no one would see you. I’ll text you the details but don’t feel pressured to come. Just, if you and your band want to do something fun, I can get the tickets.”

Jihoon nods. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be there.”

“Good.” Jihoon turns to face you and you press a quick kiss to his lips. “I’ll see you then. I’d walk you out but…” You gesture to your undressed form and Jihoon laughs.

“See you Friday. Sleep well Y/N.” Jihoon presses one final kiss to your lips before leaving your apartment, already missing you by the time he walks out the door.

The rest of the week Jihoon can’t do anything but wait for Friday, excited for your concert. He can’t wait to hear your band play live again, but mostly he can’t wait to see you again. You’ve been plaguing his mind since he last saw you, and it’s not just the sex. Jihoon can’t deny the pure, unbridled chemistry between you two and it makes his heart thump in his chest.

When Jihoon brings up the idea to his members about going to see your concert they all say it could be fun and Jihoon sends you a text affirming their attendance. Jihoon thinks it’s a little silly, his group of K-Pop idols going to go see your very explicit rock band perform.

When Friday comes Jihoon takes his time dressing up and he tries not to hit Soonyoung when he points it out. 

The concert starts at around 8:00pm and doors open an hour earlier than that, but you told Jihoon to arrive a bit earlier so it would be less obvious to spot them going in. When the boys get there a quarter after 6:00, they are ushered in through the back doors.

Backstage hands are bustling around and there are a few people shouting at each other. The venue space is nice, but not too big. From what Jihoon saw online, it’s a pretty exclusive concert to see live, but tickets were sold for online streaming as well.

The boys are shown to their seats in a balcony room with glass covering one of the walls so they can see the stage. It seems to have some kind of film on the other side so they can see out, but nobody can see in.

“Wah, this is nice,” Seokmin says as he looks around the room.

“And for free too, Jihoonie hooked us up well,” Seungcheol adds. “This Y/N girl must like you a lot.”

Jihoon can feel his ears heating up. “Yah, all of you shut up.”

He turns away from his members, too embarrassed to continue the conversation. Jihoon does have to admit, you really are doing a lot giving free tickets to the thirteen men on such a short notice, and to get them into such a nice room.

When the doors open, Jihoon watches as your fans flood into the room. He can hear the chatter of everyone and he smiles at how excited all of your fans are to see you. The whole place packs up soon as everyone waits impatiently for the show to start.

Then the time hits and everyone is screaming as your band walks onto the stage. Jihoon’s eyes automatically fall to your figure and his heart beats against his ribcage. You’ve got a wide smile on your face as you strap your bass onto your body and walk up to your mic.

“Let’s make some noise!” Luka shouts into the mic and everyone erupts into applause. “Welcome to our 5th anniversary pop up concert, we are LADYKILLER, and tonight, we’re gonna have a good time. We’ll be keeping this casual tonight so get comfortable, get hype, and enjoy this first song.” 

Jihoon’s eyes trail up and down your figure as your fingers fly over the strings of your bass. You’re dressed in a black leather boots, a short black denim skirt, and a silky white tank top lined with black lace. Your top looks closer to lingerie than an actual shirt and Jihoon can tell once again you’re not wearing a bra underneath.

You didn’t bother covering the hickies Jihoon left all over your chest and Jihoon feels his face heat up. The dark purple marks are scattered all over your bare skin and even though he’s a bit mortified, he’s also a bit proud.

Jihoon’s not the only one who notices the hickeys and he can feel his members send him suggestive looks as they watch the performance. Jihoon does his best to ignore them and focus on the band playing.

Jihoon admires how good you look up on stage. You really know how to work the crowd and you’re nothing short of mesmerizing to Jihoon. Every video he’s seen of you on stage doesn’t nearly do the real thing justice. After the first four songs your band stops the setlist to do some fan interaction.

“Y/N!” Someone calls from the audience. “Who gave you those hickeys!” 

Jihoon wants to die as his members start to howl in their booth and Jihoon hopes that it’s sound proof. You just laugh along.

“Ah, these? They’re pretty aren’t they?” You run your fingers over your clavicle. “Now for who gave them to me…it’s not very nice of me to kiss and tell is it? But who knows? Maybe the perpetrator is sitting in this very room right now.” You wink at the audience and everyone goes crazy, screaming at your words.

The concert is fun, with lots of crowd interactions as you guys answer questions and give your own anecdotes from the past five years. You guys even tease your next album, sending the crowd into a frenzy when they see the teaser for one of the music videos.

It isn’t until closer to the end of the concert that Jihoon starts to have a real problem. In one of your most popular songs there’s a wicked bass solo that consists of you playing for two minutes straight and it’s one of the reasons why you are one of the more popular members of your group (on top of well…you know). Normally Jihoon would be entranced by the skillful way you play your instrument, putting your whole heart and soul into your solo, but today he can’t focus on anything other than the way you look.

You look sultry as you smirk out at the audience. At one point your eyes flit up to where Jihoon is sitting and you wink and Jihoon thinks he might pass out from how sexy you look right now. You put your whole body into playing and when you bend over, Jihoon can see your bare tits hanging freely in the air and he has to shift around to adjust his growing hard on. He doesn’t know if he should worship or despise whoever your stylist is.

Behind him, he can hear Jeonghan and Joshua snickering. Jihoon does his best to think about anything that will get his semi-hard cock to go down, but unfortunately for him the last song in your set list is hands down the most sexually charged. 

As soon as the opening notes are heard, the whole atmosphere of the room changes. The lights dim as red accent lights bask the stage. Jihoon can’t peel his eyes away from you as you move with the music, your hips swaying along in a hypnotizing way.

He gasps a bit when Luka comes up behind you and grabs your hips, practically grinding on you as he sways with you. His hands travel up your sides and he brushes his fingertips over the upper part of your chest. When his hands move back down, this time they’re pressed to your front, dragging over your tits and down your stomach before he finally pulls away.

The whole time the crowd is hooked, and so is Jihoon. He’s a bit jealous that someone else is touching you in such an intimate way, but he knows it’s nothing but fan service, so he instead focused on how incredibly erotic he finds the moment, imagining he’s the one touching you instead.

After the song is finished your band thanks the audience before exiting the stage. The whole room is still buzzing with energy as they start to exit and Jihoon’s members seem to be hyped up as well.

“I see why you like them Jihoon,” Mingyu says and Jeonghan snorts.

“I can too.”

Jihoon groans but thankfully he’s saved when someone comes to retrieve them and guide them to the backstage area where your band is standing. You’re leaning against an audio case, drinking a bottle of water. Your body is shining with the post concert glow Jihoon is so familiar with. Jihoon is lost staring at you when a voice grabs his attention.

“Hey Y/N, isn’t that your boyfriend?” It’s Tommy who says this as he glances over to where Jihoon and the rest of Seventeen stands. Jihoon tries not to get flustered over his choice of words.

When you look over to where Tommy is motioning, your face instantly lights up at the sight of Jihoon. You stand up and cross the stage quickly before drawing Jihoon into a hug. “Jihoon!”

Jihoon snakes his arms around you and hugs you back. Your body is still warm from performing on stage and you feel nice pressed up against him. “Hi Y/N.”

“I missed you,” you whisper in his ear, just soft enough that only he can hear. His heart flutters at the words.

“Yo!” At the loud shouting you and Jihoon pull apart, just in time to see Vernon and James engage in a bro hug. You giggle at the two boys and Jihoon realizes that your hand has moved to hold onto his tightly.

The rest of your band is walking over and Tommy and Luka greet Vernon and Joshua. While everyone makes conversation you squeeze Jihoon’s hand and pull him away. He follows after, figuring his boys will be occupied with your boys for a while.

You pull Jihoon away from the backstage area and into your dressing room. It’s nice and large with a plush looking couch pushed against one wall. As soon as you close the door of your room you’re pushing Jihoon onto the couch and climbing on top of him, placing a leg on either side of his thick thighs. Automatically Jihoon’s hands fly up to hold your waist.

Your own hands cup Jihoon’s face as you kiss him softly. He kisses you back, soft and sweet. When you pull away from him, you wrap your arms around his neck, cuddling into his body.

“I’m so happy to see you.”

Jihoon is almost relieved to hear those words. The whole week he questioned if he was weird to miss you so much after only meeting twice. He likes knowing you feel the same.

“I’m happy to see you too. You looked great up there.” As he talks to you his hands rub up and down your sides, enjoying the silky feeling of your shirt under his palms.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Really great.” Jihoon shifts under you a bit, hoping you get the message. You obviously do when you giggle and lean down, pressing your mouth to his ear.

“You know Ji, I’m always so horny after performing. Help a girl out?”

Jihoon nods frantically and then before he can even blink your mouth is pressed up against his in a hot, wet kiss. Your fingers grasp the back of his neck, pulling him towards you and he wraps his arms around your waist, hugging you close to him. Jihoon can’t help but love the feeling of being able to have you like this again. You two fit together nicely and Jihoon wants to keep you in his lap forever.

Your thighs are tightly locked around his waist as you grind down on his crotch. Jihoon’s arms tighten around you even more as he bucks up into you. He’s been trying to keep his boner at bay but now that he has you all alone, he can stop caring. He rubs himself up against your warm core, already wet through your panties.

Something about the way you so easily fall apart in Jihoon’s arms drives him particularly mad. The soft whimpers that leave the back of your throat as you grasp at him more and more desperately. When Jihoon pulls away to catch his breath your lips are trailing after his, not quite wanting to let him go soon. Maybe Jihoon likes it because he’s just as obsessed with you as you are with him. He leans down to press open mouthed kisses to your throat and you giggle as he does.

“Didn’t even bother hiding them,” Jihoon mutters, his fingers trailing across the old bruises splayed across your chest.

“I wanted to show them off! You did such a pretty job.” You shake your chest a bit to show them off more, but Jihoon can only focus on the jiggle of your tits in his face. Jihoon dives down, his tongue laving right over them.

He can taste the salt of your sweat on your skin and it’s oddly intoxicating mixed with the scent of your expensive perfume and your weight pressing down on him. His cock is aching in his pants now, begging to find release.

You seem to realize this as you pull away from Jihoon and slip off his lap and onto the floor. The sight of you on your knees in front of Jihoon is nearly enough to make him cum on the spot. You look up at him with big pleading eyes and Jihoon forces himself to burn the image into his memory.

“Ji,” you whine, “lemme suck you. Please. You look so good tonight, I need your cock between my lips.”

Jihoon’s in a pair of blue jeans, a white t-shirt, and a leather jacket. It’s not much but he’s aware he looks good in the get up. He’s glad you’ve noticed as well. Jihoon internally gloats that while Soonyoung might of made fun of him, he’s the one getting his dick wet right now.

Jihoon shifts his hips a bit to signal you to go ahead and you dive right in, unzipping his pants and taking his cock out. It springs out of its constraints, heavy and hard as you hold it in your grasp. Without breaking eye contact with Jihoon you lean down and wrap your lips around the tip, sucking gently.

Jihoon takes an unsteady breath, not sure how long he’ll be able to hold out. He’s never wanted to cum as badly as he does now, watching the sight of your warm, soft lips on his thick, red cock head. Jihoon feels your tongue press up against his sensitive tip, lapping at where his precum has started to pearl, and he shudders.

He has to stop himself from grabbing your head and shoving it down his length. Instead he digs his fingers into the couch cushions next to him and goes his best not to thrust up into your mouth. You must sense Jihoon’s eagerness though, as you stop your coy act and widen your jaw, taking more of him in you. You bob your head up and down, your lips and tongue dragging against his cock, shooting pleasure through Jihoon’s body.

The sounds your mouth makes are the lewdest noises Jihoon has ever heard and he gets a picture to match it as he stares down at you. Your hands are wrapped around his length where your mouth can’t reach and your eyes are closed, focused on getting Jihoon off.

Your mouth and hands are skilled as you quickly work Jihoon to his high. You suck particularly hard at his tip and without much warning he’s bucking up into your throat, spilling his seed into you. Jihoon almost cums a second time just from watching you swallow down the load he gave you.

When you’re done swallowing, you open your mouth for Jihoon to see you took all of it and Jihoon can’t help himself from grabbing your jaw and running his thumb across your bottom lip before pushing it into your mouth. You automatically wrap your lips around it, sucking on it just like you did with his cock a few seconds ago. When you finally pop the digit out of your mouth, Jihoon’s cock is already starting to stir again.

Jihoon is aware you’ve probably done a lot of hooks up before. You’re a rockstar who writes songs about sex, of course you have to get your inspiration from somewhere. Still, the thought makes Jihoon a bit jealous and he has to push it down in turn to watch you start to strip for him.

You start with your top, easily tugging it over your head and tossing it to the side. Your tits are just as perfect as Jihoon remembers them. Jihoon stands up from the couch, his dick still hanging out of his jeans, as he crosses to where you’re standing. Without saying a word he reaches out and gropes your tits in his palms. As his fingers knead at your breasts, he leans in, connecting your lips together.

You let out a hiss that turns into a moan as Jihoon pinches your left nipple hard. Your hands scramble to push Jihoon’s jacket off his shoulders, the article of clothing falling to the ground with your discarded shirt.

His shirt is the next to go and Jihoon lets out a dissatisfied grunt when he has to pull his mouth away from yours. He’s not too upset by it though, because now he gets to feel your tits press up against his own chest. Both of your bodies are on fire and the actual heat of your dressing room isn’t helping either, suffocating his thoughts so the only thing on his mind is you and your pretty little cunt.

Speaking of your pretty little cunt, Jihoon’s fingers work frantically at the buttons of your skirt so he can have better access to it. He pushes your skirt down your hips and grabs one of your thighs, wrapping it around his waist so he can grind his dripping cock against your drenched panties. He groans against your shoulder when he feels the rough fabric of the lace against his tip.

Jihoon steps back from you to take off the rest of his clothes and he gets a good look at you then. Your lips are dark and swollen from how aggressively you two have been kissing and your chest is already starting to sprout new bruises from Jihoon’s relentless attacks on the soft skin. You’ve also shed your last layer and Jihoon gets a good look at your needy pussy.

Jihoon lets out a long exhale, his body screaming at him to fuck you.

He’s about to when he comes to a realization, causing him to curse softly. He doesn’t have a condom. He tells you that.

“Doesn't matter,” you tell him. “I’m on the pill and I’m 100% clean. Condoms were just a secondary precaution, but I need you in me now. Please Jihoon, just fuck me.” 

The thought sends Jihoon off. You just gave him permission to fuck you raw. The thought of your warm, wet walls wrapped around Jihoon’s cock without any barriers has Jihoon grabbing you and bending you over right there. You yelp a bit at being thrown around, but it quickly turns into a moan when you feel Jihoon grind up against your exposed folds.

“Ah~ Jihoon, please,” you beg. You sound so needy that Jihoon has no choice but to shove his cock into you. Your walls wrap around him desperately as he pushes into you. The fit is tight and Jihoon has to take a shaky breath before he starts to ram into you.

He can tell his cock is still just a bit too girthy for you from the way you whine every time he re-enters you. He slides his hand up your spine to between your shoulder blades and he presses down, pushing you into the couch cushions. 

Jihoon feels like he’s in a porno with the way he’s fucking you. When he glances to where your bodies are connected, a creamy ring has started to form around his base from your pussy. The recoil of your ass as he thrusts into you is hypnotizing and he has to pull his eyes away not to get too distracted. He slides his hand up further and into your hair, pulling back to lift your head off the couch.

Jihoon can’t believe he gets to be here with you like this again, his cock digging deep into your sweet cunt. His fingers tug at your hair a bit harder and your walls clench down around him, sending Jihoon’s brain and dick into a frenzy. 

“You like that jagiya?”

“Yes, yes, fuck Jihoon. I love it. Love your big fat cock and your strong hands and your sexy voice,” you ramble on, your voice tense and labored, taking breaks between your words just to catch your breath. 

Jihoon’s free hand lifts up off your hip, only to go flying back down against your ass, resounding in a loud slap echoing through the room mixed with your moan. Your ass is red when he pulls his hand back and Jihoon does it twice more before smiling, satisfied with the way it seemed to turn your brain off even more.

You look so pretty under him, sharing your pleasure with Jihoon as he uses your body to get himself off. When Jihoon glances at your face, your eyes are closed shut, tears spilling down your cheeks as a line of drool connects from your mouth to the couch. Jihoon’s stomach tightens as he watches you and he knows he’s close.

“Shit, Y/N,” Jihoon growls out as a warning before he’s pressing his hips flush against your, releasing his load straight into your pussy. At the feeling of his cum shooting into you, you cry out, your walls clenching down on him, pulsating.

Jihoon is panting as he pulls out of you, him cum spilling out along with it. His cum slides to the floor in thick globs and you groan at the feeling of it exiting your pussy. With shaky legs you stand up, clinging to Jihoon for support as you pull him into a kiss. Your mouths and teeth clash together, but it doesn’t matter because your lips are tangling together and Jihoon can taste you against his tongue and for now that subdues the urge to devour you.

Despite both of you just cumming, neither of you give yourselves time to rest. You push Jihoon back onto the couch before climbing into his lap again. Only this time, you line yourself back up with his cock before sinking down on him. His cock is still hard and he’s still terribly turned on so he’s not complaining. He’s grateful for his idol stamina or else he’s not sure he would be able to keep up with your insatiable desires.

“Shit, you’re still so tight,” Jihoon grunts. “Your cunt is perfect for my cock. So good for me.”

His grip on your hips is tight, probably too tight, but he can’t be bothered to care when your head is thrown back and the nastiest sounds are leaving your lips. Your tits bounce freely in his face as you fuck yourself on his lap and Jihoon can’t do anything other than stare in awe at them, enjoying the show.

“God Jihoon, you feel so good in me,” you cry out. Your fingers are perched on his shoulders, your fingers digging into the muscle so you can anchor yourself better.

As you bounce up and down on Jihoon’s cock, more of his cum pushes out of your cunt and drips onto Jihoon’s lap along with all of the slick your pussy is producing. Jihoon wants to cum in you again, already obsessed with filling up your tight cunt with his seed. 

His hands travel up your body and he gropes your tits harshly, pinch the nipples and scraping his teeth over your sensitive buds. You look like you’re about to ascend to heaven as you roll your eyes back into your head, moaning like your life depends on it.

It’s enough to get Jihoon desperate to go over the edge and he wraps his arms around your hips before pulling your body against his. You press your weight against his body, your legs giving out on you, as Jihoon starts to buck up into your sweet cunt. He’s sure the pressure is brutal inside of you, leaving you with a bruised cervix for later, but Jihoon only has one focus right now so he can’t bother being nice. He buries his face in your neck, doing everything to reach his high.

You seem to reach yours first, your body trembling in his grip as you trap his cock in a vice grip. This is enough to finally get Jihoon to cum for a third time tonight, spilling it all into your pussy again.

Jihoon’s body is sweaty and hot and he’s exhausted as he slumps back against the couch, out of breath with no thoughts in his mind. You don’t look much better as you drop your body on top of his, your eyes closing as you nuzzle your head against his chest.

Neither of you say anything for a while, just doing your best to regain your bearings and enjoy the feeling of your bodies sandwiched together. At some point Jihoon’s now flaccid cock slips out of you, but you don’t get off his lap yet. 

When you two do finally pull apart Jihoon is still feeling a bit light headed but he’s at least back down on Earth as he kisses your tear stained cheeks, rubbing your back.

“How are you feeling?”

“Good, very good,” you tell him. “Just…very tired now.”

Jihoon chuckles and stands up to grab a water bottle from the mini fridge sitting to the side of the room. You take it and chug the whole thing down. While you do that Jihoon looks around the room for something to clean you both up with. There’s a box of tissues sitting on your vanity and he grabs that and starts to wipe himself down before doing the same to you. It’s not the best clean up he’s ever done, but it’s the best he can do for now.

Jihoon finds his clothes and puts his boxers back on before crawling back onto the couch next to you. You lean against him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“You’re cute, you know that?” You mumble into Jihoon’s collarbone. “Right before you were gonna cum, you started mumbling in Korean.”

Jihoon flushes. He didn’t even know he was talking, let alone in Korean.

He settles on saying, “Your moans are cuter though.”

You stay silent for a moment before speaking up again, your voice more somber this time. “You’re leaving soon right?”

“Yeah, Sunday morning, so in two days.”

You snuggle a bit closer into Jihoon. “Would it be ridiculous to say I think I’ve gotten attached to you.”

Jihoon huffs out a laugh. “Not ridiculous, I think I feel the same.”

The truth is, Jihoon has gotten attached to you, even after only two days of interaction. There’s something so alluring about you that draws Jihoon in. Just like a siren calling a fisherman, you’ve drawn him in and it’s only due time before he crashes.

Your presence is comfortable and everything feels natural with you, it feels right. Jihoon doesn’t want it to end. He wants to store you away in his suitcase and bring you back to Korea with him. Everyday he’d get to wake up next to you, your pretty smile being the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes. You two would spend your days making music and cuddling on the couch. Then at the end of the day Jihoon would be able to press you into the mattress and have his way with you, enjoying the taste of you lingering in his mouth and soaking up every pretty sound he pulls from your lips.

But, he can’t. He has to leave you here, thousands of miles away from him, with a thirteen hour time difference from New York to Seoul. Not to mention you have your own careers and Jihoon is well aware of the time and effort his own takes. The Carats absolutely wouldn’t have it if it was revealed he has a girlfriend, who he was living with. Especially one with your public image. They would rip you to shred.

But god does Jihoon wish it would work out.

“Hey,” you say softly. Your finger is tracing patterns against his chest. “Would you maybe…want to spend the night at my place?”

Jihoon looks down at you and nods. He doesn’t care if his managers are going to kill him, he’s going to spend as much time with you as he can before he leaves. He shoots a quick message to his members who promise they’ll cover for him and then before he knows it he’s being driven to your apartment.

When you two get into your unit you order food for the two of you and then you fall asleep in Jihoon’s arms when you’re done eating. It’s painfully domestic and Jihoon holds you the whole night, afraid to let you go.

In the morning, when you wake up, Jihoon bombards you with a barrage of kisses and you giggle as you pull Jihoon’s body even closer to yours. It doesn’t take long to get both of you riled up, leading to your clothes strewn on the floor as Jihoon sinks himself into you once more.

That’s how you two spend the rest of your day, limbs tangled together, making love as Jihoon does his best to burn the feeling of your bare body pressing against him into his memory.

His head is currently shoved between your thighs, suffocating in your drenched pussy. You’ve had his thigh, fingers, and cock once but Jihoon is determined to get you off at least five times today. For now he’s taking his time though. His mouth moves slowly, teasing you so you get unbearably needy for Jihoon to give you more.

His tongue drags through your folds, collecting your slick and swallowing it down. Between the taste of your arousal, the sweet smell of your cunt, and the feel of your pussy on his tongue, Jihoon’s mind is muddled with a lust induced haze and Jihoon wonders if this is what it feels like to get high.

Jihoon’s plump lips wrap around your clit and he sucks on it gently, just enough to stimulate you but not enough to actually do anything. You squirm and whine and tug at Jihoon’s hair, but he ignores your attempts to get him to do more, content with driving you crazy for now.

Your legs squeeze tight around Jihoon’s neck, pulling him even further into your cunt. Your thighs are like earmuffs over his ears, cutting off his last sense so there’s nothing but you. Jihoon ruts his hips into the mattress under him, his own cock leaking and hard. He has a bit more resolve than you though, and he clamps his thick hands on your thighs, prying them apart once more.

“Please Jihoon,” you beg. “I need more.”

Jihoon pretends he can’t hear you as drags his lips to kiss over your folds like he’s making out with your pussy. He does this a few more times before moving his mouth off your core completely, turning his head so he can suck marks into your thighs. 

“Jihoon,” your voice sounds genuinely desperate, like if Jihoon doesn’t do anything you’ll actually combust. This is what Jihoon has been waiting for and he tightens his grip on you before diving straight into your cunt.

His motions have purpose behind them now as he licks at your sopping cunt. His nose bumps against your clit as his tongue flick back and forth over your hole. Your body is now trembling under him as you cry out in pleasure.

“Fuck, fuck, Jihoon, shit.” The words tumble out of your mouth as your legs shake around his head. He keeps eating your pussy out until your body goes limp.

He’s a bit surprised you came so fast, but he guesses you were pretty worked up from all of the teasing. And the previous orgasms.

Jihoon’s only cum once though, compared to the four times you have, and he’s not going to let you rest until he gets his second in. He picks himself up from between your legs and climbs over your body. He kisses up your torso, stopping at your tits for a moment, before finally making his way to your lips.

He kisses you hard and fierce, too impatient to be soft at the moment. You moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue. Your hips buck up into him when you feel his cock drag over your slit, his precum spreading against your folds. Jihoon is sure he could get off just like this, rubbing your pussy on his cock, and if he was just a tad bit more desperate he would, but he’s still slightly level headed enough to make the decision he wants to cum inside of you.

Jihoon spreads your legs wide before sheathing himself right into you. Your cunt allows him in easily, slick and stretched out from all of Jihoon’s previous efforts. His pubes brush up against your clit as he bottoms out in one go.

You let out a weak moan as Jihoon lets out his own deep sigh. Your walls are warm and soft around his aching dick and Jihoon imagines this is exactly what heaven feels like. As much as Jihoon would like to take his time with you, he’s already done that earlier and while teasing you, he got himself a bit too worked up as well. 

Jihoon doesn’t waste time, plunging his cock in and out of your cunt. His cock hits deeper and harder into you each time, slamming into your plush walls. The noises you make make Jihoon want to fuck you even harder and he grabs your legs and pushes them up against your chest, exposing your cunt to him even more. The change in angle has his tip digging into a new place, making you moan even louder.

“Ji, Ji, Ji,” you chant as the man in question continues to slam his hips into yours. Jihoon groans as he looks down at you, his hands pushing down against your legs to keep them in place, folding you in half. 

“So pretty,” Jihoon grunts. “My pretty baby feels good from my cock?”

“Yes, yes, so much. Feels soooo good Jihoon.” You’re babbling at this point, barely coherent from the pleasure you feel. The thought makes Jihoon smirk, gaining the urge to drive you completely for the edge. 

One of his hands releases your legs and moves up to your neck, clamping around it. His fingers squeeze firmly and you gasp a bit. He feels your cunt tighten around him, causing him to squeeze even harder. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you throw your head back against your pillow.

Your skin is burning under Jihoon’s palm and he can feel the way your neck muscles move under his fingertips from the way you’re doing your best to let out strangled moans. Your body is already spent from the past four orgasms he’s given you, but he’s still not going to go easy on you. 

He wants you crying from his cock. Coming undone again and again and again until you can’t remember anything other than Jihoon. Nobody will ever be able to be as good as him and every time you go to write a new song, you think of him and this moment.

Your pussy keeps clenching down around him and Jihoon closes his eyes, trying to drag this out even more. He knows he won’t last much longer though. The warmth of the room combined with the warmth of your body has his own skin heating up, fogging up his brain. 

Jihoon feels your hand wrap around his wrist, pulling his fingers off your neck and moving them so they slip into your mouth. You suck on the digits, swirling your tongue around them, your taste buds pressing against his pads and that’s all it takes to send Jihoon over the edge. He cums deep into you, his cum shooting against your cervix.

Jihoon’s hips don’t stop though, pounding brutally into you, milking himself with your cunt. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth and slips them between your bodies, flicking and rubbing at your clit furiously. It isn’t until he feels you tense up under him, that he finally pulls his dick out of you. As soon as he does, the flood gates are broken and your cunt is spraying your juices all over the bed and Jihoon. 

The idol watches the way your pussy pulsates when you’re done squirting. You look completely wrecked and ready to pass out and Jihoon sees that as a job well done. Your leg keeps twitching every so often and Jihoon reaches over and massages it.

You whine a bit at his touch but don’t pull away. “‘M so sensitive.”

“You did so good for me,” Jihoon coos. 

When Jihoon is sure that you’re not going to pass out he gets up and pads into the kitchen to get you a glass of water. When he gets back to the room he finds that you’ve rolled out of the wet spot you made and are now sitting up.

You take the water from him and chug it down before making a feeble attempt to stand up. Your legs shake a bit and Jihoon has to steady you. He helps you to the bathroom where he draws you a bath and moves back to your room to change out the sheets.

When you get out of your bath you crawl back into the freshly changed bed where Jihoon is laying waiting. You don’t hesitate to snuggle down into his arms.

“I don’t want you to leave,” you admit in a small voice.

Jihoon sighs. He doesn’t want to leave either.

“I know that it’s unreasonable to do long distance,” you continue, “and that we both have busy schedules but, I’d really like it if we kept in touch. Then maybe the next time you’re in America, or if I go to Korea, we could meet up again.”

Jihoon kisses the top of your head. “I’d really like that too.”

In reality, Jihoon isn’t sure what’s going to happen. He’d like to think that you guys will keep in touch because he really hopes you do and for once he’s letting himself be an optimist. It’s not exactly like he’ll be able to forget about you anyway, so it’s better to keep a place open for you in his heart.

Jihoon holds you tight until he no longer can and he leaves you once more with nothing but a kiss and a promise to text you. His heart aches in a way he didn’t know was possible as he boards the plane to fly back home to Korea. Just another reason for Jihoon to hate flying.

This time Vernon sits next to him and the younger holds an earbud out to him. Jihoon slips it into his ear and the sound of a familiar bass solo floods his mind. Jihoon sends a grateful look at his dongsaeng, letting your playing soothe his heart. 

By the time the song ends Jihoon’s head is filled with ideas for songs about you and his heart is warm with a feeling that everything is going to work out in the end.

.

.

.

"Did you hear who's going to be featured on LADYKILLER's new track?"

"No, who?"

"Woozi and Vernon from Seventeen."

"Damn, I already know it's gonna be good. I mean, Y/N and Woozi? Sounds like a match made in heaven."

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#lee jihoon #woozi #woozi smut #woozi fanfic #woozi x reader #seventeen #seventeen smut #seventeen fanfic #kpop #kpop smut #rru.fics #rru.writes #★ mdni

[craftingcreatures]

Today I want to talk about the Pacific Northwest Tree Octopus (Octopus paxarbolis).

OK, so for those who don't know, the PNW Tree Octopus was an internet hoax created in 1998 consisting of a website detailing the animal's life history and conservation efforts. It's completely fake - saying that up front. This animal never existed.

But if you look at this from a speculative biology standpoint? It's genius.

There is one, and only one, thing preventing Octopus from colonizing and being hugely successful in terrestrial environments in the PNW, and that's the fact that no cephalopod has ever been able to overcome the osmotic stress of inhabiting freshwater. We don't know why this is; other mollusks evolved freshwater forms just fine. But if you hand-wave away that one, single limiting factor, the PNW is just primed for a terrestrial octopus invasion.

The Pacific coast of North America is an active tectonic boundary, meaning the coast transitions pretty much immediately into the Cascade and Coastal mountain ranges (contrast with the east coast and its broad Atlantic plain). It's also a lush temperate rainforest, with very high precipitation. This means lots and lots of high-gradient mountain streams with lots of waterfalls and rapids and cold, highly oxygenated water, and not as many large, meandering rivers.

This has important consequences on the freshwater fauna. For one, there are not many freshwater fish in the Pacific Northwest - the rapids and waterfalls are extremely hard to traverse, so many mountain streams are fish-free. There also just isn't much fish diversity in the first place - there's sturgeon in the big rivers, salmonids, a few sculpin and cyprinids and... that's pretty much it. These cold northern rivers are positively impoverished compared to the thriving fish communities of the Mississippi or Rio Grande.

Few fish means few predators, and depending on the size of the first freshwater octopus, salmon and trout just wouldn't be much of a threat. And while these rivers don't have much in the way of fish diversity, there's lots of prey available - crayfish, leeches, mosquito larvae, frogs and tadpoles, water striders, and other aquatic insects, just to name a few. So the first Octopus pioneers to invade the rivers would be entering what essentially amounts to a predator-free environment with lots and lots of food and no competition. Great for colonization.

These ideal conditions get even better once you get up past the rapids and waterfalls, since there's no fish whatsoever in those streams. Octopus, with their sucker-lined arms, are perfectly equipped to navigate fast-moving, rocky-bedded streams and climb up cliffs. They'd also be well able to traverse short stretches of dry ground to access even more isolated pools and ponds. In fact, once Octopus overcome the osmoregulation problem there's nothing at all preventing them from colonizing land in earnest, since the PNW rainforests are so wet; there's no danger of drying out.

Finally there's the question of reproduction. Octopus are famously attentive mothers, because they need to keep the water around their eggs moving and well-oxygenated. In a mountain stream, this wouldn't be an issue, because the cold, turbulent water holds lots and lots of oxygen. Breeding in high mountain streams would be ideal, and the mothers might not even need to attend to their eggs, freeing them up to evolve away from semelparity and allowing them to reproduce more than once in their lives; their populations would thus increase rapidly and dramatically.

I think, if octopus managed to invade freshwater ecosystems in the PNW, it would dramatically change the ecology much like an invasive species. They'd be unstoppable predators of frogs, bugs, slugs, maybe even larger animals like snakes, birds, and small mammals. Nothing would eat them except maybe herons, and things like bears and raccoons would give them a wide berth due to their venom. They would rule that landscape.

The tl;dr is that the PNW is primed for invasion by cephalopods, if only they could manage to overcome the osmoregulation problem and live in freshwater. If the Pacific Northwest Tree Octopus really did exist, it wouldn't be a shy and reclusive species on the brink of extinction; it would be a pest, an invasive, overpopulated menace you couldn't get rid of if you wanted to. I can just imagine them crawling up onto people's bird feeders and either stealing the nuts or luring in unsuspecting sparrows and starlings. They would sit in the trees and throw pinecones at hikers for fun. They would be some unholy mixture of snake and slug with the personality of a magpie and I am incensed that they only exist in fiction.

#long post #octopus #speculative biology #speculative evolution #spec bio #spec evo #pacific northwest #pacific northwest tree octopus #truly a shame that there are no freshwater or terrestrial cephalopods

[rouiyan]

𝘞𝘌’𝘙𝘌 𝘕𝘖𝘛 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘓𝘓𝘠 𝘚𝘛𝘙𝘈𝘕𝘎𝘌𝘙𝘚 [ 𝘭.𝘮𝘬 ]

⧏ back to teaser || redirect to playlist ⧐

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"not trying to make her uncomfortable?"

"yeah, i guess."

"not wanting her to hate you more?"

"there's that too."

"not over her?"

"hey, not cool."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

in the heat of the summer…

“do i really have to explain?”

you know that you should be my boy.

“give it a go at least.”

in the heat of the summer…

“well…”

you’re so different from the rest.

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

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

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

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

“do you remember?”

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

“do you remember last summer at the lake?”

mind emptied, it’s all you know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and perhaps that’s what hurts the most.

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

“what’d you say?”

“nothing much, really—”

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

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

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

“mark, you whole-hearted idiot. wh—”

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

“i think only you were having a mo—”

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

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

“—but it’s all cool now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what time is it?”

“about 2:20.”

“where are we?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“may i join you?”

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

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

“when should we get back on the road?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“do you ever feel like they betrayed you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“y/n...what the fuck is that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“y/n.”

“yeah?”

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

“okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what won’t do?”

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

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

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

“well you’re not wrong there.”

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

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

“you have fun out there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

「 DAY 03, 8:21 AM 」 —  HIS APOLOGY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i should have just known.”

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

「  00:00  」 —  AMARANTH

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“thank you.”

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

“for comforting me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i feel like i know nothing.”

and he doesn’t bother to elaborate further.

“what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

right person, right time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“how did you get over your first love?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“sorry for what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“us next?”

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

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

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

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

[alwaysbewoke]

being anti-genocide is not allowed on meta

like i said before, i don't mess with shaun king like that, but that being said, many things about one thing can be true at the same time. it is very clear that there is a wave of censorship happening across social media against pro-palestinian content in favor of israeli propaganda. so whether or not you like shaun or not, it is very clear what is happening and why. there is clearly a genocide happening in gaza that is being perpetuated by colonizing power. a genocide against an indigenous population for land, resources, and power. basically the same thing america did to the natives here. had it not been for people like shaun king (flawed as he may be), many people would not be aware of the heinous acts of israel against the palestinian people right now. so even as someone who is not a shaun king fan, i am not so myopic in my view of things to not realize that he served a positive purpose when it comes to the israeli genocide of palestinians.

on a much larger scale, whenever a platform or a power attacks someone popular, one of the goals is to send a message to everyone else that they are not safe and that they should back off. it's like a football coach picking on and cursing out their hall of fame quarterback. when everyone else who isn't as popular or powerful sees that on the team, they immediately realize that they must fall in line or worse can happen to them. that's the goal of banning shaun king from ig. however as a black man who understands how connected all oppressive systems are, we cannot slow down. may i remind all my brothers and sisters that israel is where police forces like the nypd go and train in abusive violent tactics, which they then come back to america and overwhelmingly exercise on black and brown bodies. so if you think this does not affect you, you are sadly and deeply mistaken. additionally, this kind of censorship is going to spread. if we don't fight back, it won't be long before you will be arrested for speaking out against israel. this is what israel wants, and they have the money and political power to make it happen. you can either sit back and let it happen or you can fight back. however, make no mistake, it's coming, and this is the first major blow that the enemy has struck in their offensive against our free speech.

#censorship #pro palestinian #israeli propaganda #gaza genocide #colonization #indigenous rights #shaun king #awareness #oppression #free speech #fight back #police training #black lives matter #political power #solidarity #speak out #no censorship #resist #palestine solidarity #human rights

[jhypeach]

After Midnight [2:00 am]

pairing: mark lee x fem reader warnings: clit play, shower sex, smut smut word count: 1k+ an: the aftermath of mark lee appearing on the live just wearing a robe and the members saw his underwear. i feel ill 😵‍💫

It was almost midnight, and Mark hadn't returned to your hotel room yet. He asked me to accompany him from their America leg until today's one-day concert show in Singapore. There is little to do when I go over the world with him and the members. We can only be our usual selves sometimes when fans aren't around since our relationship isn't publicly announced. So, I spent 80% of my stay in every country in the hotel room, and the remaining 20% was in their makeup room, talking and getting nervous with the members.

Since it's almost 12 and Mark isn't here yet, I decided to take a bath already and prepare for bed. However, it was a real struggle for me with an injured hand. I accidentally sprained my wrist earlier, moving the suitcase around. Mark wasn't there to help me since they immediately started their stage rehearsal a few hours after we landed. But the moment he knew bout my sprained wrist, he kept asking about my condition, and I didn't want to concern him when I was totally fine and he was about to perform. So instead of being backstage which I usually do at every concert, I insist that I just stay in our room.

I was putting shampoo on my hair and getting annoyed that I couldn't properly wash myself. Few minutes of irritation, I heard faint steps outside the bathroom. "Babe? Y/n" I heard Mark looking for me. "In the bathroom, I replied." I didn't hear any response after. I contemplated if I should ask him for help. He's probably already sleeping since he was tired from the whole concert. I sneaked out of the bathroom to check if he was asleep already. I saw him sitting on the couch, waiting for me. "Why are your clothes soaking wet?" he asked. I scratched the back of my head, "I need help. I can't wash my hair properly."

He followed me inside the bathroom, "Babe, I think you need to take your shirt off," he said as he stood near the sink, "No, It's fine. I-I just asked you to help me with my hair so-", I was cut off when he walked closer to me leaned forward towards my ears "Is it because you're thinking of something else?" he asked. I was taken aback; I had swallowed my saliva when I felt his breath lick my neck and jaw. "How about we wash up together, then I'll clean you after?" He suggested pushing me inside the shower room, "No! I-I just… I just need to help wash-ing my *gulp* hair," I stuttered at how close he was. I don't know why I am getting nervous. Sex isn't something new to us. But having sex overseas is.

"Oh really? But look at that" he looked at the shower niche with a messy shampoo and body wash bottle. I sighed, clearly defeated and can't get my way out. He held my injured wrist; it made me look at him. Great! He's already half-naked in front of me. "Don't worry, I'll be careful," he said softly, massaging my wrist.

My back faces him as he rubs my shoulder blades with loofa. I flinched when I felt him rubbing near my breast. I could actually feel myself drip down there. "Is this making you excited?" he teased me. And I hate it whenever he does. "Perhaps you like to do it in the shower," that's it. I do not plan on getting laid in Singapore tonight, and he better behave. "Okay, get it out. We will never finish if we do this," I said and faced him. I tried to push him out, but he held my injured wrist and pinned it on the wall, "I said I'll help you. So, you're not gonna push me until your wrist heals" I felt his hands in my entrance, drawing circles. "So let me help you down here too."

He played with my clit, pinching, circling his fingers around it, teasing my entrance. I moved my hips in an attempt to grind it. This was driving me crazy. With my injured hand pinned and my free hand holding his nape for support. "How does it feel," he asked me. The bubbles from the body wash all over my body aren't helping as it tickles me, and my whole body is so sensitive, with Mark teasing my entrance. A whimper, "Fughck!" was just all I said. He removed his hand from my entrance, yanked my left leg on his arm, and swiftly held my hips. He entered me with a warning.

Keeping myself in balance is a real struggle standing on one foot and with my arm pinned on the wall. Plus, Mark is thrusting so rough and fast in me. Showers dripping, wet squelching, moans, and whimpers were the music for our night. "Ah! Ah!" I bit my lower lip to suppress some moans and clenched around his shaft while Mark nibbled my jaw down to my neck and collarbone. "Im close," I said as he licked my collarbone to my neck, "Not yet," he said and turned me, pining my chest on the wall. He pulled my waist closer and higher, making me arch my back. He entered me again without warning. "fuck!" he cussed, "fucking tight ever."

We ended up having more than 3 rounds inside the shower and about 2 in the sink when he finally freed me. I was already brushing my hair when I heard knocks on our hotel room door. I peeked out the peephole and saw the 5 boys, I opened the door for them, and they immediately filled our room with noise.

“Noona, where’s Mark hyung?” Jisung asked me, "Oh, in the shower," I replied. Haechan immediately banged the bathroom door, "Hyung, hurry up, we have to do live." "Is your wrist fine now?" Renjun asked me while others lay on our bed while they waited for Mark, "Yeah, the swelling has subsided already." A few seconds after, Mark came out of the bathroom just wearing a robe, "Let's go," he said and sat beside Renjun. "At least wear something?" I told him, "I'm wearing briefs inside. Don't worry". The members looked at him, and some nagged while Haechan and Jeno laughed. "Let him be. I'll start the live now. Just don't stand up, hyung, because we can see your purple underwear. And cover your neck properly. We can see scratches."

#mark lee smut #mark lee #mark #nct mark #mark smut #mark lee fic #mark fluff #marklee #mark lee scenarios #nct dream #nct 127 #nct 127 smut #nct dream x reader #nct fic #nct x reader #nct

[ofstarsandvibranium]

My You-niverse: Blue Jones

Fandom: Oscar Isaac

Pairing: Oscar Isaac's Characters x F!Reader, Blue Jones x F!Reader (this chapter only)

Summary: You and America get stuck portal jumping until you reach your universe again. In the meantime, you meet various versions of your husband.

Warning: some violence because it's Blue

Series Masterlist

You looked like you were in a basement. You and America were looking around when a door burst open. Two bulky men in suits walk in and following them was..Marc?

"Grab her," your husband's doppelgänger points to America.

Her eyes widen, "What? No! No! Let go of me! Y/N!" she yells, trying to free herself from the men's grasps.

"America!" you go to reach out for her, but the Marc look-alike pointed a stern finger at you.

"Don't. You. Fucking. Dare." he marches up to you, glaring you with his brown eyes. He roughly grabs your face and tsks, "I'm really disappointed in you, Bunny."

You gulp. You've seen Marc angry before but this was different. First off, this wasn't Marc. Secondly, Not Marc was angry at you, so angry he looks like he's ready to kill you.

Two men appeared in the doorway of the basement, "Blue."

The man you now know as Blue, whipped his head around, "What?" he sneered.

"We got a situation upstairs."

Blue sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, "Of course." he looks at you and beckons you with a finger, "Follow me and don't even think about running."

You nod and promptly follow the man who looks just like your husband.

_____________

America was thrown into a room, the metal door shutting behind her. She began banging against it, "HEY! NO! LET ME OUT OF HERE! HEY! HEY!" she slumped against the door defeated.

She turned around, facing the room and tried summoning a portal. Again, nothing.

"Crap!" she hissed.

She hoped that you'd be able to get to her and the two of you would be able to get out there.

______________

Blue led you to a room that you assumed to be his office. He went around his desk and pulled out a gun from a drawer. He set the weapon on the table and your eyes widened.

When he looked up and saw the fear in your eyes, he chuckled, "No, Bunny. This isn't for you." he moved back around the desk to you, "But if I see that gun out of place, you'll wish it was for you." he lightly tapped your cheek, "Stay here and be good."

You watched him walk out of the room and as soon as the door closed, you scrambled looking for anything you can use a weapon. You eyed a letter opener and immediately grabbed it. You slid it into your pants where it couldn't be seen and you waited.

You're not sure how much time passed, but Blue came back with three men, one of which was holding America.

"Y/N!" she exclaimed in relief and you moved towards her but Blue stopped you.

"Not uh uh, Bunny. We're gonna have a little chat." You and America were forced into the two chairs that were in front of Blue's desk.

Blue sat at the edge of his desk, gun now in hand, "We have an issue. Bunny," he sighs with a shake of his head, "You were my star. My girl. And now look at you. You're really going to throw it all away for some brat?! I gave you everything!"

"This isn't right, Blue."

He scoffs, "Oh so now you wanna tell me what's right and what's wrong? Baby, did you forget that we built this together? Where the fuck is this 'holier than thou' act comin' from, huh?"

"I-I don't know," you stammer out.

Blue let's out a deep breath, "I can't let this slide you know. If you go unpunished, the other girls will think they can walk all over me. And we can't have that now, can we?" he cocks his gun and raises it up. Slow, with intimidation.

But you were quick. You slid out the letter opener, flinging it at Blue. It lands in his shoulder with a howl of pain.

Angry, Blue raises his gun towards you and America throws out her hand with a scream. Suddenly, a bright, star shaped portal appeared.

The men in the room, including Blue, froze, "What the fuck?" Blue mumbled.

"Come on!" you grab America and you two rush to the portal.

You hear gunshots and a pain in your arm. You land in some grass with a thud and the portal disappears.

You and America sigh in relief before your sigh turns into a groan of pain.

"Fucking shit," you sneer as you observe your bleeding arm.

"Are you alright?" you look up to see a man who, again, looked like your husband, but also not.

#blue jones x reader #marvel #marc spector x reader #oscar isaac #oscar isaac x reader #f!reader #female!reader #fem!reader

[bitegore]

This is the specific stance I have on whatever atrocities by Hamas you want me to consider.

You cannot expect me to believe that any fighting force is going to do any warfare without atrocities. You particularly will never, ever be able to convince me that fighting in civilian-populated areas will ever be free from sexual violence, from coercion, from civilian casualties. This is kind of just the nature of war - there is no such thing as a "good, clean war" and there never will be. Israel has committed plenty of human rights violations against Palestinians and whatever human rights violation you want me to worry about on October 7 has been done to Palestinians by Israeli soldiers. And it's also been done on every other population under military threat by every other military on the planet. Don't kid yourself.

What concerns me is not which side has "fought the cleanest" and what concerns me is also not which side is nicest. What specifically concerns me is the amount of control civilian populations are under and the way those civilian populations are being discussed. Each side has committed war crimes. I'm not going to bat for Hamas. But just like I expect you to stand in support of Israeli civilians who have done no wrong, I think there is something deeply wrong with you if you won't stand in support of Palestinian civilians who have done nothing wrong. And if you want to point to specific atrocities and war crimes that have been widespread on both sides as reason that Palestinian civilians should not be afforded the care Israeli citizens automatically are, then I think something is rotten in your heart.

I am also concerned by apartheid in general. Palestinians in the West Bank are subject to military law whereas Israelis in the West Bank are subject to civilian law. Reputable Israeli human rights organizations like B'tselem themselves have described Israeli laws pertaining to Palestinians (and other non-Jews in Israel, like the Druze people) as apartheid.

First and foremost in my heart I am a Jew. I was raised hoping one day to make my own home in Israel or Palestine, whatever you want to name it: the region itself is a place I see as the land of my forefathers. The part of my family I am closest to, care most about, and want to be connected to came to America from the Middle East in my grandparents' lifetimes. And I myself was raised in America, in a fundamentally flawed system with a long, bloody legacy of racism and violent settler-colonialism. For me, patriotism includes wanting the countries I care about to do better.

And at the moment Israel in its current incarnation has killed one in every 200 individuals in Gaza. Hamas's attack on October 7 was a tragedy - but they did not kill one in every 200 civilians in Israel. And they have not continued to kill tens or hundreds of civilians per day, and they have not committed to a siege of starvation on a mostly-civilian population. Israel's attacks on Gaza have targeted hospitals, schools, UN sites, and refugee camps. Israel will be able to recover from the October 7 attack. Most of Gaza's infrastructure lies in ruins.

History has taught us also that oppression will not last forever. One day the government in Israel will be overturned, and if it isn't, Palestinians will still be treated better and given a place in society. One way or another, the people of Palestine will be free. The mistreatment only promises that this freedom must be bought in Israeli blood- if there is no path forward but through Israel, then that will be the path that must be taken. And at the moment there is no path forward for the people of Gaza but through Israel. So I cannot find myself surprised that the people of Gaza are lashing out with violence, when history teaches us that this is always the case. And history also teaches us that in the years after, modern Israel will be spoken about wrapped in disclaimers of racism and Islamophobia and settler-colonialism the way America is now, or in tones of abject horror the way that Nazi Germany or Apartheid South Africa is now, depending on which way the tables turn for the current regime. Nelson Mandela, to the Western majority, was a terrorist involved in bombings before he was a hero.

I think it's rare that there's a situation this clear-cut in this day and age, where despite the tactics used by either side even a modicum of historical literacy tells you what must be done and what side needs more support. The people of Gaza are without food, without water, without safe shelter, under a four-day ceasefire that will pick back up after it's left off unless something changes and under a military blockade even if the ceasefire is permanent holding them in a cramped, besieged location. Travel for Palestinians is difficult and requires approval from both local Palestinian authorities and Israeli administrative groups; travel for Israeli citizens is significantly easier. And in the West Bank, Palestinians are under threat.

This doesn't even touch on the horrendous, genocidal remarks from Israeli government leaders. I'm not repeating the remarks verbatim, because there are too many: read them for yourself here. It's kind of really obvious that Hamas itself is not ever going to take over Israel if you're paying attention. But Israel exerts a lot of control over Gaza. Calling civilians cockroaches, subhumans, and human animals and then shelling them for more than a month straight is pretty fucking bad.

Free Palestine. Justice for the Palestinians.

#red rambles #i also have strong objections to zionism and its fundamental precepts #but that's not really relevant #gaza

[hindulivesmatter]

I am a proud hindu so i was angry about what happened to kashmiri hindus. but after reading up on it and the history of kashmir in general, one thing is really obvious: india failed kashmir (all of them not just hindus). It’s why I support their right to self-determination. I am based in America and I know several punjabis here who don’t consider themselves indian because their family/community was directly impacted by the 1984 anti sikh pogroms. ig i’m saying india has failed a lot of people (esp minorities) so if we are not from their ethnic group, we don’t get to selfishly claim them or impose our will on them. like i’m a kannadiga and i hate the imposition of hindi in my home state and while this is not even slightly comparable to the violence and trauma faced by kashmiris, punjabis and other groups, i would hate for a non-kannadiga (esp a hindi speaker) telling me how to feel and having the final say in the matter so kashmiri self determination just makes sense to me.

this just my two cents hope this didn’t sound rude because that’s not my intention.

I know you didn't mean to be rude here, but what you're saying is actually really out of touch.

I hope you're aware of what happened in Kashmir to Kashmiri pandits. Pakistan has dreamed of Kashmir since it was formed. That's why they wrongfully attacked India the first time, securing only POK which sadly was due to the UN, and weak Indian political power. Since then, they have infiltrated our country, and approximately 300,000 Kashmiri Pandits are reported to have left the region due to constant persecution from the Jammu Kashmir Liberation Front (JKLF) and other militant groups, like Hizbul-Mujahideen (HM). In 1989, radical Islamists initiated an insurgency, fueled by covert support from Pakistan.

The party at the time did its best to hide this, and stifle it as much as possible, this got an ounce of coverage and light when The Kashmir Files was released

Hindus have 5000 years of recorded history with the land, that Islamists claim has “always been Muslim land”. "Kashmir" is literally named after Rishi Kashyap, if you're aware. On 19, January 1990 mosques blared out the infamous "convert leave or die" and finished their mission of converting the entirety of Kashmir to an Islamic state. Our pandits were told to leave their wives and daughters behind if they wanted to escape alive.

They're still living like refugees in their country, and now thanks to the scrapping of sec 370, things have taken a turn for the better.

Many Muslims of Kashmir still retain their Hindu surname. It was a deliberate attempt to wipe Hindus out that Islamists achieved and now THAT'S the free Kashmir they want, this slogan isn't promising actual Kashmiris that were displaced from their homes back, this slogan is furthering the agenda to chew Kashmir off India's map - the one true dream.

A similar approach is taken by Khalistanis, they aren't asking for Lahore, you know, the capital of Maharaja Ranjeet Singh, they're demanding INDIA to give Punjab away. They are funded by Pakistan as well that's why they can't say anything about Sikh treatment in Pakistan. That's why they can't say anything about Gurudwaras converted to garbage bins. You obviously, being far away, aren't aware of what's going beneath the surface, they have vandalized various Hindu Temples.

They take the name of their Guru who sacrificed his life for India, while they stomp on the flag of India.

In theory, I guess it sounds easy to say "Well, disagreements are flaring up, so let's just split and give them their own thing". But this isn't how it works. Compromise and collaboration is how decisions are made in a democracy. This is our motherland, the last time we split was painful as fuck. The only reason India didn't fall apart after Independence is because of the formation of linguistic states.

I lived in Bangalore for the majority of my childhood, and I left 2 years before the entire language debacle began. I don't know if you know, but now Kannadigas are getting violent if anyone speaks Hindi. They demand you to speak in Kannada even if you don't know how.

You're based in America, so I'm not holding this against you, but I'm begging you, please do more research.

[Exhibit 82]

#long read #special thank you to @magic-coffee for help and sources #hinduphobia #hindulivesmatter #kashmir #hindublr #anon asks #answered

[vergess]

Is “from the river to the sea” inherently an antisemetic dog whistle or can it be used in good faith in a similar vein to Free Palestine?

I’ve been hearing conflicting viewpoints

obviously if you feel uncomfortable you don’t have to answer

It's... complicated.

Personally, I don't believe most people saying "from the river to the sea" are actually calling for the immediate dismantling and re-refugeeing of Israel's entire population.

Nevertheless in absolute terms, that is EXACTLY what the slogan is demanding. See, a lot of people don't actually look at a map:

The area highlighted in red is, approximately, what "the river to the sea" refers to in its most conservative terms. Note how almost every single population center is within that range.

In practical terms, it's straight up a demand that Israel stop existing and Palestine be returned to local control.

And normally, being a fucking sensible person, you'd think, "Well, land back! Give it back!!"

Only you're assuming Israelis are colonizers.

Which IS. NOT. TRUE. Just because Israel is operating as a US colonial project doesn't make Israelis colonizers themselves.

Israelis are better thought of as refugees. People who were successfully genocided out of EVERY SURROUNDING NATION:

This map shows the expulsion or genocide of Jews from the area surrounding Israel over the last century.

Black-coloured countries have eliminated over 80% and up to 100% of their Jewish populations. That is to say, countries in black successfully committed genocide against their Jewish populations in the last century.

With any surviving refugees sent where?

To Israel.

Red represents greater than 60% population loss. In a century.

Blue represents 40+%, and yellow 20+%.

Remember: population loss over 10% is considered a strong indication of genocide, and 30% population loss is proof.

And remember that these number include the entire span of time between the holocaust and now.

IF it were possible to genuinely negotiate in good faith a peace treaty that allows Jewish refugees to Israel to stay in the Jewish Homeland that they've only barely even been sent to.

Then maybe "from the river to the sea" would not be a threat to finish off the last survivors of genocide.

But between US interventionism in the region, existing racial tensions, and the last century of genocide?

Good faith negotiations simply are not possible right now, and they won't be possible until the US and European powers make it possible by dialing back the imperialism and instead using their massive global power to support genuine negotiations of peace, that actually strive to develop a healthy, equitable society for both Jewish refugees returning to their historic homeland AND the people already living there.

Which, let's be realistic here. The EU is so busy crowing about how it's less racist than the US that they deny having even participated in these forced expulsions, claiming it was all "voluntary." And the US is literally still enslaving BIPOC in prisons.

So! That's just not going to happen!!

Which means we have to look at the phrase "from the river to the sea" not in the context of peace where it would be harmless, but in the context of, unfortunately, more wars over the last century than you could even give names to.

Where it calls for the expulsion of Jewish refugees from their homeland.

To where?

Well, most likely to death. After all, it's not like we're raring to take in ~7 million surviving Israeli Jews here in the US.

And that's the quiet part, I think. The part that people don't realize is being implied.

If Israel is gone, as the chant demands, then where do the 7 million Jewish Israelis go?

"Back home"? To the nations that killed off their entire families?

Because this isn't like land back movements in North America, where it is widely accepted that there would be no expulsions or relocations because they're inhumane.

The expulsions and forced relocations are already underway and currently ongoing.

That's the distinction that I think a lot of gentiles in the west don't grasp.

This slogan isn't "turn Israel over to Palestinian governance to achieve freedom" it's "turn Israel over to Palestinian control to complete the last century of genocides."

Like. Okay. In my ideal world, Israel as a state would never have been founded because the UK wouldn't have Done That To Palestine. But we live in this world, with this history.

To clamour for the dissolution of the Israeli state is to clamour for the slaughter and expulsion of 7 millions Jews. Bro that's half the global population.

Now, do I think "from the river to the sea" is an evil phrase and everyone who says it is genocidal?

No.

I think it's a poetic chant that works well in English and gets a decent message across to most listeners that they should support Palestinian humanity in the face of that genocide.

But I think that if I catch your ass shouting it after a ceasefire or during peace negotiations instead of during actual war crimes?

I won't be likely to trust you. Either you're well intended but uninformed, or worse, you know damned well what you're doing and its vile.

So, I don't know. I guess I would say it's not inherently antisemitic now, at this moment in time.

But give it a few months, and it will be, just like it has been before.

#Asks #Answered asks #opabinia-777 #IP main #From the River to the Sea #Palestine will be Free

[thorraborinn]

This might not be your area of expertise but do you know anything about the “land bridge” theory that claims that indigenous people got to the so called Americas by a frozen land bridge between Russia and Alaska? Idk if it’s just me but I’ve always felt that theory was always used as a way to be dismissive towards indigenous peoples.

Yeah, it definitely is not my area of expertise. There's a whole history of the theory being pushed and opponents being belittled that I don't really know. I think most Americans probably still don't know that it's discredited, and probably fewer know what was wrong about it beside being merely incorrect. I don't really want to get into it much because, like I said, the theory has its own history that I don't know well enough to talk about.

I will add a little clarification though, because some people reading this will probably be surprised to learn that the Bering Strait land bridge theory (that all of the Indigenous peoples of the Americas descend from a group who crossed the Bering Strait from northeast Asia some 13,000 years ago) is discredited. Many Indigenous people have always objected to this, for a variety of reasons but including that it conflicts with their oral histories. The academic consensus has finally caught up in recent decades as discoveries have been made of settlements (in areas extremely far from Alaska, no less, as far south as so-called Chile) predating the time when the land bridge would have been passable. The current scientific consensus is that there isn't a single event or explanation, and some of the oral histories that were previously regarded as unsuitable for determining truth have been vindicated. In particular, some nations' histories include an arrival on the continent over the ocean, which western academics used to consider impossible on grounds of Indigenous people not being advanced enough, which is a bunch of racist horseshit. While they now no longer represent the consensus, there are still holdouts still pushing to discredit the evidence of earlier settlement (the "Clovis First" theory). I also want to add that while the scientific consensus has come to overlap with some Indigenous oral histories, vindicating those oral histories in the process, oral history isn't important and valuable because it turns out to be "true" in a way understood by western history; that's still only granting legitimacy on a contingent basis in situations where correspondence to western notions of truth and history just aren't the point.

People who know more, feel free to add. I don't feel qualified to talk about it much more but I do encourage people to look into it themselves.

A little bit of a side-note but heathens following me will be interested to know that the Kinnewick man, about whom Steve McNallen had a very public racist tantrum trying to prove he was an ancestor of white people, is implicated here. The controversy came about because the Kinnewick man's physiology did not conform to what was predicted by the land bridge theory (note: this was three years after Trump's "They don't look like Indians to me" testimony). After violating the wishes of the Kinnewick man's actual descendants and subjecting the remains to intense study and genetic testing it predictably turned out that he was in fact an ancestor of still-living Indigenous people and those archaeologists should have kept their hands off, like they had been told.

[franklespine]

You know what's weird about not being American and watching supernatural is seeing how American values weave their way in there. Its especially interesting in the way the BMOL are presented in relation to the American hunters in s12. The way its framed like these uptight, posh British people coming over to America thinking they can chain these animalistic, American dogs down and make them do the dirty work so they don't have to get their hands dirty - its very much giving those stupid brits think they can tie us down!! Tax us on tea!! Take away our freedom!! In God's sweet rootin-tootin land of the free?? No!! Revolution!! And this isn't a criticism of the show or American values its just rather fascinating how values developed in a nation in the 1700s from a revolution against England can be reimplanted and seen in a TV show about monster hunting. Like you cannot tell me that in that episode when Sam leads all the flannel wearing American hunters powered by sheer willpower and passionate freedom to the BMOL base, severely outnumbered and outgunned isn't some kind of American revolution wet-dream reenactment. Fascinating. Some of the things they put in this show man...

#supernatural #spn #spn meta #genuinely who do they have on the ideas board #obviously I'm not saying that they were out here genuinely like dude you know what I'm out of ideas - lets mimic the american revolution!! #but its like... why did they do this #is this just what general American thinks of England?? #I mean I'm not british either btw #just curious