#m.ark

( PROMPTS )still accepting!

HE LOWERS HIMSELF down onto his bed, head pounding with the pressure of being so congested he can barely think. Is it Saturday? Or maybe Sunday? Did the day already switch into Monday? It doesn’t particularly matter that all of his days are blending in with each other because at the very least, he’s on break. He can wallow and wibble in agony in the comfort of his own apartment instead of being public menace number one in the lecture halls. He hated being that kid.

There’s a noise to his right, the subtlest shuffle of papers, and he turns his head to look towards his desk. For a few minutes he had almost forgotten that Napoleon was even over, but every now and then he’ll bat something off of a ledge or softly thump down from a high place, and Mark will remember. “I’m so sorry,” he laments, limbs spread out on his bed. “that I can’t give you the love you deserve.” When was the last time he had taken his cold medication? four hours ago? five? All he really needed to know was that he couldn’t, well–shouldn’t, exceed six pills within a twenty-four hour period.

Unsurprisingly, he gets no response from the black cat, but Napoleon does saunter a little closer, paws delicately picking over the residual mess that was his study space for finals.

“You just get me so well.”

The cat meanders closer to his motionless body.

Mark closes his eyes because he’s tired and it’s time to rest them.

He gets caught in that in-between stage of asleep and awake, body floating on some for of higher plane of existence (or maybe it was just the cold medicine) for a few minutes? hours? until he feels a gentle nudge against his left cheek.

Eyes opening with some struggle, Mark isn’t particularly surprised to see Napoleon’s cute little face centimeters away from his own. He almost goes cross-eyed trying to make eye contact with the cat but then the most magical, unexpected, thing happens.

Before he feels it, he sees a pink little tongue–and then he feels the rough lick to the tip of his nose.

“Oh my god.”

Napoleon lets out a ghost of a meow–it might have even been a cat yawn; Mark isn’t sure.

“Did you really just–”

Everything in his life was leading up to this moment.

“That was so cute, Napoleon.”

His response is a bored look accompanied by another quiet meow.

And the thought crosses his mind. Was he still infectious? Because the last thing he wants to do is get Napoleon sick! How could he, Mark Tuan, claim to be Napoleon’s loving catfather but get him sick while Sehun trusted him in his care?

Mark reaches up to swipe his sweatshirt sleeve against his nose (because cat tongues are rough! and he’s really ticklish), before reaching out a finger to pet Napoleon’s paw. “We’ll get through this together, little man.”

( PROMPTS )still accepting!

EVERYTHING IS STAGED! It’s all one big conspiracy! His little easily entertained heart wilts at the realization that the variety shows he watched almost religiously when he first started studying abroad in Korea aren’t all that different than the ones he’d flipped through back in California, on cable. Mark’s been called a special brand of gullible before, but he’s not stupid, so the shock factor isn’t as large as his slight disappointment. But still, he’s here--and he’s already signed the little disclosure form, and he’s being directed to stand next to her. But therein lies the largest difference. She, an actual idol, from a big (!!!) idol group, is actually in the streets, completing these menial but necessarily entertaining tasks for the sake of the viewers of this particular variety show. And he--some random ass exchange student who had been trying to get back to his rented apartment, was pulled from the crowd to assist her in said game (because Korea loves foreigners).

When he’s flustered, his Korean is even worse, and a few English words even slip out as he’s trying his hardest to describe these Korean proverbs that he’s never even heard before to her team. The male cast members of the show laugh at him, the female cast members coo at how nervous he is, and he can barely manage to look Jisoo in the eye even though she’s his partner for this segment. Mark finds himself stumbling over his words again and again until their time runs out and everyone makes exaggerated noises--just like the kind he used to watch on TV, but except now he’s on the other side of the screen--and two weeks ahead in production.

Mark’s quickly shuffled off to the end of the line with Jisoo, and he looks around at the rest of her members paired with their own random person from the streets, but he inadvertently makes eye contact with her-- “ I don’t know if I’m scared or--or intimidated by how pretty you are. “ --and perhaps, the fact that he just said that out loud is the most mortifying thing of all. He makes an embarrassed, choked, noise--some sort of strangled babble--and shuffles a step away to put some distance between them. “I mean--yeah, uh--I’m a fan! You must hear that a lot, right?”

( @nosequels​, @kalirok​, @othersidcd​, @bkunpi​, your (joint) present under the tree... )

( Send me a symbol for —– ) + no longer accepting! ▲  three times my muse thought about kissing yours, and the one time they did.

markra ! ( because when you sent this, we only had one ship....but now look at us )

+ It’s a pretty successful first date, he thinks to himself, all things considered. He’s positive that she only said yes to appease him, but he feels as if she’s warmed up to him, especially within the past hour. Mark sneaks a glance out of the corner of his eye, and sees her crossing her arms in front of her body, hands moving up and down her arms. As soon as he realizes, he tugs off his sweatshirt and stops in front of her, turning towards Yoora and offering it to her. “You’re shaking,” And he breaks out into a smile when she accepts it after a second of pause. When she tugs it over her head, he reaches behind her to gently pull her dark hair out from under the hood. Her lips are still trembling, but less so now, and for a second he entertains the thought of pressing his own to her’s for warmth. Instead, he just licks his lips and looks away, tilting his head towards the direction of their dorms. “Keep the sweatshirt, I’ll walk you back to campus.”

+ “…reached my voicemail! Just like, leave a message or someth–” She presses the end call button furiously as Mark continues to laugh into his hand in the library. They’re in one of the independent study rooms, which means that they have a little more leeway noise level wise, but he doesn’t feel like getting the evil eye from the campus librarian. “I told you Sungjae was going to be late. He’s like never awake before 2pm. It’s why he takes all night classes.” Mark is much more familiar with the other male, simply because they run in the same circles, but Yoora is obviously unamused by their groupmate’s tardiness. “Relax,” Mark reassures, patting her hand gently. “We’ll just divide up the part evenly. He’ll get his portion done in no time when he shows up.” His words seem to make reassure her only the slightest bit, but there’s still the remnants of a pout. So cute, he thinks to himself. Stretching backwards, he tries to play it off, but he sneaks another glance at her lips.

+ She had just showed up at his door without an explanation, but with an expression that he didn’t recognize. Sleepy and utterly confused, when she asked to come inside, he just nodded dumbly, stepping to the side so she could enter. Mark mostly kept his room pretty clean, only stacks of books and the occasional papers sprawled out of the floor. Kicking a few loose articles of clothing to the side, he gestures to the bed where his comforter is slightly uncovered. “The uh, heat hasn’t kicked on in the dorms so it’s kind of chilly in here–” He small nod makes something twist in his stomach, and he hates how…tired, lifeless? she looks. It’s so unlike how subtly vibrant and sassy she usually is. “Hey, Yoora…” Sitting down next to her on his single, he gestures. “You don’t – I mean, I know we’re not the closest, but you can talk to me, you know? Or if you just want to lie down and relax…I heard I’m a good cuddler.” His smile is a little goody and embarrassed, he’s out of his element, but she toes off her boots and slides into the bed. There’s a beat of silence before Mark slips in too, covering them both with the blankets. He scrolls through his phone as she stay quiet, until Yoora’s body starts to untense, and she turns slightly, breathing leveling out. She looks so different than to what he’s used to, but she looks at peace, unguarded, and he thinks that he wouldn’t mind seeing this side of her more often. Yoora is so beautiful – Mark gently brushes away some of her bangs that have fallen in front of her face. He wishes that he could kiss her, but they’re not at that point just yet. So – he settles for making himself comfortable before drifting off to sleep, too.

( + )  There had been a dynamic shift. Somewhere between the fourth and fifth ‘date’ of their’s, there had been a shift in their...relationship, if he could even call it that. But -- he counted the small victories, kept a little mental tally in his head that he could smile at whenever he spent time with her, the little moments where she let her guard down, even if it was for something small and seemingly insignificant.

And sometime between their fourth and fifth date, she had started to let him hold her hand. Her palm fit perfectly into his much larger one, and he swung their joined hands a little childishly, letting the motion keep the blood flowing because it was cold out today.

The clouds were darker, but promised snow, and he had shyly asked to walk her to class.

When she had agreed, he gave her his most winning smile, teeth exposed and the slightest peek of his gums. Once, his mother had told him not to smile so wide because it made him look goofy, but he didn’t care.

Did he mention that it was cold?

They’re almost at the building where her class is supposed to be when the first little snowflakes fall. It’s only fitting that they land in her eyelashes, the little crystals also falling against her lips, melting immediately once they make contact.

consilian

[ ... ]

“quite noisy, ouais. i’m afraid it might be another night of trouble ahead of us. the last time, mother strictly ordered me to shut the doors and keep my household safe and sound, for she feared some kind of riot in regards to the royal family. queen marie-antoinette has been garnering quite a lot of attention recently, hasn’t the good lady?”

A chuckle at his lord’s expense, he shrugs his shoulders at the man’s words. This will always be his reality, however, no matter how hard his lord tries. “ Not everyone is as forward thinking as you. Many will always consider me lowly, and thus treat me as such especially since I am of -- “ Here, he covers his mouth with his hand, but angles towards Junmyeon as if telling some secret. “ -- foreign origins. “ But his faux-whisper only makes it apparent that his words are mere joke, as Mark has often reiterated the statement. Though they both originally hail from the same continent, Junmyeon’s family and Mark’s own were very much opposites. Mark’s family came from humble origins that established themselves in France later. They went where the need for work took them -- from Taiwan to France -- and his family was lucky, to be taken in by one who treated them relatively well -- the only exception being the household warden, who had taken a strange dislike to Mark ever since he was a boy, and assigned to be Junmyeon’s personal servant.

“ Change is on the horizon, but I do not know if we will live to see it...Junmyeon.” Even now, saying his lord’s name with no formal title before it feels strange. At the very least, he says the name with reverence; as the young man has shown him both kindness and friendship, and sometimes Mark thinks -- a little more. But the thought is gone as quickly as the wind, when what starts as a small fight evolves into an all out brawl, as reinforcements arrive from each side.

He’s just idly tapping on whatever he can, using various pens and pencils to fake a drum set, as he waits for Yoora to come out of her lecture hall. So what, he’s one of those gross, sappy boyfriends that waits for his girlfriend after his class is finished -- it’s been 34 minutes now -- but he’s pretty sure that he’ll wait as long as she demands of him. His phone is out of battery, and he’s just too lazy to take out his laptop from his backpack so he’ll just keep pretending that there’s a crowd cheering him on--