Mooncak3

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Eight months ago…

The late Victorian era was a prosperous time for the new-money men of England, the ones who proudly called themselves self-made. Gone were the days of old money. The Lords and their lands did them little good in the ever-evolving century. Consequently, the born gentlemen had become desperate to protect their status and estates. So they often barred self-made men from entering elite circles of society. Circles that promised capital investment deals over expensive scotch.  

Arthur Evans Green was one such self-made man. Who, despite his genius and already substantial riches, found that his talents for accumulating wealth were being limited. He was born a common man, son to a preacher of a small parish. Even as a boy, he knew idolization of a modest life was a lie the rich told the poor, to keep them docile. He could still see the massive cross hanging around his father’s neck, like a dog on a leash. The old man would often say, “Arthur, all a man needs is a roof over his head and food in his belly; to want for more is a sin, my child”. Arthur would only nod, feigning understanding, while he dreamt of silk suits and townhouses.  

At thirty-two, he had attained what few of his station ever dared to dream of. He owned several raw material processing factories, which had deals all across England. Now, he was looking to grow his business, exporting railway materials abroad. But to be the railway tycoon in England, one had to meet the right people at the right place. Places where his lack of a title blocked him from going. But all things could be remedied; he just had to think. 

·𖥸·

A week later, fresh gossip spread through the ton. Whispers of a ruined earl, a daughter with inadequate dowry, a son to inherit an empty coffer. Arthur knew that if the gossip were true, the earl would be desperate. He set out to confirm the rumors, but the truth was far worse. There was no dowry, and the estate was in ruins. The earl was a notorious gambler and had accumulated debt beyond measure. Arthur couldn’t help the sick satisfaction he felt at a lord’s ruination. The man had met his fair share of the smug ‘noble’ bastards, and none of them wasted an opportunity to put him down. Effortlessly, schemes unfolded in his head; this would be easier than he thought.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

All it took for your Father to sell you was a promise of his debts being cleared and ten thousand pounds. Money that would be gone in no less than a year, considering his habits. All you had ever known your father to be was a drunken gambler. Not once in all his years had he said sweet words of love to you, like a father ought to. As a little girl, you had tried to earn his adoration, but all you received were strikes and malicious words. Words that remained imprinted in your mind even at twenty-six. Earl Newberry held a sickening disdain for both his children; neither you nor your brother knew the cause. Was there a reason good enough to hate one's own spawn?

Your season in London was spent surrounded by gossip and inquisitive stares. Few men had danced with you at balls, and even fewer Lords. So when a man by the name of Arthur Evans Green had approached your Father to ask for your hand in marriage, you had tried to convince yourself it was for the best. It was highly unlikely that you could entice another proposal without a dowry. Perhaps if you had possessed otherworldly beauty, a duke might have romanced you away, but that was not the world’s design. ‘The proposal was indeed a good thing,’ you assured yourself. No matter, you had never met this Mr. Green, no matter that you had dreamt of love. None of that mattered now. You readied yourself, for the wedding was to happen in mid-August, only a month away.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The Green and Newberry wedding was to be a grand affair. Arthur had spent a fortune to make sure the ton knew of the rich tycoon marrying the Lady Newberry. When he had asked to manage and pay for the wedding processions, your papa was elated. Naturally, the invites were also taken care of. The very pinnacle of society occupied the oak pews at the church—men with grand titles and even grander wallets. The whole thing was an exposition of his wealth for the Crème de la crème of the Lords. The ones that had made the right deals before and were looking to make them again. 

In the days leading up to the wedding, you had seen Arthur only in passing. When he would visit your brother or father to take care of the finances of their agreement. It was quite abnormal that an engaged couple had never spoken before their wedding day. But Arthur had never attempted to speak to you, and your father had threatened severe repercussions if there was an attempt on your part to see Mr Green. ‘You’ll scare him away with that dull face of yours, and I’ll lose it all,’ he had yelled one drunken night when you had raised the matter. His warnings were never to be taken lightly; if enraged enough, even your brother couldn’t step in to save you. 

‘Poor John, he’ll be left alone to bear Papa’s rage,’ you sulked. 

·𖥸·

Dressed in a white gown of the latest fashion, you stood waiting to walk down the aisle. Like everything else, this gown was your fiancées choice. The whole affair was his; you were no foolish girl. It was clear Arthur wasn’t your knight in shining armor; he was a businessman making a deal for prestige. And you were making a deal for dear John. ‘I’ll be one less mouth to feed when he takes over the estate. ’    

As you walked the length of the aisle, arms linked with your brother, you kept your eyes low. Anxiety growing in your belly like nausea. Thoughts crowded your mind, things you had tried not to think about. ‘

What if he is cruel like Papa? Would he take mistresses in public? I wouldn’t mind if the affair was private.’ Your sickening ideas ended abruptly when John planted a light kiss on your cheek. He admired you with his beautiful eyes, wishing you love and luck. 

You couldn’t help but tear up at having to say goodbye to the only family you had. Turning away,  your sights finally set on your man to be. And he was breathtaking. You had never stopped to admire him before. But now, as he stood before you, with the morning light spilling through the stained glass, crowning him in a halo, he looked like a vision touched by heaven. His dirty blond hair gleamed like unpolished gold. The navy suit fit him like a glove; he looked befitting of a noble title. However, something in his gaze sent a cold rush through you. His eyes were dark and detached. Your gaze strayed again, and you didn’t lock eyes with him for the rest of the ceremony. 

·𖥸·

In the carriage ride back, the silence was deafening. You admired the gorgeous interior of the carriage to suppress the awkwardness. Unexpectedly, his throat cleared. “ You look radiant, madam.” 

You wondered, ‘Was that supposed to be a compliment?’  It was said more like a sentence being served to a criminal. 

“Thank you…, The ceremony was beautiful.”

“Yes, it was.”

Silence reigned again. Was this to be your marriage? Hollow exchanges, insincere words?

He spoke again, “Last year, I bought an off-season estate in Bedford. It's only six hours away from London, which is ideal since I spend most of my time there for work…” 

You said nothing, listening dutifully, “ We’ll reside there, that is, of course, until the season in April. Since the place is still new, I have set aside some funds for you to furnish it as you see fit.”

Surprised was an understatement. To have a home to call your own and decorate as you please! To have any funds at all at your disposal was a dream after the dreadful bondage under your papa.

“Madam?” He asked.

“Ah! Yes, it sounds wonderful, …t-thank you.”’ You whispered the last part.

·𖥸·

‘How odd, ’ mused Arthur. 

The girl barely spoke, keeping to herself like a cat curled out of reach. He watched her profile. She was handsome enough, with a good figure; the only extraordinary thing about her was her hair. He had admired its shine in the sunlight during their ceremony. An odd need to stroke it had overcome him then, to tell her cowering form, “‘it’ll be alright, darling”. But he had restrained himself.

Most of all, though, she hadn’t demanded any say when it came to the wedding or her dress. What game was the snobby Lady playing at? A woman of her standing would soon show her true colors: demanding, spending, betraying. Regardless, he had taken what he needed from her; the rest was inconsequential.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

7 Months later…

March brought with it colorful blooms and green pastures. The first 7 months of your marriage to Arthur Green had passed quietly. He was a man of few words, you had come to realize. Rare were the occasions when you saw him at Estelle Manor. He would pass through like a misplaced winter draft. Even though, technically, you had been neglected by your husband, you were happier than ever. For you didn’t see these months as lonely, but instead as a solace of your own making. While the cold rains had thundered outside, your soul had renewed. Being away from your cruel father had done much good, and everyone around had noticed too. 

The maids noticed the peep in your step when you browsed the manor library and the cheer in your tone as you spoke of new adornments. The cooks saw the way you took more interest in the menu when the rare guest visited, and the parish priest noticed your frequent visits to Sunday services. You were unaware of the physical embodiment of your joy.

More than anyone, though, Arthur had noticed the shift in the mood at his manor. The place was brighter, the food more palatable, and there was an air of guileless ease. He also observed his wife’s newfound light. Unknowingly, he had started searching for a glance of you during his short stays away from London, restless without you in his vision. His feet would intuitively lead him to where you would be, in the library, the lounge, the gardens. And when you would scurry away before he could gather the courage to say a word of pleasantry, an inconspicuous irritation would mar his mood for the rest of the day. He tried to pretend he was indifferent to your presence, only for warmth to bloom within him when you stumbled into him.

He would casually ask his butler about you. What you did all day, if you had displayed disappointment about the manor or its runnings. And each time Mr. Moore had only sung praises of your kindness and grace.

“Lady Green has been the most generous, Sir! She has completely transformed the place.” He had said. 

Simultaneously, disdain grew in him. You were everything he had wanted to be, born with noble blood in your veins. He abhorred the fact that you had been better received by his staff than he. The way his staff attend their mistress enthusiastically, seemingly proud to serve her. The sight struck at his ego. ‘Naturally, they must have despised serving a nobody before I married the daughter of an Earl,’ he thought. ‘Curse her!’

Of course, his assessment was far from the truth; the staff were simply glad to have a mistress who took an interest in the running of the household. You had given them purpose and passion. A thing they had lacked the year before, when they only had a master. 

·𖥸·

One March afternoon, your husband joined you for tea in the gardens. His sudden attention was unnerving, and you found yourself a fluttering fool.

You attempted to speak of the weather, the manor, even the parish, but his replies had been short and snippy. He seemed irritated, so you decided it was best to let the time pass in silence. 

He, however, started speaking just as you had resolved to keep silent. 

“The season will start soon, and we’ll leave for my townhouse in a fortnight. It’s our first season as newlyweds, so I expect you to act the part of a doting wife when in public.”

‘His townhouse,’ you couldn’t help but note the implications of his words.

“Most of all, I plan on throwing several gatherings, a few Galas, and many more intimate dinners for the more influential folk. Accordingly, you’ll have to entertain their wives and daughters. I will need you to be a great hostess, meet the ladies for tea, and most importantly, be agreeable at all times.” 

You tried to agree, but he continued, his tone harsher.

“Y/n, you are now married to.. what I believe your circle refers to as a trade man,” you knew it to be an insult. “As a result, money doesn’t just flow into my pockets; I have to work for it, charm for it, and I need you to play your role. I won’t ask more of you in this marriage.”

You were stunned, automatically you spoke, “I understand, husband.”

His heart skipped when you referred to him as a wife should. “Forgive me, but I must go now.”  

He walked away after his declaration, the tea you had poured him left untouched.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

This story is about to have the craziest angst. *cackles villainously *, About to make this bitch boy yearn so bad.

It’s taking me a while to get a hang of the Victorian speaking style. Proper and all, but I’ll improve as we go.

Also, cotton candy fields will be updated next cause I keep seeing notifications of ppl binge-reading the chapters, and I feel bad when I realize they are left waiting T–T, 

I have been there before, gang, hate the wait. But life is fucking me in the ass rn and it is taking a while. 

Master Naughtylist: @hopingtocleaemedschool, @aenishas (girl I forgot to tag you last night, I got you tho) 💕

•Galactus is the ultimate blackmailer. Wanna leave? Say goodbye to your planet. Also, it’s likely you’re already indentured to Galactus by being a herald if your loyal to your people. It’s likely you meet because you promised to become one if he spared your planet the classic Silver Surfer way. Now, even if Galactus doesn’t particularly need you as a herald, you’re stuck anyway unless you’re willing to allow your planet to become a meal. He has no problem cushioning you on other planets before using them against you either.

•Quite possessive. Galactus does not like seeing you mingle with people. First, you have a job. Second, it’s weird when you talk to his meals. Third, you belong to him and anyone getting close to you is gonna get eaten. It’s likely that Galactus is going to have you near him at all times whenever possible. This magenta giant knows few boundaries. He’ll often have you on his shoulder or in a cage hooked to his outfit to cement the whole ‘hands off’ vibe.

•Can be quite a romantic if you ignore the whole kidnapped and forced into slavery thing. Galactus will gift you all sorts of things you like. You’ll receive various things he knows would make you happy. You’ll get to go to beautiful places and planets. One thing Galactus likes to see is you doing hobbies. He’ll even engage in some stuff that you like.

•One very messed up thing Galactus would pull on you as a punishment is converting a love interest’s energy to edible matter and forcing you to eat it. He does not see people as very threatening but rather thinks that they are not worth your presence. They should not mean anything to you. If you’re willing to go all willy nilly and sully yourself with lower life forms, he’ll put a stop to it immediately in whatever way is required if they’re a distraction. He doesn’t see why you’d make a big deal of it, but since you do it’s another form of punishment to keep you in line.

•Very likely to keep you locked to a select few spaces until he can trust you’re not going to pull a prison break. As a reward for obedience, Galactus will literally reward you an entire planet to yourself. One that you pick out or even a visit to your home world. (Though that serves as a reminder of what he’s capable of if you screw up. You will get access to anywhere you want to go unless it’s a place he cannot protect you. If you ask for items from your planet, you will receive them. It’s likely that Galactus will not allow you to see family or friends but will update you on the condition of them and what they are doing.

Mark regretted that last sentence the instant his finger clicked send, but the wifi was stupidly fast tonight and the panic slowed his brain cells. The email was sent with a swoosh before he could even think about unplugging the wifi.

He reclined on his chair, rolling it backwards until the back hit the edge of his bed.

He agonized for several nights over what to do for his first date. He had dates before, but let’s face it, they were just an extension of foreplay. Dinners and drinks were a mere prelude to sex. Mark knew what to expect, his dates knew what to expect, everything was easy. 

You tried to make things easy for him. After he confessed his true feelings–the very memory burned his soul with the desire to drill into the core of the Earth–he hadn’t known what to expect. He knew that you liked him, you did tell him, but the moment that “I like you” left his tongue, a question popped up in his head, various questions, actually: what if you didn’t mean it the way he did? Thinking back at it now, the word you used was interest; he was the one who asked if you liked Mark Grayson. Saint Aquinas claimed that people can only love what they know, that love follows knowledge, so what did you mean by “vice versa”? What did love mean in the context of our conversation? What does love even mean to you? 

All those pesky questions had him spiraling, but you didn’t giggle or smile or mock him after he told you. It was like his confession rebooted you, erased your annoyance and disappointment, and you regarded him with a detached, but pensive expression, the face of a scientist looking through a microscope or a glass window. Before he could embarrass himself any further, you posed a simple question: Should we go on a date then?

He remembered his head nodding and mouth answering on their own. You offered to plan the date and that was when he actually regained control. More or less. “I’ll do it!”

“Good, but I’d like to offer some suggestions.”

“Sure!”

“Please stop yelling.”

“Okay!”

“...hm.”

You then gave him a clear and concise set of conditions: public places only, nothing that requires formal clothes, and if they were to dine together, the eatery should be within a reasonable price. You specifically told him to keep the expenses as low as possible, even giving an upper limit of 30 dollars. He appreciated it. He liked a woman who knew what she wanted, and more importantly, he liked someone considerate. It was sweet that you factored in his financial wellbeing when setting the rules, though ultimately unnecessary. Mark had relatively expensive hobbies for someone his age, he spent a fortune on his bass and didn’t mind spending his savings on his bandmates and friends, but the GDA paid for everything else, including his mother’s…well, everything. Money was not an issue, but you were so firm with your conditions, so he decided to lie about the tickets. 

He then rolled back to his desk and reread his email.  

My friend broke up with his girlfriend and gave me the aquarium tickets for free. 

Looking at it now, doesn’t this make him look too frugal? Almost cheap, to be honest. That’s not good. Crap. Plus, aren’t you like, superstitious? You believe in ghosts, maybe you believe in bad omens. Wouldn’t you think badly about tickets from someone fresh out of a break up? Sure, Mark made that up, but what if you cancelled on him? Crap,crap,crap. 

Before he could spiral again, his laptop lit up.

Mark didn’t expect to receive an immediate reply, it was two a.m. after all. 

…two a.m.

When he realized what time it was, he covered his face with his hands. Wasn’t sending the invitation past midnight too desperate? Not to mention rude? What if you were sleeping and your phone was right next to your pillow and you didn’t leave it on silent mode and it lit up and dinged right next to your ear and you’ll hate him for waking you up?

He reluctantly opened the email.

You <[email protected]> 

to Markus Sebastian Grayson <[email protected]> 

Email received. Thank you.

Mark tried to scroll down but there was nothing else. 

“That’s it?”

He folded his arms on the desk and buried his head. You weren’t upset, you weren’t going to cancel on him. Considering his near-breakdown minutes ago, this was a good thing. Still, he can’t help but be disappointed. 

Swoosh.

He craned his neck and saw another message. It was short and simple and clear.

I can’t wait too. 

Those four words pulled on his lips and he typed a reply: You’re still up?

You: No, I’m sleeping, if you can’t tell.

He grinned.

Mark: Busy thinking about me, I hope.

You: That’s right.

His fingers flinched. Blood rushed to his neck and ears and he covered his mouth. He thought he could be safe via email but there goes that tactic.  

You: I’ll be going to bed now. Next time, if you want to chat with me, just use your phone like a normal person. This type of conversation clutters my inbox.

He replied: Good night, princess. Promise you’ll dream of me?

You: Phone. Good night, Bassy.

He chuckled and then flew to his bed, opening his phone to reread the emails.

***

The dormitory elevators had their own rush hours so you prepared in advance and sat down at the lobby before lunchtime. 

The beauty of routine was that it didn’t waste brain power making multiple choices. For example, when it comes to classes, you have a predictable set of clothes ready on rotation. There was no fretting about whether to go cute or sexy or demure or girly or tomboyish or punk. It wasn’t like you hated dressing up, in fact, it was very fun; but in your world, life was formulaic (by design) and there was no need to dress up. Even in the social events you attended, there was a certain dress code. There was no overthinking to be done. 

You didn’t want to overthink your clothes for this date, but you spent a whole night trying on different ensembles and even after you decided on an outfit, you still changed it the following morning. The system didn’t comment, only followed you around with the two status meters. The black bar remained steady at 35%. However, including the minor increase from when you replied to his email, the affection score totaled to 69.2%.

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at your own giddiness. You felt silly feeling these butterflies in your stomach, but it couldn’t be helped.

It wasn’t Mark that made you feel this way. Sure, he was physically attractive, easily the most attractive man you’ve ever seen in person, and he was charming and smart and funny in his own Markish way, but this feeling wasn’t because of him. No, you reasoned, the butterflies are because you haven’t had a date in ages. That’s right. You nodded. This excitement was because you were thrilled to experience a date again. Your last one was so long ago, a lifetime even, that this might even be your first date. 

The system, who’d been snooping on your inner thoughts, rolled its eyes and then alerted you.

[Host, your escort is here.]

Your surprise overrode the desire to correct Zero-One as you glanced at your phone. He was thirty minutes too early. 

You hurried towards the entrance, but before you could grab the doorknob, the door swung open, revealing Mark. His normally loose and fluffy hair was combed and parted ¾ to the side. He wore ripped jeans and a white t-shirt under a leather jacket, left completely unzipped. A silver chain hung from neck and he had a silver ring on the thumb wrapped around the doorknob–his other hand wore a similar ring, it glinted under the fluorescent light as Mark held up a mini bouquet towards you.

“Hey, princess.”

“...hi.”

“This is for you. Obviously, haha.” 

You gently took the white and purple flowers from him. It was obvious that they were fake flowers and the bouquet itself was shorter than your forearm.

“I debated whether to ask whether you were okay with flowers or not. I wanted to surprise you, but I was worried that you might be allergic, so I decided to get you a fake bouquet. That way, we won’t end up in an emergency room and you don’t have to worry about carrying a giant bunch of…are you…okay?”

They’re just flowers, you thought. You had no need for flowers. You couldn’t take care of anything other than cacti and these weren’t even real plants so you didn’t understand why you were crying over them.

You raised the bouquet in front of you as you turned your eyes away from him. “I’m–” you hiccuped “–fine.”

“I’m sorry,” Mark said. “I should’ve asked you–”

“No.” You shook your head, wiping your eyes. “It’s lovely. Thank you.”

He grinned. “You’re welcome.”

“You’re early.”

“I’m not that early.”

“It’s an hour and a half before one p.m.”

“I–well–I misread the time, no, actually–”

“It’s okay,” you stopped him before smoke could blow out his ears. “I’m the type to prepare early too.” As if on cue, your stomach growled lowly. 

“I haven’t eaten breakfast either.”

An impatient voice spoke behind you: “Well, we want to eat lunch, so can you guys move?” There was a small crowd forming in the lobby, fellow tenants who were on their way to lunch. Some looked bored, some irate like the young woman behind you, but a good deal of the people seemed interested in your conversation with Mark, who grabbed your hand and smiled. “Sorry for the trouble. Have a nice lunch.” You’ve noticed that Mark was capable of a lot of expressions, his smile alone carried variety. This current smile had flowers blooming around him. It felt very fake, though that was because you spent so much time observing and interacting with him. If you hadn’t gone the extra mile to study him, you would have fallen victim to that smile.

The girl’s cheeks turned red, though less out of anger now, and she huffed, “Whatever.” 

Mark led you out the lobby and to a nearby bench outside.

“We can grab something to eat if you want,” he suggested, patting the leaves off the bench. 

“I have a couple of energy bars in my bag. Let’s see… chocolate strawberry, peanut butter and lemon vanilla–you don’t have to do that,” you said as Mark unfolded a blue handkerchief and placed it on the bench.

He ignored your words and motioned for you to take a seat.

Well. The handkerchief was already dirty anyway. Might as well. “Thank you.” You sat down and presented him with the snack bars. 

“That’s what you’re having for breakfast and lunch?”

“I want to save my appetite for when we have dinner,” you muttered, too busy ruminating on which flavor to eat, to notice how Mark covered his mouth.

He gently put his hand over the energy bars.

You finally looked at him, but this time, he wasn’t looking at you. The tips of his ears were pink as he stared at the ground and asked, “Maybe you should save that for when we’re walking in the aquarium. I’m actually really hungry, how about we go to the café?”

“If we do that, won’t that mean less money for dinner?”

Mark’s eyes flickered towards you before he smiled, revealing a canine tooth. That smile meant he was genuinely amused. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.”

“There’s nothing funny about being smart with money.” 

“I know, I know, I swear I’m not laughing at you. You don’t have to worry about the expenses, I have savings especially for this.”

“For girls, you mean?”

The joyous expression left him and it was your turn to laugh, hiding your own smile with the bouquet. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Mark refused to take cash from you and insisted on paying for both your orders. Starving as you were, you weren’t about to bankrupt him and opted for a light (and cheap) meal of black coffee and an eggdesal. 

When Mark returned to your booth, however, his tray carried one eggdesal and a large serving of fluffy waffles topped with whipped cream and blueberries and soaked in maple syrup.

You covered your stomach.

Mark unloaded the plates and cups on the table. “Bon appétit.”

“You’re not eating eggdesal?”

“It’s not the only thing I eat here.”

“I see.” 

You cleaned your hands with wet wipes, offered a piece to Mark, and grabbed your eggdesal. The bread was lightly toasted on the outside and smelled heavenly; between its soft, white inside was cheese and scrambled egg was a cheery yellow–it was neither too runny or overdone. You took a bite. The sandwich was sweet and salty with a bit of tang thanks to the ketchup. 

You washed it all down with fresh hot coffee.

Almost perfect. Your only complaint was that the whole pandesal was tinier than your fist and was gone after three bites.

You glanced over to Mark, who wasn’t even halfway through his waffles. 

Feeling your gaze on him no doubt, he raised his chin and you swiveled your head away, pretending to look out the window. 

[Ding. Affection: 69.3%]

“You know, I think I overestimated myself,” Mark said, cutting the waffles in half. “I don’t think I can finish this alone.”

“You’ve barely started.”

“I know when I’m beat.”

“That’s today’s special right? You should savor it.”

“I’m someone who doesn’t force myself to eat once I’m full, if you won’t eat then I guess we can just leave the rest behind.”

You shoved your empty plate towards his. “Well, if you insist. I hate wasting food.”

He bit down a chuckle and transferred half of the waffles to you, scraping and pushing most of the whipped cream and blueberries on your share. 

You didn’t know what expression you were making but you didn’t bother masking it. You made a quiet vow to treat him to something just as delicious in the future. 

There were blueberries baked into the waffles and the syrup didn’t taste artificial. It was perfect, you moaned.

[Ding. Affection: 69.4%]

“Aren’t you going to eat?” You chomped on a blueberry. 

“I’m getting full just looking at you.”

“Eat. Don’t let your waffles get soggy.”

“Right, right.” 

You two dined silently until you spoke up, “I have a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“How come you don’t like dining at cafés?”

His fork and knife stilled in the air. You expected the affection level to decrease, but that didn’t happen. 

“I was hoping you’d forget about that,” he joked wryly. 

“Oh. Sorry. You don’t have to answer.”

He ran a hand through his hair before he leaned forward. “Tell you what, princess, I’ll answer if I get to ask you something.”

“Fair enough. What’s your question?”

“What are you expecting from this date?”

You cocked your head to the side. Is that it? “I’m hoping to get to know you better.” What a waste of a question. 

“Really?”

“Yeah. Why else would I ask you out?”

“You didn’t ask me out, I–”

You gave him a look and he backed down. “Okay, yeah, you asked me out.”

“It’s your turn to answer,” you said.

He slumped in his seat. “Right…it’s not a big deal.”

You waited for him to continue.

Mark adjusted his position and plopped his chin on his palm. “Mom likes coffee, so she used to take me to this coffee shop where she would help me with my homework or read to me. It was where I met William, you remember him?”

Your fingers twitched.

[Host, in the canon timeline, William Clockwell is Mark Grayson’s best friend. He is a major supporting character.]

You knew. This brain knew.

You couldn’t meet Mark’s gaze. “Yeah…” you muttered. 

“It’s okay if you don’t, it’s been a while, and I don’t think I even invited you to my ninth birthday, sorry about that, by the way.”

He continued, eyes glazed over, “It was after dad left. Mom would take me to the shop but didn’t stay long, told me she had to work, and she’d pick me up before sunset. But one day she was late. William’s mom offered to walk me home but I didn’t want to bother her, so I went home alone. I had a spare key with me so I didn’t bother ringing the doorbell.”

A shadow fell over his face. “I could hear weird sounds from the kitchen. I was what, eight, nine? I thought I was going to crap my pants, but I went inside anyway. And then, I saw them, my mom and William’s dad.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach.

“Mom saw me but I ran out the door before anything else could happen. I waited for them outside. Once they were done, mom told me to get back inside the house and you know what she said to me, to her traumatized son that caught her having an affair with his friend’s dad?”

You shook your head.

He rolled back his shoulders and grinned. “She asked me, ‘Did you finish the worksheets I gave you?’”

“...oh.”

He hummed and raised the cup to his lips.

You pondered over what to say next. Would it be wise to offer an “I’m sorry”? You have read your fair share of household scandals, real and fictional, but you were ill-equipped in dealing with this. 

Perhaps sensing your dilemma, or maybe he simply didn’t want to discuss the current topic further, Mark had another question: “What’s your favorite animal?”

“Huh?” You didn’t have one, every species had something to offer, though some were more conventionally adorable than others. “Cats and dogs, I suppose.”

“That’s boring.”

“I–”

“Ask me.”

“Okay, what’s your favorite animal?”

“Hyenas.”

“Huh.”

“They’re cute and over-hated.”

“Hm.”

“What?”

“My guess would have been wolves.” 

“Wolves are cool, but they’re no hyenas.”

“Uh-huh.” You watched his Adam’s apple bob as he went on a whole spiel about how cool hyenas were and shared fun facts about them, like how a group of hyenas are called a clan or cackle (‘not packs!’ he insisted). 

When he finished, he puffed his chest, like his mini speech successfully converted you to loving hyenas as much as he did. “Well, what do you think?”

“I was thinking you’d look good in a collar.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You know, like a dog collar but for humans.”

“…you mean a choker?”

“No, I mean a collar, the studded kind. You have the neck for it,” you remarked, pointing your knife towards his white neck, “though I guess a choker is aesthetically similar.” A choker would be harder on his throat, you thought, a collar would be less restrictive. 

Mark shook his head and transferred more blueberries on your plate. “You got weird kinks, princess.”

[Ding. Affection: 69.7%]

He seemed to be in a chipper mood.

All righty then.

“We still have some time before we leave for the aquarium.” You dug into your coin purse for a quarter. “Heads or tails?”

“I don’t even know what I’m betting on.”

“We both finished our drinks and I’m not going to spend five minutes arguing over who gets to pay for the second round. So, heads or tails?”

He beamed, showing off his little fangs. “Tails.”

***

The aquarium was flowing with visitors, mostly families and some young pairs of lovers who clung onto each other like newly weds. However, it wasn’t so packed that it made you nauseated. There was a sufficient number of people that added to the hype of it all. It was a lively atmosphere. 

As Mark had suggested in his email, you decided to be spontaneous and didn’t open the pamphlet.

The tour started with a walk through the Freshwater Garden, a collection of fish, frogs, toads, turtles and insects found in rivers and ponds, segregated accordingly. The walls and floor were mostly wood and decorated with stones and green, lit up with soft, warm light. 

A few kiddos strayed from their parents’ sides and bent over the pond in the middle of the main room. They pointed at the log in a corner where a snapping turtle stood. Two other turtles tried to climb on, rolling the stump until the snapping turtle splashed into the water.

“I told you he was going to fall–you owe me a candy bar!”

“Shut up!”

You snickered at their antics. Must be nice to be amused by the smallest thing.

Mark nudged you with his elbow as you two passed by the river section. “Judging by that giant smile on your face I’m guessing the aquarium was the correct choice.”

“I thought you got the tickets because your friend broke up with his girlfriend.”

He blinked.

You guffawed. “I’m kidding. This is great, no offense to your friend, but I’m glad his love life crashed and burned. Museums are one of my favorite places.”

He exhaled. “That’s a relief.”

“I have another question, though.”

“Go ahead.”

“If you had a choice, without worrying about the cost, would you still have chosen an aquarium for our first date?”

He paused, tilting his chin to think. Then he replied, “Yeah, I would have.”

You two passed through another vestibule, creatively labeled Under the Sea. The warm wood was replaced by a deep blue velvet. The glass walls and ceilings curved over you. Gone were the mossy rocks and roots of trees, showing only corals and sand. 

You held yourself back from skipping towards the colossal school of anchovies.

Mark followed your line of sight and strode towards the fish.

You followed suit. 

“Between hiking and scuba diving, which do you prefer?” He asked. 

“I guess it depends on my mood. Both of those things can be expensive and require stamina that I don’t have.”

“Okay, how about this: would you rather have a picnic somewhere on a mountain or at the beach?”

“If I really have to choose, I guess I’d go with the beach. You?”

“It depends on my mood.”

You frowned. “That’s not fair.”

“Sorry ‘bout that.”

He then stepped aside, signaling you to go on. You shrugged and made your way deeper into the aquarium with Mark half a step behind you.

You two ambled in silence until you stopped again in front of a tube with a bloom of jellyfish, each one no bigger than your fingernail. “I’d like to change my answer.”

“You prefer the mountains?”

“No, not that. This.” You gestured at the transparent blobs behind the glass. “My favorite animal.”

Mark bent over the tablet standing in front of the tube. “Turritopsis dohrnii, more famously known as ‘the immortal jellyfish.’” 

“Aren’t they cool? I didn’t know they’d be here.” Your shoulder bumped into his as you looked closer at the little miracles. “Once they reach a certain age or as a reaction to certain stimuli, they revert back to being polyps. Can you imagine de-aging like that?”

“I can, actually,” he mumbled.

“If we humans discover a way to replicate their cells’ differentiation process, we’d be able to solve cancer and even replace missing organs! These jellyfish are the future.”

Mark slid his palm over your forehead before it hit the glass. “They’re also aggressive invaders.” 

“They’re cooler than hyenas.”

“Wha–take that back.”

“No, sorry, immortal jellyfish beats a bunch of furballs.”

“Furballs? Furballs?”

You laughed and walked away. 

You two reached the final exhibit, The Deep, and the moment you stepped inside, you were assaulted by a blast of ice-cold air. The tunnel was pitch-black, with only the faintest lights on the floor to line the path forward. Understandably, the place did not house living creatures from the deep sea, rather it projected 3D holograms that floated across the dark tunnel. 

You started shivering, but not from the cold alone. This darkness was too familiar. You’re suddenly brought back to the Void, the Nothingness that waited for you if you failed. 

Perpetual nothingness.

You were starting to get dizzy when something heavy covered your shoulders. It was Mark’s leather jacket. 

“I probably should’ve recommended a sweater, too,” he said.

You grasped the lapels and breathed slowly. “Thank you.”

He offered his hand and you didn’t hesitate to clasp your quivering fingers on his warm palm. 

Mark started walking and he posed another question, “Do you think it’s better to be good or smart?”

“That came out of the blue,” you joked.

“I’ll forgive that horrible pun if you answer honestly.”

An oarfish hovered over you. “So that’s why you asked me whether I preferred the mountains or the beach. You could have just asked me from the start. I don’t like dawdling.”

“Well, I’m sorry I’m not German.” A few crystal jellyfish danced over him. Their blue-green luminescence lit his eyes, made them look like they were glowing themselves. “‘The wise love water, the good love mountains. The wise are active, the good are tranquil–”

“–The wise are joyful, the good enjoy long life,’ was it?”

His hold on you tightened briefly.

You watched the jellyfish bob away. “I don’t think we’re supposed to choose. I thought the whole point was that we need to be both to live a harmonious existence.” The Earth was neither made purely of water nor soil, it was beautiful because it had both. 

“But what if you have to choose…” he whispered. “What if being good means sacrificing your own happiness? Wouldn’t being wise be better?”

“That depends. Smart and wise aren’t synonymous. Confucius believed that wisdom is rooted in fairness though, so if you choose to be wise then that means choosing what is right, not just for yourself but for everyone. Wisdom exists to temper goodness so that we can live a moral life. Using Confucius to excuse selfishness is, well…you know.”

Mark’s hand was colder now.

“I can’t say that Confucius is my favorite philosopher though. I shouldn’t be saying this, but,” you said as you followed the movements of a slow anglerfish above you, even its weakly lit lure would shine in the Void, “but if I had to choose between the happiness of strangers or my own, the answer is obvious.”

[Ding. Affection: 70%. Darkening: 35.2%]

***

There was a gift shop strategically positioned right outside The Deep. It was white, blue and gold and appeared rather fancy for a gift shop. Aquatic creatures decorated every corner, ranging from a school of clownfish painted onto a wall to a giant octopus holding coral-shaped baskets of stuffed sea animals. 

A twentysomething lady dressed in a white dress shirt and a navy blue apron greeted you with a practiced customer service smile. “Good afternoon and welcome.”

You nodded politely while Mark fired his own bright smile back at her. “Good afternoon. Is there something special going on over there?” He was referring to the crowd huddled over one side of the store. 

The saleslady blushed and handed you each a pamphlet. “The aquarium is doing a limited time collab with Stacy’s.”

You skimmed the robin’s-egg blue paper. Stacy’s & Co. was a jewelry company that was famous for its bracelets. A rather on the nose parallel to a certain jewelry company back in your world. 

“We have earrings, necklaces, bracelets and anklets, even keychains and accessories for pets. All are aquatic themed and I’m sure you will find something you like. We’re also offering a really good deal for ring sets, perhaps you and your girlfriend would like to purchase a pair?”

“Actually–”

You cut him off and responded, “We’d like to take a look, thank you.” 

She gestured for you to follow her to the display case. Expectedly enough, the other guests that swarmed here were couples. Everyone was fawning over the ring sets, but you weren’t interested in that. 

Instead you pointed at something in the necklace section. “That one.”

The saleslady blinked. “Pardon?” She was tempted to rub her eyes because surely you weren’t pointing at that, were you?

“That chain collar looks nice. I want him to try it on.” 

Mark pointed at himself, equally confused as the woman behind the counter. 

“It’s pretty, I think it would complement your throat nicely, not to mention your collarbones.” Though with his current getup the latter wasn’t so obvious. 

You then turned to the saleslady. “He has a pretty good neck, don’t you agree? He could model with it.”

“Um, I-I don’t–”

“Take it out please.”

Mark put his hands on your shoulders. “Now, princess, that’s sweet and all but maybe not something that’s clearly designed for dogs?”

“Have you seen the necks of some dogs? I’m sure this will fit you just fine.” You turned to the woman. “You think so too, don’t you?”

The saleslady pitched in nervously, “I’m afraid I can’t encourage wearing animal accessories.”

“Aw. That’s a shame.”

“Yes, a real shame,” Mark said, softly shifting your attention to the human collection. “How about earrings?”

“But you’re not pierced, and I doubt they sell fake earrings.”

“I meant for you.”

“Oh.” 

Mark then asked the saleslady for earrings that were suitable for everyday wear. She showed you several pairs. Most were studs, some were huggies, others were jackets. All of them sparkled. 

They were great, but honestly, you weren’t interested in getting a pair for yourself. If anything, you were busy imagining Mark with piercings. With his sense of style, it felt appropriate, but could his skin even be pierced? You thought back to what you know about Superman and his kin. They had kryptonite but the stingy system refused to share much about Invincible’s weaknesses.

Mark then interrupted your deliberation, “See anything you like?” 

“Not particularly.”

“That’s okay. Wanna go see the other souvenirs? Miss Rinna here said they got a bunch of stationery.”

Your quiet search for his kryptonite vanished instantly at the mention of stationery.

***

“You seem pleased,” he commented, amused as you two entered the Hungry Hippo. 

You hugged your shopping bag full of notebooks close to your chest, not too tightly or you’d ruin the bouquet Mark gave you. “I had a couple of stationery that was ruined. I’m still using them as scratch paper, but I can’t use them for serious writing.”

“Maybe get water-proof paper next time,” he suggested playfully.

“I never said that they got wet.”

He stiffened. “Well… I just assumed. I read somewhere that nine times out of ten, water…ruins paper.”

“Is that so.”

“Uh-huh.” He then pulled a chair for you. “Anyway, d-do you know what you want?”

You sat down and unfolded a piece of paper from your pocket. “Everything’s here.”

“You made a list. Of course.” His tone was more teasing than it was mocking. 

You handed the paper over to him and he raised his arm until a waiter arrived. Mark recited his and your orders, thanked the waiter and turned to you.

“So.”

“So…”

“How would you rate today’s social event?”

You fiddled with the strap of your purse. “It’s fine.”

You regretted your words as you can see his hypothetical ears droop. You hurriedly corrected yourself, “I mean, it’s going great so far–amazing.”

He propped his elbows on the table and leaned closer. “Really?”

“I love the aquarium and the holograms were a smart way to incorporate deep sea life into the exhibit without hurting real animals, plus I got to buy some new notebooks, and I really love the flowers,” your words came out like bullets. You had real fun today, all thanks to Mark. You didn’t want him to think you were saying these things as mere platitudes. 

“So does that mean…” 

“What?”

He cleared his throat but refused to look you in the eye as he repeated, “Does that mean this won’t be our last date?”

“I hope not.”

Your reply caught him off guard because his head swung at an inhuman speed to face you. “Really?”

You held the bouquet to your smiling mouth. “Really.”

He was about to say something when his watch beeped. All that happy, puppy dog energy was nowhere to be seen.

[Ding. Darkening: 35.5%]

He hit something and the watch began vibrating. “Anyway–”

It kept on vibrating.

“That looks important.”

“No, it–” 

The watch blinked red multiple times before the vibrations became beeping again.

He looked about ready to smash the thing.

You reached over and put a reassuring hand over his. “Go.”

“But–”

“We ordered a lot. lt will be a while before the food arrives, so go.”

He sighed and gave you an apologetic smile. “If the food arrives before I come back, eat without me. I have an account here so don’t worry about the payment.”

“Take care.”

He seemed hesitant to leave just yet. His expression told you he wanted to do something else, but before either of you could move, his watch started flashing.

He cursed under his breath and rushed outside.

[There seems to be another alien intent on invading Earth.]

“I’m sure it won’t take long.”

You retrieved a pocket-sized edition of Slaughterhouse Five from your bag. One of the perks of the after-life, or this life before the after-life, was that it gave you the chance to do inventory. You barely scratched the surface of your TBR list but here the stress of real life, of rent and grades was gone. You can indulge in recreational reading without guilt.

You lost yourself in the very first line and didn’t even register the arrival of your meal thirty minutes later, not until the waiter respectfully brought it to your attention.

You thanked him but decided to give Mark five more minutes.

[Host.]

“...”

[Host!]

“What now?”

[You told me to alert you if five minutes have passed. It has been exactly five minutes since your command. The food is starting to get cold.]

You slipped the folded Stacy’s pamphlet between your pages. “And Mark?”

[Still saving the world.]

You put away your book. 

He did say to eat without him so you picked up your fork and tore into your still-hot tomato and basil spaghetti. Sweet and tangy with just the right amount of garlic and some chili flakes that added an extra kick.

You sighed contently at your choice for dinner and sipped slowly on your banana milkshake. It was inexpensive and filling compared to the other options on the menu. 

In contrast, Mark ordered a lot for himself. Chicken salad with honey mustard dressing, baby back ribs with a side of peas and mashed potatoes, cheesy pasta with extra broccoli and two sliders. 

He must have been really hungry. You felt bad for him, being a superhero sounded like a nuisance. If you had powers, you’d keep it to yourself and use it to make life easier, not worse. Like, if you superspeed, you would use it to get some extra sleep.

But Mark was too kind. His food will be cold by the time he comes back.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” Your waiter approached just as you flipped to the next chapter.

“Really sorry to disturb your reading but I would like to ask if everything was to your liking?”

“It was, yes.” You shifted on your chair.

“Is there anything else I can get you?”

“Just a refill for my water, thank you.”

As the waiter left your table, the system dinged.

[Not that I care how you spend your free time, but how long are you going to wait for him?]

You focused on your book. “As long as it takes.”

***

Shit,shit,shit,shit,shit.

Fucking insect fucks.

Fucking Cecil.

Fucking team can’t do anything right.

Mark shoved Rex off him when the idiot tried to get him to drink. He ignored Eve’s attempts to get him to stay for the post-mission meeting and flew back to the Hungry Hippo as fast as he could. He swapped into his civilian clothes mid-air and hid the backpack someplace safe.

Three hours. He kept you waiting alone at a family restaurant for three hours. 

He wouldn’t blame you if you stayed just so you could slap him hard and tell him never to email you again. He wanted to slap himself.

Still, he needed a chance, he needed to try and explain and apologize, so even if you remained just to yell at him he would take it.

After surveying the area for any witnesses, he deemed the parking lot behind the restaurant safe and landed. He took a moment to fix his appearance, using a car window as a mirror.

The hair he had meticulously brushed and moussed at dawn was tousled by the fighting and the flying.

He didn’t have time to waste so he combed it back with his fingers and ran.

Please be there, please be there…he prayed as he scoured the tables from outside the windows.

At eight p.m. the place was packed with families from the aquarium and nearby mall, but his heart sank when he realized that you weren’t at your table.

He checked his phone. No messages. He should have sent you a quick text, but everyone kept screwing up that he didn’t have a moment to spare.

He should still apologize.

He started typing, but someone approached him. “Mark?”

“Princess?”

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He pocketed his phone. “You’re still here?”

“As you can see.” 

Yes, he could see. You were even wearing his jacket.

“I was trying to look for you inside, through the windows.”

“I felt bad because there was a long line of people wanting a table so I asked them to wrap up your food and the staff were kind enough to let me hang out on the waiting chairs.”

He was speechless.

“I’m sorry for giving up our table.”

“No, no, you got nothing to apologize for. I was the one who abandoned you like a di–like a jerk.” He closed the distance between the two of you. “I’m sorry.”

You gave him a sincere smile. “All is forgiven.”

“You can hit me if you want.

“I’m not going to do that.”

“Are you sure? I was horrible.”

“It was work.”

“That’s no excuse to leave you waiting for hours. I should’ve called or texted–”

“You came back, didn’t you? We’re cool. Seriously.” You shimmied your right hand, which he now noticed to be holding a pocket book. “I was going to text you that I left our table but I forgot the time.”

“You brought a novel to our date…”

“Don’t take it personally. I have a couple of fanfics and scientific journals on my phone for when I get stuck at parties.”

He shook his head, chuckling. 

Mark called for a cab and then walked you back to your building. He refused to let you carry any of the takeout bags.

“Are you sure you don’t want the ribs?”

“I’m good.”

“The salad? The sliders?”

“They’re yours, Mark.”

Truth be told, he knew you chose the spaghetti because it was the cheapest pasta, same with the milkshake, so he ordered more than he needed. He had planned to split his food with you until those damn aliens got in the way. 

He was tempted to use the “I’ll just end up throwing the food away” card again but he didn’t want to push his luck.

“I had a really great time with you,” you said, cradling your shopping bag. “I haven’t had that much fun in forever.”

“First date in a while, huh?”

“The last one was a lifetime ago, and even then, nothing comes close to today.”

His chest beamed with pride. “I’m glad to hear it.”

He mirrored your smile.

You two stood in front of the dorms in comfortable silence.

Mark didn’t want to say goodbye just yet, but he knew the date had to end at some point. 

He was about to bid you good night when you suggested, “Wanna go up to my room?”

taglist: @weponxwrites, @ratkidcalledallie, @qxuanii, @lilacoaks, @gluttonousriceflour, @phisen, @sleepyzzz3, @whaaaaaaaaat111, @ik33ponmakingc00ki3s, @lonely-entity, @noxus123, @ilovecoffe0

Author's Note: I hope you guys enjoyed our date with Mark (I designed the aquarium based on the Animal Crossing New Horizons aquatic gallery huhuhu) I'm feeling under the weather so I won't be able to answer any messages immediately. I also haven't edited this chapter as thoroughly as I wanted, so if you see any inconsistencies with the time or Mark's favorite animal being a lion instead of a hyena (it was a lion in the first draft), you'll know why. (_　_|||) bye bye for now

Disclaimer: The images used in this post do not belong to writerclaire. They were lifted from the following sources:

Invincible flying from: https://gamerant.com/invincible-every-character-fate-comics/

Alternate Invincibles from: https://gamerant.com/invincible-all-alternate-dimension-invincibles-fates/

CHAPTER 11: Coming soon. Series Masterlist

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