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@markxrollins-blog
Not sure how many people are still checking this blog out, but since the RP closed I'm kind of debating on whether or not to delete this account, or to try to turn it into an indie Mark RP blog, or to find a new home for it...SO, if there's anyone out there that might want to still RP, shoot me a message or something and we can talk!
CASTOR TROPES: Mark
Gracie’s mouth was salivating, filling quickly, in the way that she felt before vomiting. It was something she hadn’t done in a long time; it was rare to find something to churn her stomach. But disappointing her husband, or the implication of such, made her physically ill. Gracie swallowed hard, trying to tame that bile that threatened to rise, but she just felt sicker.
Her name on his lips caused a whole new churn of her stomach, like he was somewhere between a prayer, and chastisement, and she couldn’t tell which was which. It frightened her. Rarely had Gracie trusted men (women for that matter, but men were a particular brand of evil), so this trust in Mark was a new and frightening venture. She wondered how she could escape this distrust of others, but given that she only made things worse with Mark’s brother, she didn’t know that it was entirely possible. Maybe she was just fettered this way, created and sewn with the inability to interact with men, inherent with the ability to be a terrible wife. Sometimes, Gracie wondered if there was truly a God, and if there was in fact, could He forgive? Could He restore her heart?
She could be as stoic as Mark, but she broke slightly in the way she’d wanted when Rudy’s fingers clamped around her throat. She whimpered, and it led way to a small sob of a noise, and she wound her arms tightly around her husband’s neck, clinging to him. Her right cheek against his, she was reminded that Mark was so different than Rudy, no marred skin, no fierce warrior smile. Just the man who defended her against all others, who reminded her that she wasn’t alone.
She could still feel Mark’s fingers against her neck, as though it burned. She couldn’t stand the look in his eyes, she couldn’t stand the idea that she’d brought this out in him, be it through knowledge or if she’d done it to someone he loved herself. She hated this. She hated herself. She’d been so self-satisfying, so smug. It hadn’t been her job to point out Rudy’s sin, and yet…
The wound on her neck was the worst of it. Gracie didn’t think it necessary to show the bruises on her knees and palms from where she’d been tossed to the ground. Truthfully, she’d been surprised she grew the bruises in the first place. She’d thought that she was long past being able to bruise, given the conditions and punishments branded by her father. It had grown to be expected, until Helena came into the picture.
Helena, who she hated at first for threatening the very nature of their routines. Helena, who made Gracie question everything. She’d wanted to hurt the girl, kill her, remove the anomaly who changed everything she knew, but it had been a wicked decision to try. Gracie had been no better than Rudy.
It had been Mark who turned it around. Gave her the strength to question those terrible practices, who was there willing and poised to hold her hand and love her, and run with her without question out of the back door. The man to let her out of the cage, quite literally, and read her emotions before even she did. She knew now why he was able to easily question science versus morality, but in the end, it came down to his strength and his love, and for that, she loved him tremendously.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she muttered, her voice muffled by his skin. He smelled like deep musk, like hard work, like comfort, something she needed over the saccharine smell of cinnamon and baked sugar, and she held him tighter, feeling tears burn her cheeks, stopped only by his shoulder. “And it isn’t your job to protect me. I knew what he was like. He wouldn’t kill me, Mark. He loves you too much. He could have done it, and he didn’t.” She didn’t know if what Rudy had done was entirely forgivable, but she felt the responsibility to repair what she was inevitably severing.
But it was his job. Mark wouldn’t have said so aloud in that moment, as contesting Gracie’s attempts to soothe him would have been indelicate, but Mark very much saw it as his job to keep her safe. He was the one that had been bred to be a warrior. He was the one that had the skills necessary to fortify a home. He was the one...he was the one that had intended to pave every road ahead of them both so that she would never need to worry about bumpy terrain. He’d made vows to honor and cherish her, but even if he hadn’t done so in a ceremony he would have upheld them in his heart with just as much intensity.
It might not have been a task that she would have placed upon him, but it was the only one that Mark wanted to do for the rest of his life. He wrapped one arm around her to squeeze her against him, the combined force of their mutual embrace successfully pushing the last remnants of his anger out as he turned his concern to the sounds of her distress. His other hand came round to the back of her head, cradling it gently as red tresses slid between his fingers. Gracie was so very present in his arms in that moment that he could not have imagined her in a safer place, but a part of him worried still that she would feel exposed and vulnerable no matter how tightly he held on.
Without the certainty that she felt secure, the only blessing that Mark could honestly find in this situation was knowing that she couldn’t see the expression on his face when she suggested that it had been love that had prevented Rudy from ending her life. Mark winced, closing his eyes tightly as he pressed his cheek against Gracie in earnest now. That thought should have been a comfort of sorts, perhaps, but it hurt too much for him to see it that way.
Rudy had found Gracie while he’d been in pain and had reacted as only Rudy knew how...Mark understood that. He understood how his brother acted in situations like that, but he also understood just how much family meant to him as well. Rudy had never made a secret of how dearly he cared for the people in his life that he’d decided were his. Rudy snarled and snapped and lunged in the process, but he acted from a place in his heart, not his head, and Mark’s guilt at being the cause of this intensified as he attempted to imagine the final act of this encounter through his brother’s eyes, feeling his brother’s pain.
It would have been easier if they’d come to hate each other, Mark thought. He wouldn’t have had to understand anything, if that had been the case. He wouldn’t have been able to empathize with his damaged little brother, and then he’d have been able to identify him as an enemy. That would have been easy. He loved his brothers, though. Each and every one of them, and no matter how their actions horrified them Mark knew that he’d never be free of them so long as he held love in his heart for them.
“I’ll have to tell you more about them,” he replied at last, voice quiet and distracted, as though he was saying it to someone else in the room. “Rudy, and Seth, and Miller, and...you should know more. It’ll be easier to avoid them, or...deal with them, if you see any of them again.”
He pressed a kiss to her head, letting his lips linger a moment before he bowed his head so that he could whisper and she could still hear him.
“You’re safe now, but I am not going to leave you here without you knowing all about who is out there. I can’t lose you.”
Some clones are sick. Some sick are doomed. Conclusion all of #CloneClub is doomed. True or false?
I’m not who you think I am.
The cinnamon bun was the farthest thing from his mind right now. He could have been famished a few moments earlier and even so would not have been able to think on it, save for a tightening of his mouth at Gracie’s mention of it. His agitation was, of course, not directed at his wife, but she was, regrettably, the unfortunate witness to it. Had Mark been feeling less urgent he would have approached it better, but this was a situation involving Gracie and Rudy and that changed everything. He might have been maintaining a cool head on the surface, save for his obvious concern, but underneath it all he felt something bubbling.
There were precious few things in this world that Mark loved; he couldn’t handle the thought of one of them destroying the other.
But...he was getting ahead of himself. Gracie was here, after all. His brother hadn’t killed her (even thinking that made his stomach turn). She was not unshaken, but she was here. He had to focus on that, and when she finally touched him he released a shaky breath that somehow managed to embody his relief and his fear all at the same time.
“Gracie...”
The mention of her father sent yet another jolt through him, though along with it came a resolved sort of discomfort as well: Johanssen had not been a good man, and he had certainly not been a good father, but...for a time, he’d been the one to provide Mark with the thing that he’d been missing all his life. In turn, he’d idolized him. For a time. He had been an accessory to many of the pastor’s sins, hadn’t he? Mark knew that he deserved to feel uneasy right now, but he forced himself to remember that those terrible things that had been done to Gracie had also been the things to turn him from his father figure’s side. It hadn’t been about redemption for him to do so, though. It had been about her. His sins were his own, but his salvation had always been her.
Then again, Mark Rollins had never been under the illusion of being a good man to begin with, so perhaps the reminder of Johanssen was a welcomed thing. There are worse demons out there. Well. There were. Helena had taken care of that.
He couldn’t find comfort in any of that, though. Not when his wife was recounting her ordeal with his brother, and certainly not when she finally relented to show him the evidence of Rudy’s attack. His gaze dropped from her face, down to the wound on her neck and that cold, rolling feeling in his stomach gave way to a sinking sensation as he realized all at once just how easily his brother could have killed her. Where had he been when this was happening?
He could picture it now with chilling clarity: Rudy, with a hand clamped mercilessly around her throat. Gracie, struggling for breath but never begging. He knew that she wouldn’t have begged. He knew that his wife was brave, and far stronger than anyone would have assumed from first glance. What she had survived, and what she still endured, had made her unbreakable.
That didn’t change a thing about how he felt about all of this, though. Not a thing. Mark raised a hand, trembling with suppressed emotion, in order to trace a finger gingerly across the wound on her neck. His expression crumpled with the contact, and for a moment his grief at her suffering was all that he could feel. Even his anger has given way to this feeling; Mark stroked the side of her neck tenderly with his thumb, trying to keep from imagining how horrifying this had to have been for her.
“No...Gracie, no,” he replied miserably, shaking his head firmly as he brought both his hands upward to cup her cheeks. Mark lifted his gaze back to Gracie’s, his concern for her finally flooding over the bubbling rage that he’d been struggling with. His anger would return later, undoubtedly, but for now all he could care about was how she was faring. “No, this wasn’t your fault.”
Why had Rudy done this to her? To hurt him? ‘Well, mission accomplished, brother’, he thought bitterly as he brushed his forehead against his wife’s. It didn’t matter how much Gracie insisted that the blame was hers...Rudy was the one that had drawn blood. Again, the thought sent his stomach churning, and he knew that he would need to respond to this before long.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to protect you. This will never happen again, I promise you.”
“I’m not who you think I am”
If you could be one of the female clones, which one would you be?
“If I could…what? I…don’t know. Um. Sarah, I guess.”
Ughhhh Mark and Gracie have my heart and what you're doing is so beautiful. And sad.
I’m thrilled to hear that you’re enjoying them! ♥ Thank you for the message! They have my heart too, for sure.
(I’d like to say sorry for the sads, but I’m not sorry about that at all. But I am sorry for not being sorry!)
CastorWeek Day 1 | Favourite Castor Clone: Rudy & Mark
Mark, too, had been raised to be a servant. Not to God, exactly, -though the country that he’d served had claimed to act under some version of faith in a higher power- but even so there’d never been a doubt as to how very much of his life had not been his own. He had been bred for war. He’d been trained to assemble and disassemble a rifle at the same time as he’d been tutored on how to write his own name in cursive. He’d known how to kill a man before he’d known how to drive a vehicle. Mark had been reared by the army to serve without question or doubt. To salute and to fire and to live and die for a purpose he’d never been allowed to question, and had little to no hope of understanding.
He’d questioned. He’d doubted. He’d faced ridicule from his brothers, the only other people he’d had in his life that could understand what sort of world he’d been raised in, because of this. He’d been called weak. He’d learned to hide it and live like them. Talk like them. Some days, he’d even been able to convince himself that the inexplicable longing that he’d felt had been something he’d imagined, and all he’d ever need was them.
When he’d been assigned to infiltrate the Proletheans and gain the trust of their leader in hopes of recovering the lost Castor samples, Mark could never have expected that he’d find something there that would ease that longing and provide him with a purpose he could understand.
He hadn’t gone there expecting to stay. He hadn’t gone there expecting to love. Gracie had changed everything for him, but he had no regrets about that. She’d been like him: sheltered, shaped, scorned for questioning. With her, he’d found something he’d never been trained for, but it was something he’d use everything he’d ever learned to protect. He’d known that when he’d married her; he’d vowed to keep her safe both out loud and within his thoughts, every day that they were together and every night that they’d slept.
He’d encountered his brother not long ago as well, but their interaction had not given him cause to fear for Gracie’s safety. Mark had assumed - hoped - that she would be fine, and that Rudy’s attention would pass her by after he’d finished with himself. He’d been wrong. He’d failed her.
Her refusal to explain the matter further had no doubt been intended to ease his mind, but the offering of the cinnamon bun had the exact opposite effect. Mark stared at the baked good as though it were an alien object, expression incredulous and horrified. He shook his head quickly, limbs finally loosening from the shock-induced stillness that had held him in place earlier.
“N-No. No!” Mark hurried forward, snatching the plate away only to place it immediately onto the nearest cleared surface. With the intended distraction out of the way, he stepped closer to his wife with every intention of catching her hands up in his.
However, before he could take hold of them he stopped. His fingertips could have grazed hers, but before he could touch her Mark was struck with the realization that whatever harm had befallen Gracie...it had come from someone with his face. He didn’t worry that she’d mistake him for his brother, but...but he’d not risk frightening her further by taking hold of her without her consent.
He had always been shy when it came to touching her, even in the most innocent of ways. In a moment like this one, where his fear and anger were brimming under the surface while his desperation to remain tender and gentle with her stayed at the forefront, Mark could not bring himself to take the step necessary to pull her close until he knew it would be what she wanted.
“Gracie, please. Tell me. What happened? Did he hurt you?”
Castor brothers: Four Man Wolf Pack
blood calls for blood
